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... moon warriors lined the treeline, their postures rigid, hands resting casually—too casually—on the hilts of their weapons. They weren’t stupid. They had heard the whispers, the stories about the Blood Moon Pack. About Jesse.

About me.

I stood at the head of them, my shoulders squared, my chin high. Dressed in my training gear—black leather pants, matching jacket, boots that crushed the dry leaves underfoot—I felt every inch the Beta they expected me to be.

Unshakable.

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