My Sister Stole My Mate, And I Let Her Chapter 470 CALAMITY WOLF

SERAPHINA’S POV

The alliance meeting commenced three hours following Marcus’ interview.

Three hours brimming with utter chaos.

Three hours during which headlines mutated at a speed far exceeding any possibility of containment.

Three hours of witnessing the world's swift judgment on my being, even before I had uttered a single word.

By the time I entered Nightfang’s council chamber, the palpable tension in the air felt so dense it physically pressed against my chest, thick enough to make breathing a struggle.

As I walked in, not a single soul rose to their feet.

This was not an act of disrespect,

but rather because every Alpha present was utterly captivated, their gazes fixed upon the numerous screens adorning the far wall.

The words ’Silver Wolf’ scrolled relentlessly across the lower third of these screens.

News anchors’ voices droned on, their faces etched with urgency and a discernible hint of excitement.

Territory broadcasts commanded the room’s attention, each one flashing urgent banners and dire warnings.

Human commentators were earnestly discussing ancient werewolf myths as if they had suddenly transformed into pressing geopolitical concerns.

Some observers appeared fascinated.

Others seemed utterly terrified.

A select few displayed a look of... hunger.

That final observation unsettled me the most.

As I approached, Kieran inclined his head and pulled out the chair positioned beside him. His hand briefly brushed the small of my back as I sat, offering a fleeting moment of grounding before the cacophony of the room re-enveloped me.

“They are delving deep into historical records,” Ethan murmured from his position across the table. “Half the internet is convinced that silver wolves are divine protectors, while the other half is convinced Sera is going to start preying on civilians under the full moon.”

“It is rather naive of them to assume I require a full moon for such actions,” I remarked with dry sarcasm.

A few strained chuckles rippled through the room.

Yet, there were not many. None of the individuals present possessed the relaxed state of mind for humor to land effectively.

Corin, positioned near the far end of the table, leaned back in his chair. His fingers were steepled beneath his chin as he intently observed another broadcast.

“Their fear stems from uncertainty,” he stated calmly. “Rogue wolves can be understood, even explained. But the unknown? The mythical? Humanity will invariably fear the specter of the bogeyman more than a man standing in plain sight, armed with a weapon.”

His words struck perilously close to the truth.

Marcus had effectively dismantled my identity. I was no longer Seraphina.

I had become the Silver Wolf, an ancient, mythical predator.

And the public recoiled from legends more readily than from any blade or bullet.

Alpha Idris exhaled sharply. “We must counter this narrative immediately.”

“With what means?” Alpha Callister inquired. “Are we to issue statements?”

“We should release further evidence implicating Marcus.”

“That has already been done.”

“It was insufficient.”

“Do you truly believe a collection of documents and photographs will effectively divert the public’s attention from widespread hysteria?”

The meeting rapidly devolved into disarray thereafter.

Arguments became a tangled mess, overlapping and drowning one another out.

Suggestions were presented, only to collide with opposing viewpoints.

One individual proposed releasing footage captured during the rogue attacks.

Another suggested the public display of confiscated wolfsbane shipments.

Alpha Mirek advocated for Aaron’s immediate presentation before the cameras.

This particular suggestion caused a distinct hesitation to fill the room.

Aaron, the living testament. A survivor of Catherine’s cruel experiments, currently present and alive within Nightfang territory.

Mirek folded his arms resolutely. “His testimony would publicly dismantle Marcus’s credibility.”

“Assuming, of course, that the public chooses to believe him,” Alpha Helen countered with sharp skepticism.

“Sera managed to convince us,” Callister interjected. “She could undoubtedly convince the public as well.”

At this remark, a heavy silence descended more profoundly upon the room.

This was because everyone present understood the implicit implication.

It wasn’t merely about exposing Catherine and Marcus’s atrocities to the world; it entailed stepping forward and actively embracing the very narrative Marcus himself had so carefully constructed.

The narrative that I was fundamentally different, possessed of inexplicable powers. That I held the ability to delve into someone’s mind and extract their deepest, most terrifying horrors.

While this approach could potentially aid our cause, it possessed an equal potential to firmly solidify my newly acquired identity as that of a monstrous entity.

Kieran’s jaw tightened noticeably beside me.

“We do not parade victims about like mere political pawns,” he stated with icy coldness. “And we certainly will not be exhibiting Sera’s abilities as if she were some sort of circus performer.”

“I am not advocating for exploitation,” Callister argued defensively. “I am merely suggesting—”

“Aaron barely survived the atrocities inflicted upon him,” Kieran interrupted, his voice leaving no room for further debate. “He is off-limits, and that decision is final.”

No one spoke subsequent to this declaration. Despite the prevailing tension, none dared to openly challenge Kieran when he adopted such a resolute tone.

Nevertheless, the underlying concept lingered persistently within the chamber.

