My Sister Stole My Mate, And I Let Her Chapter 475 FUCKING FINALLY

SERAPHINA’S POV

By morning, the word "Sovereign" still felt unreal.

I had barely slept after Kieran carried me back from the northern lake. Each time I closed my eyes, visions of moonlight shimmering on the water would surface, the memory of that molten pain searing down my spine, and Kieran’s hoarse voice uttering words neither of us had been fully prepared to hear.

‘You ascended.’

The silver markings that now adorned my back had fully materialized under the full moon, and my power had settled within me with a disquieting stillness, much like an ocean that had ceased its roaring because its depth was no longer in question.

A silver wolf. A Sovereign-level psychic.

I, who had spent the majority of my life believing myself to be weak and incapable, was suddenly among the most formidable beings in existence. It was a concept I struggled to grasp.

Kieran was perceptive to every moment I drifted too far into my own thoughts.

His hand would seek mine beneath the council table or rest briefly against my lower back, his touch firm enough to ground me without making me feel delicate.

I needed that reassurance more than he knew. Because there was no time to comprehend my transformation before we were compelled to utilize its very essence.

Jack Draven’s public trial was scheduled for noon, three days hence.

Not within the fortified stone confines of the Nightfang dungeons, but in the expansive open square situated in the neutral district adjacent to Griffith Park, where meticulously vetted reporters and civilian observers could witness all proceedings.

It constituted a perilous gamble.

We were not so naive as to believe Marcus and Catherine possessed any genuine concern for Jack; however, we were acutely aware of what he symbolized to them.

Jack held knowledge of their operations. Jack bore the darkness they had instilled. Jack was simultaneously evidence, a weapon, a declared failure, and a carefully placed lure.

Hopefully, it would be sufficient to prompt decisive action.

The square had been secured from every conceivable angle.

Frostbane guards maintained control of the outer perimeter, while Nightfang forces managed the inner perimeter.

Ethan remained positioned near the southern access point with Frostbane warriors, while Maya navigated between security lines and civilian sectors, discreetly coordinating with Nightfang patrols.

Corin’s psychic net extended lightly over the assembly—subtle enough not to arouse suspicion among the innocent, yet keen enough to detect hostile intentions. Alois stood sentinel by the tribunal platform, his pale robes stirring, his unseen wards subtly reinforcing the very stones beneath.

The allied Alphas were also in attendance, strategically deployed throughout the square, serving as pillars of strength and vigilance.

Kieran occupied the central position amidst it all.

Alpha. Judge.

Executioner, should the need arise.

And I stood by his side.

The moment I ascended the platform, a wave of murmurs swept through the crowd.

Awe. Curiosity.

A distinct sense of reverence—almost more unnerving than outright animosity—permeated the atmosphere.

Some individuals gazed at me as if I were a deity they yearned to worship.

Others observed me with an air of expectation, as if still awaiting confirmation that I would not turn against them.

A wry smile touched my lips. The world was still processing the revelation of my silver wolf nature. How would they react if they knew what I had become, quite literally, overnight?

Kieran’s voice pierced through the square before the murmurs could escalate into dissent.

“Bring him forth.”

The iron doors of the temporary holding vehicle creaked open.

Jack Draven was escorted into the square, shackled in silver restraints, shadowed by four guards, and bound so completely that he was virtually carried.

He appeared more disheveled than he had in the interrogation room.

Not enfeebled, but rather unraveling.

Dark veins traced faint, intricate patterns beneath his skin, most pronounced around his throat and wrists. His eyes burned with a feverish light, the shadows within them swirling and restless.

Upon observing the gathered assembly, he managed a smile. Blood surfaced at the corner of his mouth.

“Well,” he rasped, his voice amplified by the stones, “you should have informed me we were having a gathering; I would have donned my finest attire.”

A palpable wave of disgust emanated from the crowd.

Jack’s gaze shifted, eventually settling upon me.

Then, he visibly flinched.

A chilling thread of comprehension weaved through me.

Whatever malevolent force Catherine had implanted within him recognized the profound alteration in my being.

Jack erupted into laughter, unnaturally loud. “Look at you. A significant day for the moon’s favored pet?”

Kieran’s aura intensified, becoming sharp and palpable.

I placed a hand gently on his arm, not to restrain him, but to convey that I was… coping.

Mostly.

Kieran regarded Jack without a trace of emotion.

“Jack Draven,” he declared, each syllable resonating clearly across the expanse of the square. “You are formally accused of conspiracy, human trafficking, abduction, illicit experimentation, murder, the attempted commission of mass violence against allied territories, and collusion with hostile entities operating under the direction of Marcus Draven and Catherine Vale.”

Jack feigned a yawn, stretching exaggeratedly.

“Quite an extensive roster. How long did it take you to commit that to memory?”

Ethan stepped forward, his gaze glacial. “Do you deny coordinating attacks through rogue elements under your command?”

Jack flashed a grin. “That depends entirely on the interrogator.”

“The Alphas representing the allied forces.”

“Then yes, most definitely,” he affirmed, leaning forward as much as the restraints permitted. “I am merely an innocent caught in the jaws of political reprisal.”

A subtle shift rippled through the assembled reporters, their cameras instinctively focusing closer.

Kieran offered a single, decisive nod to Lacy.

Evidence, irrefutable and damning, began to illuminate the vast projection screens encircling the public square.

Records of illicit shipments.

Confidential Wolfsbane documents.

Disturbing footage captured during clandestine raids.

A grim ledger detailing the names of those who had vanished.

Intricate financial trails.

Fragmented audio recordings of intercepted communications.

