My Sister Stole My Mate, And I Let Her Chapter 469 HOMICIDAL LUNAR PSYCOPATH

SERAPHINA’S POV

The atmosphere at Nightfang felt charged and different the following morning. A palpable tension, akin to the hushed seconds before an object shatters, permeated the air.

Upon entering the operations room, I found every monitor along the far wall already ablaze with news headlines, interview excerpts, declarations of territory, and a swift-spreading tide of commentary from both human and werewolf populations. Lacy, a Nightfang technician, looked up from her console, her eyes etched with fatigue. “You’re precisely on time, Luna,” she stated grimly. “It’s best you witness this as it unfolds.”

Kieran stood by the central table with Ethan and Corin, their collective gaze fixed on a screen, their expressions tightening something deep within my chest. “What’s happening?” I inquired.

All three turned towards me, their identical grim visages causing my breath to hitch. I followed their stare to the screen, and comprehension dawned. Marcus Draven’s image filled the display, framed from the chest up within an opulent corporate conference setting. He presented the image of a distinguished, polished Alpha, a stark contrast to his true role as the clandestine orchestrator of trafficking rings, rogue operations, disappearances, and the atrocities Catherine had endured.

“I hold no involvement in the internal directives of rogue factions,” Marcus stated with practiced smoothness. “Nor do I intend to intercede in disputes fabricated by the machinations of territorial politics.”

Fabricated. My jaw clenched.

An off-screen reporter’s voice cut through the air. “Then what is your response to Alpha Kieran Blackthorne publicly implicating your organization with your son, Jack Draven, and his extensive criminal record?”

Marcus let out a sigh, measured and weary, like a businessman weary of petulant subordinates. “Jack Draven is a rogue who has not been under my command for a considerable duration,” he declared. “Should he have committed transgressions, he must bear accountability himself.”

I let out an incredulous scoff. Marcus was publicly disavowing Jack. Not for self-preservation, but to send a message: Jack was disposable.

The stark realization plunged me back into the grim memory of the dungeon for a fleeting, agonizing moment. ‘My father needs me.’ No. Marcus required instruments. Pawns. Weapons.

The reporter pressed further. “So you deny all complicity?”

“I deny the increasingly alarmist narrative being propagated by Nightfang and its affiliates,” Marcus replied with unsettling calm. “What concerns me more profoundly is the perilous escalation being instigated by Alpha Blackthorne and his…” He paused, a flicker of disdain crossing his features, before concluding, “…Luna.”

My teeth ground together. He hadn’t directly insulted me or my title, but his contempt was unmistakable to anyone, even a child.

His gaze shifted subtly, directed towards the camera, and it felt as though he were looking directly at me, a chilling sensation prickling beneath my skin. “The emergence of a silver wolf, long relegated to myth for generations, has understandably sparked considerable fascination,” he continued. “However, history has repeatedly demonstrated that power wielded without restraint invariably precipitates catastrophe, in both human and werewolf civilizations.”

My stomach plummeted. Kieran became unnervingly rigid. Ethan’s muttered curse echoed within the operations room. Corin’s expression hardened into a mask of lethal intent.

A wave of hushed murmurs swept through the assembled reporters. One voice rose above the din. “Pardon me—did you just confirm the existence of a silver wolf?” Another quickly followed. “Who is this silver wolf?” “Are you referencing a specific individual?” “Is this connected to Nightfang?”

Marcus blinked, as if just realizing the extent of his implication. Then, a chuckle escaped him, a sound that seemed to slither under my skin. “Oh,” he said with feigned lightness, shaking his head with cultivated amusement. “I hadn't realized that particular detail was not yet in the public domain.”

Leaning back in his chair, Marcus appeared entirely at ease amidst the erupting frenzy. “Well,” he stated smoothly, “given that the information seems to be circulating among the allied territories already… yes, Luna Seraphina is the silver wolf.”

The press room erupted in chaos. Questions crashed over each other in a torrent. “Luna Seraphina?” “Are you asserting Nightfang deliberately concealed this?” “Is the silver wolf linked to the recent military offensive?”

I barely registered the subsequent inquiries. A profound, cold heaviness settled within me, so intense that I shivered. It wasn't the revelation itself that terrified me. The allied forces were already aware. Elements within OTS knew. But this was not the manner in which I wished the truth to be unveiled. Not as an instrument of aggression. Not distorted into an object of fear before I had the chance to speak for myself.

“In any case, as I was articulating,” Marcus continued, dismissing the barrage of questions concerning the bombshell he had just detonated. “We are now witnessing an increasingly emotional military campaign driven not by verifiable facts or legal processes, but by fear, retribution, and a thirst for bloodshed.”

