The coronation flames had barely faded when I heard her voice.
"NO!"
Serenya.
She burst through the tree line. Hair wild. Eyes blazing. Still wearing the tattered remains of Luna finery from weeks ago. Covered in dirt and desperation.
"No," she repeated. Louder. "You don't get to do this. Don't get to take what's MINE. Don't get to—"
"Yours?" I interrupted. Voice cold. "What exactly do you think is yours? The title you destroyed? The pack you burned? The mate you murdered?" I stepped forward. "Or are you talking about the position I earned while you were busy committing treason?"
She snarled. Shifted partially. Claws extending. "You were nothing. Wolf-less. Rejected. WEAK. And now you stand there pretending to be Alpha? Supreme?" She spat. "You're a fraud. A pretender. And I—" Her voice rose. "I challenge you. For the title. For the territory. For—"
"For what?" Ronan demanded. "You're packless. Exiled. You have no standing to challenge anyone for anything."