With each new piece of corroborating proof displayed, a hush descended upon the previously boisterous crowd.

Jack observed the unfolding revelations on the screens with an air of detached cynicism.

Aaron’s name surfaced among the list of victims; however, his personal testimony remained undisclosed, a pact honored to refrain from exploiting Catherine’s victims for public spectacle.

Kieran’s voice retained its steady, unwavering tone.

“Do you still maintain your denial regarding your involvement in these heinous acts?” he inquired.

Jack spat a glob of blood onto the wooden platform beneath him. “I deny your authority to question me.”

A swift blow from a guard’s silver staff struck the back of his knees, causing them to buckle.

Jack crashed to the ground with a sickening thud, his knees shattering upon impact with an audible crack.

A collective gasp swept through the onlookers.

From his prone position, a wheezing, ragged laugh escaped his lips. “There it is,” he choked out. “Justice, served by the law.”

Kieran’s expression remained impassive. “We extended terms to you: cooperation in exchange for leniency.”

Jack managed to lift his head, a creeping darkness clouding his vision.

“Cooperation?” His smile widened, contorting his features. “You mean groveling? You desired me to beg for my pathetic existence, solely so you could posture as a figure of nobility.”

“No,” I interjected, my voice soft but firm.

His gaze snapped towards me, sharp and sudden.

I advanced a step. “We simply sought to ascertain if any shred of worthiness remained within you.”

The mocking smile evaporated from his face.

For a fleeting moment, an almost palpable silence seemed to envelop the square, the world holding its breath around us.

Then, Jack’s face contorted into a snarl. “You believe you frighten me now?” he spat. “My apologies, oh Sovereign one, should I not be trembling in my boots.”

A murmur went through the assembled crowd at his insolent words.

Kieran’s eyes briefly flickered in my direction.

Corin’s presence brushed against my consciousness, a silent and piercing inquiry.

I maintained a facade of outward calm.

Jack leaned forward, his voice escalating in volume. “Your kind revels in fabricated legends. The Silver Wolf. The Sovereign. The Savior. Allow me to illuminate your true nature.” He gestured dismissively towards me with his chin. “She is naught but another predator, cloaking her base desires with more palatable language.”

A palpable darkness began to emanate from him, pulsing with malevolent energy.

My own power responded instinctively, a surge of awareness. I could now perceive the corruption festering within him with chilling clarity—its boundaries, its insatiable hunger, its tendrils reaching out, tethered to something distant, stretching across the void like an obsidian thread fraying at the edge of my perception.

Catherine.

Or perhaps Marcus.

Or maybe even both.

“You still harbor fear,” I stated, my voice barely a whisper.

Jack bared his teeth in a feral grimace. “I am merely bored.”

Kieran moved forward, a grim smile touching his lips. “Fear not, for the excitement is about to commence.”

His voice amplified, resonating across the entire expanse of the field. “For the lives extinguished under your command. For the victims ensnared, mutated, and brutally murdered through your insidious network. For the unprovoked assaults launched against our allied territories and innocent civilians. The tribunal has rendered its verdict: guilty.”

The entire square seemed to draw a collective breath.

Jack’s grin reappeared, yet a distinct tension now tightened his features, his carefully constructed bravado strained against a palpable undercurrent of mounting dread.

“Tribunal,” he sneered. “How utterly quaint.”

Kieran descended from the elevated platform.

A guard presented him with a gleaming silver execution blade.

The metallic rasp of the weapon being drawn from its sheath seemed to cut through the very fabric of the square’s atmosphere.

Reporters jostled forward, their eagerness momentarily halted by the stern intervention of the perimeter guards.

Some members of the crowd averted their gazes, while others remained fixed, their eyes wide.

Jack’s breathing hitched almost imperceptibly, though his eyes remained steely.

“You proclaimed yourself invincible,” Kieran continued, his voice steady. “Under the solemn authority vested in me by the werewolf council, we shall now rigorously test that assertion.”

He positioned himself directly before Jack, the gleaming blade held pointed towards the ground.

“Do you have any final words?”

Jack lifted his chin resolutely. The darkness within his eyes churned violently, a frantic turmoil beneath his defiant facade.

“My father will reduce your precious alliance to cinders,” he vowed. “Catherine shall flay your minds open, transforming everyone you hold dear into mere puppets. And when I inevitably return—”

He turned his chilling smile directly upon me, his fangs elongating and piercing his lips. “I shall commence by tearing apart your beloved son.”

Kieran raised the execution blade.

For one suspended, breathless instant, all focus narrowed to the glint of polished silver, the exposed vulnerability of Jack’s throat, and the whispering wind that swept through the vast square.

Then, an urgent alarm screamed through my senses—a violent rupture tearing open the fabric of reality beneath the southern perimeter.

I spun around sharply. “Kieran!”

Kieran’s blade, poised mere inches from Jack’s neck, froze mid-descent. He turned towards me precisely as the ground erupted violently.

Billowing plumes of black smoke spewed forth from the fractured paving stones as three distinct figures violently breached the protective ward-line from below, shrouded in dark, arcane sigils and emanating the unmistakable stench of forbidden magic.

Alois issued a sharp command.

Corin’s formidable psychic net snapped taut, encompassing the chaotic scene.

Across the square, the swirling smoke coalesced, morphing into the spectral forms of wolves, their eyes hollow voids, their very essence devoid of soul.

The guards surged forward with urgent haste.

The crowd dissolved into pure, unadulterated panic.

Jack threw his head back, erupting into a wild, triumphant peal of laughter. “Finally!”

Marcus, it seemed, had finally decided to make his long-awaited gambit.