The contract was drafted at dawn.
Not in Mooncrest.
Not in rogue lands.
But at the old border shrine where neutral ground was sacred and no blood had been spilled for generations.
If this alliance was to exist—
It would begin where neither pack held power.
Cassian stood to my right.
Draven stood across from me.
The stone altar between us held parchment, ink, and the weight of history.
"You understand," Draven said evenly, "that once signed, this binds you to Mooncrest again."
"No," I corrected calmly. "It binds Mooncrest to me."
A flicker of reluctant admiration crossed his face.
The High Elder—summoned reluctantly at sunrise—cleared her throat. "State the terms formally."
I stepped forward.
My voice did not shake.
"Clause One. I return to Mooncrest as Luna by authority, not by mate claim alone. My decisions stand equal to the Alpha's in matters of governance, defense, and law."
Murmurs rose behind Draven.
He did not silence them.
He simply nodded once.
"Accepted."
His Betas stiffened.
Cassian's gaze remained unreadable.
"Clause Two," I continued. "The rejection ritual will be investigated. If foul play is discovered, the guilty party will face exile or execution."
Draven's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Accepted."
He knew.
Or suspected.
"Clause Three," I said, meeting his eyes directly, "the mate bond will not be re-sealed until I give verbal consent before the pack."
A bold demand.
Gasps rippled across both sides.
An Alpha could claim his mate at will.
But this would not be claimed.
It would be chosen.
Draven held my gaze for a long moment.
Then—
"Accepted."
The word was low. Rougher than before.
The Elder dipped her quill into ink. "Final clause?"
The clearing fell silent.
This one mattered most.
"If at any point I am undermined, dismissed, or publicly dishonored again," I said steadily, "the contract dissolves. I walk free. No retaliation."
The wind shifted through the trees.
Draven stepped closer to the altar.
"So you trust me that little?" he asked quietly.
"I trust what you've shown me," I replied.
Pain flickered in his eyes.
He took the quill.
Signed.
Draven Blackthorn.
Alpha of Mooncrest.
Bound.
The Elder handed the quill to me.
For a heartbeat, I hesitated—not from doubt, but from awareness.
Once signed, there was no pretending this was simple revenge.
This was strategy.
Power.
And perhaps…
Something still unfinished between us.
I signed.
Aria Vale.
The parchment shimmered faintly as moonlight caught fresh ink.
It was done.
As the formalities ended, warriors began dispersing to prepare for travel.
Mooncrest wolves avoided my gaze.
Rogues did not.
Cassian remained beside me until the last signature dried.
"You don't have to do this," he said quietly, voice meant only for me.
"I know."
"You could stay. Build something new."
His offer wasn't dramatic.
It was steady.
Real.
And that made it harder.
"I need answers," I admitted. "And Mooncrest is where they're buried."
Cassian studied me for a long moment.
"If he hurts you again…"
"He won't," I said.
Not because I trusted Draven blindly.
But because I was no longer powerless.
Cassian's jaw flexed once.
Then he nodded.
"I'll hold you to that, Silver."
It was the first time he'd called me that without irony.
I almost smiled.
When I turned, Draven was watching us.
Not with fury.
With calculation.
And something darker.
Jealousy.
The mate bond stirred sharply as I approached him.
"We leave within the hour," he said.
"You assume I ride with you."
A faint edge touched his tone. "You are my—"
He stopped himself.
Careful.
Progress.
"I would prefer you at my side," he corrected.
Better.
I stepped closer until only inches separated us.
"You will have to learn the difference," I murmured, "between preference and command."
His breath hitched almost imperceptibly.
For the first time since I'd known him—
Draven Blackthorn looked unsure.
Not weak.
Not broken.
Just… aware.
Aware that I was no longer beneath him.
The journey back to Mooncrest would not be triumphant.
It would not be romantic.
It would be tense.
Strategic.
And watched by every wolf who once saw me kneeling in the dirt.
But this time—
I would not kneel.
And when I crossed that border again—
It would be as the storm he failed to recognize.