Chapter 722:

🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙

The words struck him like a physical blow. Through our mate-bond, I felt Ragnar let out a soul-tearing howl of agony. The threat of a severed bond was the ultimate terror for a Lycan. Dallas crushed me against his chest, burying his face in my neck. His massive frame shook as he held me, his grip so tight it bruised.

For a second, I thought he would stay. But the primal need to protect his family won. He pulled away, his eyes dark with unshed tears, and walked out the heavy oak door without looking back.

I stood in the dark, listening to his heavy combat boots fade down the corridor. I wiped my tears, my wolfless heart hardening into solid ice. I was not going to be a waiting widow.

I returned straight to the makeshift medical and supply room. Alistair Croft looked up from the stainless-steel counter as I pushed the door open.

“He’s gone,” I said coldly. “We have three hours before he hits that black-site. Finish the disguise.”

𝖬𝗼𝗿𝘦 𝗻𝗼vе𝗅s 𝘰ո 𝘨аlno𝘷𝗲𝗅s.𝘤о𝗺

Alistair didn’t argue. He pulled the remaining medical-grade silicone and chemical solvents from the refrigerator. For the next three hours, I endured the agonizing pull of the final layers being molded over my cheekbones and jawline. Alistair injected me with a heavy dose of military-grade scent blockers, completely burying my Moonflower scent and pregnancy hormones. He replaced them with the sharp, expensive perfume of Professor Beatrice Vance — the High Council’s corrupt medical director.

I stood before the brightly lit mirror. The pregnant, wolfless Luna was gone. Staring back at me was an arrogant, untouchable aristocrat.

I adjusted the collar of my dark, tailored suit, practicing Beatrice’s icy, condescending glare and the rigid posture of a High Council elite. Dallas was driving straight into a slaughterhouse to draw their fire, completely unaware that the enemy VIP walking into his kill box tonight would be his own wife.

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