Chapter 4

Elara Thorne's POV:

The sound of Ryker's fist connecting with his mahogany desk echoed through the Alpha's office. I heard it from the hallway as I carried a sleeping Cora back to our suite.

"She dared to defy me!" he roared. The fury in his voice was a palpable thing, a predator's rage.

I didn't need to be in the room to know what was happening. I could picture it perfectly. His mother, Lena, would be sitting there, a cool, satisfied smile on her thin lips.

"I told you, Ryker. That Thorne blood is stubborn. She was never truly one of us." Her voice, always sharp and critical, would be dripping with vindication.

And his brother, Gideon, would be quick to agree, always eager to be in his older brother's shadow. "She's gotten too comfortable, Ry. A Luna who produces a wolfless heir and then challenges your command? You have to show her who's in charge."

I paused outside my door, leaning my head against the cool wood, listening to the architects of my misery plot their next move.

"Punishment isn't enough," Lena's voice cut through the wood. "You need to take away her power. What is the one thing she values most, the one thing that gives her a sense of independence?"

"The Moonpetal Grove," Gideon supplied instantly. "The Thorne family has been its Guardian for generations. It's her last real connection to her own lineage."

"Exactly," Lena purred. "Take it from her. Give its care to someone more deserving. Someone loyal. Give it to Faye. It would be a fitting reward for her, and it will remind Elara that without you, she is nothing."

A sliver of silence. I held my breath, waiting. Even Ryker couldn't be that cruel. The Grove was part of our mating agreement, a sacred trust. He had promised.

"Ryker," Lena's voice was sharp, prodding. "This is about your authority. If you can't control your own mate, the pack will see you as weak."

That was the word that would seal my fate. Weak. The one thing Ryker could not tolerate being called.

The decision was made. I felt it in the shift of the air, in the sudden, oppressive stillness.

I slipped inside my room and gently laid Cora on her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. A moment later, Ryker's voice invaded my mind, cold and sharp through our mind-link.

*Elara. My office. Now.*

I didn't bother to respond. I walked out of my suite and down the hall, my footsteps silent on the thick carpets. When I entered his office, they were all there, a tribunal of three, waiting to pass sentence.

Ryker didn't waste time with pleasantries. He stood behind his desk, his face a mask of cold fury.

"Due to your recent insubordination and your clear inability to focus on your duties, I am relieving you of your role as Guardian of the Moonpetal Grove. Effective immediately, its care will be transferred to Faye Dawson."

For a moment, the world tilted. I had expected punishment. I had not expected this. The Grove was more than just herbs and flowers. It was my heritage. It was the place I went to feel my ancestors, to speak to the Moon Goddess. It was the last piece of my mother I had left.

Lena and Gideon looked on, their faces alight with victory.

Ryker watched me, a sick kind of satisfaction in his eyes as he saw the color drain from my face. "This will free you up to focus on your primary duty as a mother," he said, his tone dripping with false magnanimity. "You can spend your time on Cora, instead of wasting it with dirt and leaves."

He thought he was destroying me. He thought he was taking the last thing I had.

He was wrong. He was simply severing the last tie that bound me to him.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I didn't even argue.

I simply lifted my head and met his gaze. My own eyes felt empty, devoid of any emotion at all. It was a terrifying, liberating feeling.

"I understand," I said. Just those two words.

The reaction was immediate. All three of them looked stunned. They had prepared for a fight, for tears, for begging. My quiet acceptance unnerved them more than any outburst could have.

I turned and walked out of the office, my back straight, my head held high.

Back in the safety of my room, I locked the door. I walked to the old wooden chest at the foot of my bed, the one that had belonged to my mother, and her mother before her. I unlocked it and lifted the lid. From beneath a pile of old linens, I pulled out a heavy book, bound in ancient, worn wolf hide.

My mother's grimoire.

It held the lost rituals, the old ways, the secrets of the Thorne line. My fingers, steady and sure, flipped through the brittle pages until I found the one I was looking for. The ink was faded, the script archaic, but the title was clear.

*The Rejection: How to Sever a Soul Bond.*

He had taken my garden.

I was going to take back my soul.