There were two reasons for this secrecy. First, the revelation would only worsen their situation, especially now that they were being targeted by forces Greg decided to align himself with. Second, making Claire’s identity public would only embolden her further.
She was already acting like a tyrant under the title of "Alpha Zion’s future Luna," throwing her weight around and causing trouble. If people knew who she truly was, would she try to rule over everyone like she owned the entire pack?
Still, Levi allowed her to run rampant—because this was Zion’s plan. It was his decision to hide Claire’s true identity to hide her in the pack. So if anyone deserved to bear the consequences of that choice, it was Zion. Let him be the one to deal with the chaos and discomfort. Let him suffer the consequences firsthand. In Levi’s mind, this was the best way to teach Zion a much-needed lesson.
It might seem harsh of Levi to treat his own Alpha this way, but in his eyes, Zion had brought it upon himself by bringing such a woman into their pack. And if anyone deserved to endure the consequences of Claire’s actions and be tortured, it was Zion. Zion knew this too—he wasn’t blind to Levi’s subtle jabs or the silent ways he sought retribution on Addison’s behalf.
Zion accepted it without resistance. After all, his own misjudgnts and decisions had led to the situation they were in. He knew he had no one else to bla.
More than that, the Alpha King had yet to retrieve his daughter. That, in itself, was a ssage. By leaving Claire in Zion’s care, the Alpha King was entrusting—or burdening—him with the responsibility. Zion couldn’t simply cast her out. Not unless the Alpha King personally ca to reclaim her, or Claire chose to leave on her own.
But having her around was nothing short of torture. Claire was constantly scheming, trying to manipulate her way into his bed. There was one mont Zion would never forget—a mont that nearly shattered his self-control. She had boldly entered his room while he was showering, crept up behind him, and wrapped her arms around him with clear intent.
At that ti, Zion had been lost in a mory of Addison, their shared passion still vivid in his mind. The physical response that followed was instinctive. But the second he realized it was Claire behind him, revulsion shot through him like ice in his veins.
He threw her off imdiately, his arousal dying just as fast as it ca. The thought of another woman touching him—especially soone like Claire—made his skin crawl. From that day on, he doubled the lock on his door.
He had nearly killed Claire that day when she pulled that stunt—only stopping himself at the last second as his composure returned. Claire had burst into tears, crying like a delicate pear blossom in spring. Her wide, doe-like eyes shimred with tears, full of grievance and false innocence as she whispered, "Zion, I just like you so much."
Zion had never despised those words more in his life. The sheer revulsion that gripped him sent him storming out of the packhouse. He ran the length of the pack’s borders, trying to calm the storm inside him—but fate gave him another outlet.
A rogue attack had broken out nearby, and Zion unleashed all his fury, disgust, and rejection into the slaughter. The rogues never stood a chance. By the ti the warriors arrived to clean up, the scene looked less like a battlefield and more like a massacre.
Limbs were torn apart, bodies mangled beyond recognition. One of the rogue’s intestines had been flung so violently they were tangled in the branches like grotesque garlands. A severed head, nearly overlooked, was only found thanks to the trail of blood that led into a thicket.
Everyone who saw the aftermath rembered that day clearly—when their Alpha was uncharacteristically brutal and seething with a fury that chilled their blood to the bones. No one dared breathe too loudly in his presence for fear of becoming the next target of his wrath.
But Levi? When Zion told him what had happened, Levi simply snorted, rolled his eyes, and said, "Serves you right."
That was it.
Shura instantly sprang up in Zion’s mind, his fur bristling and claws ready, furious and itching to pounce on Levi then and there. But Zion couldn’t even bring himself to be mad. Not really. Because deep down, he knew Levi was right—he had brought this problem back to the pack with his own hands.
After that incident, Zion doubled the locks on his door and stopped going back to his room altogether. He spent most nights in his office, drowning himself in work, or lying awake in his chair, unable to sleep—not from insomnia, but from disgust. Every ti he closed his eyes, he rembered that unwanted touch, and it made his skin crawl all over again.
Not long after, Zion finally returned to his Alpha Suite. He closed the door behind him, locked it securely, and collapsed onto the bed. Curling up against the covers, he drew in a deep breath, searching for any lingering trace of Addison’s scent. Maybe there was nothing left after all these years—maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him—but he swore he could still catch the faintest hint of her intoxicating fragrance: warm vanilla, soft milk, and a whisper of cinnamon.
That scent used to soothe him... and tornt him.
It comforted his heart, yet stirred sothing deeper—his longing, his guilt, his unquenched desire. And with his body finally reaching its limit, Zion drifted into sleep without even realizing it.
When he opened his eyes, the sky outside had already gone dark. The breeze pushed gently against the curtains of the open window, making them flutter like restless ghosts. But sothing was wrong.
There was weight on his chest.
Zion, still lying on his back, blinked once, and then again. His instincts sharpened as his gaze shifted. A woman was straddling him, her body pressed over his, her hands exploring too familiarly.
His expression darkened in an instant. His brows furrowed as anger surged through him. Without hesitation, Zion moved to push the woman off.
"Shhh... baby, don’t move."
Zion froze.
That voice—he could never mistake it. It was etched into his very soul, haunting his dreams, lingering in every shadow of his mory. His breath caught in his throat as his chest rose and fell with uneven, ragged breaths. And then he slled it—faint but unmistakable. That intoxicating scent: warm vanilla, soft milk, and a subtle hint of cinnamon.
"Adi..." he croaked, barely able to form the word.
But before he could say more, she rolled her hips forward, grinding her warm, slick core against his rock-hard cock—and only then did he realize they were both completely naked.
His pulse pounded in his ears. The air around him felt heavy, surreal. Addison—his Addison—was straddling him. She leaned down, and as the moonlight spilled through the curtains, it painted her face in silver light, revealing her features in vivid detail.
She was beautiful. Familiar. And yet... different.
Her golden eyes glead with a molten fire he didn’t recognize. Her silver hair cascaded down her shoulders in waves, but sothing in her aura had shifted. This wasn’t the timid yet competent Addison he rembered. This woman was bold. Confident. Daring. A version of her he had never seen before—flamboyant and in control.
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