C2

"Just so you know, my skills with the skillet are legendary. I can scent the perfect sear on bacon from a mile away," Johanna said. I nodded, a genuine smile tugging at my lips as a wave of belonging washed over me. Like a pup following the Alpha into the den, I trailed her into the kitchen, watching as she cracked the eggs into the sizzling iron pan.

The air quickly filled with the rich, salty aroma of a successful hunt.

As she tossed the bacon in, Johanna asked with a casual flick of her ears, "Why did you stay behind? I thought you’d be out in the Citadel with Lila, finding your footing. You don't have a pack of peers here in the North yet. It’s vital for a wolf of your rank to forge alliances."

The scent of the cooking meat was intoxicating, but Johanna’s question pulled me back to earth. I couldn't exactly tell her that Lila’s friends smelled of stagnant water and vanity. I simply leaned against the stone counter. "I’ve been scouring the recruitment links for the local design houses. My wolf is used to the hunt of a career; I don't feel right just idling in the den. Besides, spending the entire sun-cycle with Lila makes my hackles rise a bit—I'm just not used to that pace."

It was the truth. I wasn't built for the leisurely life of a High Luna's daughter. I’d been working since I could shift, and if I stopped now, I’d feel like a stray with no purpose. Johanna turned off the heat and studied me for a long moment, her eyes reflecting a pride I wasn't used to seeing.

She saw herself in me. While Lila was a pampered princess who had never known a hard winter, I had the grit of a wolf who had survived the frost. Lila’s lack of ambition had never bothered them before—they only wanted her happy—but seeing my fire was a different kind of joy for Johanna.

"I know your history with the looms and fabrics in the South. I’ve seen the sketches you sent to the Seacisco artisans; you have a rare gift for weaving the spirit of the wolf into your work," Johanna said, stepping forward to clasp my hand. Her palms were warm. "If you need tribute to start your own house or the favor of a High Alpha to open doors, just speak it. Our family blood runs deep through the textile trade here."

"I appreciate it. If the trail gets too steep, I’ll howl for help," I replied, focus shifting back to the breakfast.

I thought it was just morning talk, but Johanna was already laying the tracks for my debut. Two days later, she presented me with a gold-leafed invitation to a High-Caste summit for the Northern fashion elite. She wanted me to shift from a hidden pup to a recognized force in the Barnes Citadel.

"Mrs. White, I haven't even decided if I'm marking my territory in the North permanently," I said, looking at the invitation with a mix of dread and amusement. I had Logan and Ruth Miller to think about; my heart was still tied to the South.

Johanna had her own designs, though. She wanted me in the North, far away from Logan Pierce. She clearly viewed him as a predator who had caught me in a trap, and she hoped the prestige of Barnes would break his hold on me.

"I'm not saying you have to stay, but a wise wolf expands her hunting grounds. Barnes might not have the flash of the Southern cities, but our designers have bloodlines that go back centuries. There is much to learn," she said with a knowing smile.

Unwilling to offend the woman who had spent twenty years mourning me, I agreed.

At the summit, I followed Johanna through a sea of silk and fur, meeting the titans of the Northern industry.

"This is Master Smith. He’s the lead visionary for the 'Lunar Silhouette' line that’s been dominating the Great Houses lately," Johanna introduced us with effortless grace.

Lila was lurking in the shadows, her eyes burning with a desperate need to see me stumble. She had spent her life rubbing shoulders with these Alphas, and she’d brought along a pack of her own friends—daughters of wealthy merchants who had been sent to the finest finishing dens abroad.

"Mother, Brooke is barely out of her training. Don't you think it’s a bit cruel to throw her in with Alphas who have been shaping trends since before she could shift?" Lila whispered, her voice dripping with fake concern. She was practically vibrating with the hope that I’d say something "low-blood" and embarrass the White name.

"My trust in her is absolute," Johanna replied, her tone as cold as a mountain peak.

Lila’s jaw tightened. Johanna had never spoken of her with that kind of iron-clad certainty.

Master Smith was a notoriously arrogant wolf who usually bared his teeth at anyone trying to flatter him. He only spoke to me because of Johanna’s rank, but after a few minutes of discussing the structural integrity of reinforced pelts, his ears perked up. "I remember a specific piece from the Seacisco Fashion Moon. A slate-grey wrap with hidden silver threading. Was that yours?"

