Tanya kicked the scattered lineage documents aside, her high heels clicking sharply against the stone tiles as she strode toward the center of the kitchen corridor. She thrust her hand into the leather satchel at her waist, pulling out a bundle of yellowed papers held together by a cracked wax seal.

"Look at the dates!" Tanya shoved the papers directly under the nose of the nearest council elder, her chest heaving underneath her silk dress. "These were pulled from the southern border archives last month, right after the perimeter guard found the burnt remains of the old Frost estate."

The elder reached for his iron spectacles, his thumb rubbing the brittle edges of the parchment. The warriors on the lower benches pressed closer, their heavy boots scraping against the gravel as they scrambled to see the seal.

"It is the signature of Jonathan Frost," the elder muttered, his voice carrying clearly into the quiet room. "The seal belongs to the eastern vampire coven."

"They sold the winter patrol routes," Tanya yelled, turning her sharp gaze onto Eva, her fingers curled into tight claws. "They sold the positions of our silver storage vaults to the night-walkers, costing thirty of our warriors their lives during the great siege."

Eva looked at the dark ink on the page, her palms dropping from the cedar flour bin as she took a slow step forward. "My father never signed those. He died in that fire trying to protect the western gate."

"Your father died because the coven didn't need a broken tool anymore," Tanya spat, her voice ringing off the stone rafters. "The whole bloodline is treasonous, Alpha. She isn't a mate; she's a plant from the eastern border designed to compromise the selection."

Killian’s grip on Eva's wrist froze, the warmth of the golden fire instantly turning to solid ice beneath his skin. His massive shoulders squared, his broad frame locking into a rigid, military stance that completely blocked the light from the main hall fires.

The dominant gold in his pupils began to dim, replaced by a cold, gray stillness that matched the frost on the watchtowers outside. The ancient wolf pride within his blood, hardened by two long years of border slaughter, slammed down like an iron portcullis against the biological tug of the bond.

His face hardened into a mask of pure stone, his jaw setting so tightly that a tiny muscle began to twitch along his jawline. He looked down at Eva’s threadbare clothes and stained apron, his gaze filled with a quiet, supreme disgust that made the remaining kitchen staff shrink back into the shadows.

"The archives don't lie, servant," Killian said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register that sent a shiver through the floorboards.

"They are forged, Alpha," Eva said, her boots slipping on the wet floor as she tried to pull her hand away from his heavy grip. "Tanya’s father took the southern archives after the fire. He was the one who cleared the vault."

"Shut your mouth!" the Chief Beta shouted from the platform, his broadsword clearing the scabbard with a sharp, metallic ring that echoed off the cedar beams. "You don't speak to the Alpha about my family."

Killian didn't look back at the Beta, his fingers tightening around Eva’s wrist until the bone began to ache beneath his pressure. He pulled her forward six inches, forcing her out of the narrow corridor shadow into the direct glare of the hall torches.

The sudden light caught the collar of her frayed tunic, the old fabric shifting aside to reveal the base of her throat.

A tiny, crescent-shaped birthmark began to pulse under her pale skin, emitting a faint, liquid silver luminescence that throbbed in perfect rhythm with the altar’s dying embers.

Killian’s eyes dropped to the mark, his nostrils flaring as the wild scent of pine and silver hit his senses again, louder than before. Thorin scratched violently against his ribs, trying to force his hand to soften, trying to make him pull the Omega into his chest.

Killian forced his arm straight, his fingers turning into an iron vice that completely cut off the circulation to Eva's fingers. He ignored the silver glow, his gaze rising back to her face, his eyes totally dead to the silent plea in her expression.

"My brother died on that southern wall because of the secrets leaked to the coven," Killian said, his voice flat, completely stripped of the wild heat that had filled the room a moment ago.

"I was eight years old," Eva whispered, her left hand reaching for the silver token in her pocket, her fingers trembling against the cold metal disc. "I didn't even know what the eastern border looked like."

"Treason is carried in the blood, Omega," Tanya said, stepping up beside Killian’s shoulder, her silk sleeve brushing his bare arm. "The law of the Blackwood Pack is clear on this point. The children of traitors are stripped of all rights before the full moon."

Eva opened her mouth to speak, her gaze locking onto the council elders who were already nodding and rolling up the ancient law scrolls on the table. "The fire started from the inside of the—"

Killian raised his left hand, his large, scarred palm cutting through the air between them with a brutal, heavy motion that silenced her words instantly.

He didn't speak; he simply held his hand there, a wall of raw physical authority that pressed her back against the rough cedar logs of the flour bins until she couldn't even draw enough breath to finish her defense.