The council chamber was colder than Maisie expected.
High vaulted ceilings, ancient stone walls carved with the history of Kylen’s bloodline, and a long obsidian table where powerful wolves sat in judgment. She stood beside Kylen’s throne-like chair, wearing a simple but elegant silver-gray gown that Elara had chosen for her. No collar. No leash. Yet she still felt the phantom weight of chains around her throat.
The elders had requested her presence.
Not as a guest. As a subject of discussion.
“The girl is a broken, rejected omega,” Elder Varrick declared, his voice echoing through the chamber. He was the oldest, with a face like weathered granite and eyes sharp with disdain. “She carries the stain of another Alpha’s rejection. Her wolf is weak, fractured. Bringing her into this court