"It was. I was trying to capture the way moonlight hits a moving coat," I said, my voice steady despite the eyes on me.

"The way you chose the weave... it emulated the fluidity of a wolf in mid-stride perfectly," Smith noted, raising his glass to me. Suddenly, the focus of the entire room shifted. The "Stray of the South" was actually a prodigy.

Lila stood in the corner, her glass of wine shaking in her hand. This wasn't the script she had written. I was thriving in a conversation she couldn't even follow.

"When I look at Brooke, I see my own reflection in the hunt," Johanna said aloud, making sure the room heard. Lila felt like she was being erased. She realized then that her beauty was just a mask, while my talent was a weapon. She also noticed that the young Alphas who used to flock to her were now scenting the air toward me.

Johanna eventually moved off to greet other guests, leaving me to navigate the swarm. Lila was left isolated on a velvet bench, her status as the "White Daughter" having been officially revoked by the social elite.

I saw Levi Glyn approaching. He had been Lila’s most devoted shadow for years. His family had made their fortune in territory development, and Lila had always looked down on him as a "new-blood" upstart. But with no one else talking to her, she tried to catch his eye.

"Levi, a surprise to see you here. I thought you preferred the training pits to the ballroom," Lila said, forcing a smile.

Levi barely looked at her, his scent indifferent. "My father insisted. He said Luna White would be here to present the true heir."

Lila’s smile faltered. "Yes, Mother loves these spectacles."

Levi didn't even bother with a perfunctory reply. He took a sip of his wine and turned his gaze toward me. "Excuse me. I should offer my respects to the lady of the hour."

Lila watched in horror as Levi marched straight to me, his tail practically wagging. "Miss White, I'm Levi Glyn. Our territories border one another. I heard you’re new to the Barnes frost. If you need a guide to show you the hidden paths of the city, my frequency is yours."

Lila bit her lip until she tasted copper. Every wolf who had once faked loyalty to her was now fawning over me. The resentment turned into a cold, hard stone in her chest.

"Miss White, if you need rare silks for your looms, my pack controls the northern trade routes," one supplier offered.

"My house has the most skilled seamstresses in the Citadel. They are yours to command," another added.

I knew this wasn't about me; it was about the power of the White name. "I'll keep your offers in mind," I said with a polite nod.

Suddenly, a sharp howl of excitement broke out near the entrance. "He’s here! The Great Architect is here!"

The massive oak doors swung open, and the room went silent. Even the most arrogant Alphas lowered their heads slightly.

A man stepped into the dim light of the hall, his presence so commanding it felt like a physical pressure. He wore a black suit that looked like it was tailored from shadow itself, a faint mole on the bridge of his nose adding a touch of character to his strikingly handsome face.

"Is that... Draco Wesley?" someone whispered.

"I thought he was presiding over the Paris Citadel. Why would a wolf of his stature return to the Barnes frost?"

I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. I knew him from every design scroll I’d ever studied. Draco Wesley. The Alpha of Alphas in the fashion world. A genius who treated fabric like a spiritual calling. He was thirty-two, the head of the 'W Marks' empire, and a male who lived in the fantasies of every female in the Shifter world.

When I was just a pup in training, I read an interview where he said design was the "light of the wolf’s soul." Seeing him in person, the years had only added a layer of calm, dangerous maturity to his aura. He was my idol.

"Mr. Wesley!" The women swarmed him like a pack on a fresh kill.

"Can we get a priority mark for your spring collection? The demand is too high!"

"Mr. Wesley, a photo for the Citadel archives?"

Draco handled them with a practiced, gentle smile. "Of course."

I hesitated, wanting to approach him not as a fan, but as a fellow designer. I wanted to ask him about the structural limits of dragon-silk. But as I moved forward, a group of Lila’s friends—the same females who had snubbed me earlier—blocked my path.

"Miss White, find your place! Don't clog the lane," a short-haired girl snapped.

"I wasn't in your way," I said, my voice hardening.

She pushed me back with an impolite flick of her hand. "We’re just reminding you that Mr. Wesley doesn't hunt in common woods. An Alpha of his standing isn't interested in ordinary females. You don't stand a chance, so don't embarrass the White name by groveling."