From a strategic standpoint, it held undeniable logic.

Publicly expose the horrific acts committed.

Incite widespread public outrage.

Utterly destroy Marcus’s credibility.

A method that seemed simple and clean.

But fraught with considerable danger.

“Kieran is correct,” I stated quietly, my fingers tightening their grip on the edge of the table. “If we were to parade Aaron around, we would be walking directly into Marcus’s meticulously laid trap.”

I pressed on, ensuring my words continued before anyone could interject.

“Indeed, the revelation of the experiments would undoubtedly horrify people,” I conceded. “The majority would publicly condemn them. Governments would launch investigations. Territories would issue denunciations. Human authorities would undoubtedly descend into panic.”

I surveyed the room, my gaze sweeping carefully across each individual.

“However, not everyone would react with such condemnation.”

A noticeable shift occurred across several faces, and abruptly, the encompassing silence took on a distinctly colder, more ominous quality.

“There are influential individuals,” I stated softly, “who, upon hearing of soul reconstruction, advanced resurrection techniques, psychic conditioning, and experimentation, would immediately contemplate their own exploitation of these methods.”

The room descended into a profound silence, as if each person present had forgotten the simple act of breathing.

This was because every single one of them acknowledged the correctness of my assertion.

My thoughts drifted to the discreet auctions held at the inn.

To the depraved Alphas, such as Marcus.

To the affluent humans procuring supernatural artifacts through clandestine channels.

To those who invariably believed that rules were established for others, but not for themselves.

“Marcus and Catherine have managed to remain concealed for this long because they comprehend the nature of greed,” I explained. “If we reveal everything abruptly, we won’t merely incite outrage. We will spark immense interest.”

A somber expression settled upon Helen’s face.

“Buyers on the black market,” she whispered.

“Precisely.”

“The military will be interested, too,” Idris added ominously.

Corin nodded in agreement. “Private research divisions. Political organizations. Even human governments seeking to weaponize immortality before any rival does.”

These pronouncements resonated heavily within the confines of the room.

Once articulated, the inherent consequences became impossible to dismiss.

Beneath the table, Kieran’s grip on my hand intensified.

“We would essentially be providing their clandestine operation a grand stage,” I declared.

Callister leaned back deliberately, the lines of tension becoming starkly etched upon his features.

“So what then?” he inquired. “We simply… take no action?”

“No,” I responded decisively. “We must devise a method to disseminate the truth with utmost caution.”

Ethan ran a hand across his face. “That’s going to be incredibly challenging when a significant portion of the world already perceives you as an ancient goddess of destruction.”

“Only half?” I quipped under my breath.

This remark finally elicited a genuine laugh from him.

Then, the images displayed on the screens underwent another transformation.

A broadcaster materialized, discussing ancient silver wolf records that had been unearthed from the archives of old territories.

Behind her, vibrantly painted depictions of silver wolves from various historical eras flashed across the screen.

Some exuded an aura of regality.

Others appeared monstrous and terrifying.

One particular illustration portrayed a silver wolf standing triumphantly amidst a scene of utter devastation on what seemed to be a battlefield, its fangs dripping with freshly spilled blood.

The accompanying caption read: SILVER WOLF OR WOLF OF CALAMITY?

I found myself fixated on the image for an extended period, a sharp, painful constriction seizing the base of my throat.

Kieran’s thumb gently caressed my knuckles, drawing my focus back to him.

“Don’t,” he advised me softly. “That depiction does not represent who you are.”

I took a slow, measured breath. “I am aware.”

Yet, a disquieting chill began to unfurl within my core, sharp and unavoidable.

Marcus had not conjured this pervasive fear from thin air.

History itself had already laid a significant portion of the groundwork for his narrative.

Not every silver wolf had been consigned to memory with reverence.

Indeed, some had been demonstrably aggressive and volatile, their immense power proving too overwhelming to control.

I counted myself fortunate to have discovered such a robust support network to guide me through my own transformation. Without the steadfast presence of Corin, Alois, Kieran, Christian, and even the often-unpredictable Lucian, I could have just as easily succumbed to madness.

Suddenly, Lacy burst into the room with such haste that she nearly stumbled into the doorframe.

Every head in the room turned towards her instantaneously.

The young technician appeared visibly pale, and… not precisely frightened, but rather utterly stunned.

“My apologies,” she stammered, catching her breath. “It’s just—you all need to witness this.”

Ethan’s brow furrowed. “Witness what, exactly?”

Without offering a verbal response, Lacy moved swiftly to the nearest console and began typing with incredible speed.

All the screens within the room flickered erratically. Then, their content changed.

Initially, all that greeted my vision was darkness. Then, static.

Chaotic camera movements followed.

The recording appeared to be from a shaky, handheld camera.

Abruptly, the image stabilized—

And my eyes widened in sheer astonishment.