Alina stirred restlessly within me. ‘Let him speak such words to my face,’ she hissed. ‘I will show him bloodlust.’

“I have concerns,” Marcus stated cautiously, “that Alpha Blackthorne’s judgment might be compromised by personal feelings. This is especially true when his Luna seems intent on resolving every dispute through aggression.”

Ethan let out a disbelieving, harsh laugh.

“Aggression?” he retorted sharply. “After all they have inflicted upon us?”

However, Marcus wasn't addressing individuals privy to the full narrative.

“Numerous historical accounts,” Marcus continued, “detail the inherent instability found in powerful wolves strongly influenced by lunar cycles. This manifests as heightened aggression, emotional turbulence, and possessive territorial urges.”

A cold dread settled in my stomach.

A reporter inquired tactfully, “Are you implying that Luna Seraphina poses a threat?”

Marcus allowed a brief, pregnant silence to hang in the air before answering.

“I am suggesting,” he replied placidly, “that this sudden impetus towards conflict might stem less from a pursuit of justice and more from the insatiable, destructive urges of a supernatural predator unseen for generations.”

The atmosphere in the room erupted.

With a forceful slam, Ethan struck the table, causing the laptops to jump. “That damned—”

Kieran’s aura flared with such intensity that the lights above flickered erratically. Ashar’s presence pressed against me, a palpable heat radiating into my side. Despite my rising anger, my mind remained sharp. Beneath Marcus’s carefully crafted rhetoric, I recognized his true objective: to incite fear. Not of me directly, but of what I symbolized. A silver wolf. An unknown power. Easily mythologized and subsequently weaponized. This was particularly potent following the public panic generated by Jack’s attacks, which had already thrown everything into disarray. Marcus sought to redirect this prevailing fear before we could establish our own narrative. If Marcus could paint me as unstable, bloodthirsty, and corrupted by power, then every subsequent action we took would be met with doubt and opposition.

The interview proceeded.

Marcus clasped his hands together neatly. “If Alpha Blackthorne genuinely seeks peace, he ought to reconsider placing emotionally volatile individuals in charge of military strategy. It is a lamentable state of affairs when an Alpha allows himself to be swayed into complacency.”

Kieran moved with startling speed, before I had even registered his intent. His fist connected with the television, shattering it against the wall. The damaged screen flickered with faint sparks before going completely dark. For a moment, an oppressive silence descended upon the room.

“Public opinion is already fragmenting,” Lacy reported delicately, sliding another tablet towards us. “While most allied territories remain supportive of Nightfang, the interview’s narrative is rapidly gaining traction in neutral regions.”

I quickly scanned the incoming feedback. Some offered immediate defenses of our position. Others questioned the composed demeanor of Marcus, who was leveling such accusations. Disturbingly, a few headlines had already begun to twist into something far more sinister. SILVER LUNA PROPELS TOWARDS WAR. WHAT OTHER SECRETS DOES NIGHTFANG HARBOR? THE REAWAKENING OF PRIMORDIAL WOLF INSTABILITY? I couldn’t suppress a laugh, a sound that struck my own ears as shrill and bordering on unhinged. Corin appeared beside me, his presence a quiet comfort. “You’re disassociating,” he murmured. I snorted. Perhaps I was. Suddenly, I recalled standing before reporters mere days ago, assuring rogue civilians of our intention to protect them as well. Who would seek my protection now? “He’s afraid,” I whispered. Ethan regarded me with an expression suggesting he believed I had lost my sanity. “Afraid?” he echoed. “Sera, he just publicly branded you a homicidal lunar psychopath.” I stifled a chuckle. “He’s altering the strategic landscape,” I explained, more to myself than to anyone else. “Jack’s apprehension was a significant blow to them. He realizes public favor shifted towards us too rapidly. Now, he’s attempting to make people fear what’s coming more than they fear him.” Kieran’s gaze remained fixed on me. “He also wants you enraged,” he stated softly. I offered a faint smile and intertwined my hand with his, my thumb gently stroking the abrasions on his knuckles. “Well, he certainly succeeded in making you angry.” He exhaled slowly through his nose. “Sera—” “This is war,” I declared, my voice barely above a whisper. “We anticipated taking some hits.” Kieran drew me closer, until our chests met. His voice dropped to a level audible only to me. “Tell me what you require.” What did I require? Marcus grasped a fundamental truth that eluded many. Wars are not won solely through superior might; they are triumphed through the management of perception. He craved a spectacle, aiming to present the populace with a more terrifying monster. His miscalculation was profound. I had spent the majority of my existence evading individuals who desired either my silence or my destruction. I understood how to withstand hatred. The notion that he believed he could destabilize me was patently false. “Arrange a meeting with the Alphas,” I instructed. “We must determine our subsequent course of action.”