로그인POV: Caelan Ironwood
Caelan didn't go to his office on rturning, instead, he went to the training yard. The night air was cold. The moon was hidden behind clouds. He stripped off his bloodied shirt, rolled his shoulders, and began to drill. Punch. Block. Kick. Sweep. Over and over, until his muscles burned. Until his lungs screamed. Until the scent of honey and whiskey faded from his senses. But it didn't really fade. It clung to him like smoke. Like the bond he couldn't sever, couldn't complete, couldn't control. He hadn't knotted in three years. His body refused other females. He'd tried, the first time, his wolf had gone limp the moment he entered her. The second time, he'd thrown her out of his bed before they'd even started. Her scent was wrong. Her touch was wrong. Everything was wrong. He eventually learned that no other female could please or satisfy him. But Sera, her scent..... Focus. He drove his fist into the training post, causing wood to splinter. The primal omega gene, that was what mattered. He didn't need to want her, he didn't need to feel anything. He just needed to complete the bond. Knot her, impregnate her. Produce heirs powerful enough to restore Ironwood's magic. It was a transaction, nothing more. He punched the post again, again, and again. "Alpha." He stopped and turned immediately. Finn stood at the edge of the yard watching him. "The Blackmoor envoy is here. Lord Silas sends his regards and an offer." Caelan's blood went cold. He grabbed a towel and wiped the blood from his knuckles. "What kind of offer?" "The kind that comes with a collar." ~~ The envoy was a weasel-faced beta with a smile that made Caelan want to break his teeth. Behind him stood two omegas; collared, drugged, and with empty eyes. And a wooden, bound in iron, pulsing with dark magic. "Alpha Ironwood." The envoy bowed low. "Lord Silas sends his congratulations on your acquisition." Caelan didn't respond. He simply stood, arms crossed, expression blank. The envoy's smile faltered. He straightened. "Lord Silas is aware of your... situation; the pack. The territory. The heir problem." His eyes flicked to Caelan's waist. "He's willing to provide omegas; breeders. As many as you need." The two collared girls didn't react. Their eyes stayed fixed on the floor, it was like they didn't have a soul at all. "I don't want your breeders," Caelan replied. "No, of course not. Not when you have a primal omega." The envoy's smile returned. "A gift, then. In exchange for a small favor." "What favor?" The envoy opened the crate. Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a collar. Silver and black. Studded with rubies that looked like dried blood. Runes etched into the metal, binding runes, slave runes, runes that would strip an omega of their will. "A binding collar," the envoy said. "For your primal omega. She wears it for one week. Lord Silas observes her compliance. If she behaves, he releases the breeders. No strings attached." Caelan stared at the collar, whatever this was, he knew that he could never gain any from it. Silas was an enemy and no amount of gifts could change that. He moved; he crossed the room in three strides, grabbed the envoy by the throat, and flung. The envoy hit the far wall. Plaster cracked and bones crunched. He crumpled to the floor, gasping as blood bubbled from his lips. "Tell Silas," Caelan said, his voice low and cold, "that if he comes near my territory again, I'll feed him his own heart." The envoy tried to speak but failed. Caelan turned to Finn. "Get these omegas to the healer. Burn the collar." "Yes, Alpha." He walked out of the hall without looking back. ~~ He found himself outside Sera's door before he'd consciously decided to go there, but he knocked anyway. Silence followed. It stretched for a few seconds before he spoke. "Sera." His voice was flat. "We need to talk." More silence, and he was about to knock again when he heard her voice from inside: "About what?" "The attack. Silas. What happens next." He paused. "Open the door." "No." He exhaled through his nose. Trying to stay calm. She thought this was a joke, she thought this was a light matter. She didn't understand how dire the situation was. "I'm not asking." "You can stand there all night. I don't care." He could break the door down. It would take seconds. But the damage to their already nonexistent trust would be irreparable. So he waited. A full minute passed, then two. And the door finally cracked open. Her face appeared in the gap, she was pale, exhausted, and defiant. "Say what you came to say." "Silas wants you. He sent a collar." Her eyes flickered to his hands to see if he was holding a collar. He wasn't. "And?" "And I told him no. He'll try again. Probably within the week." "So you want me to be grateful." "I want you to be alive." He met her gaze. "The bond is the only thing standing between you and death. I need you to complete it. Not because I want you. Because I need your bloodline to save my pack." Her jaw tightened. "My defective bloodline?" She asked and he nodded. "At least you're honest." "Honesty is all I have left." He replied. And she hated him so much. "I want to leave." She said. But he shook his head immediately. "You're not going anywhere, Sera. You're only leaving as a corpse, and even at that, I won't let you die until you give me an heir." Her eyes darkned and she glared at him, but he was unaffected by her glare. He was was standing on business. "One week." "What?" "One week. I'll stay. I'll consider your... proposal. But you don't touch me unless I say so. You don't come near me without warning. And you find another way to deal with Silas that doesn't involve putting a collar on my neck." She said. Caelan considered, she obviously had a plan of her own, but he was willing to give her some time to think things theough. Whatever the outcome, he knew he would do what needed to be done to save his pack. "Done." "Good." She started to close the door but he spoke. "Sera." She paused. "I'm not your enemy." He wanted her to know. But the look she gave him told him that ship had sailed. She shut the door.POV: Caelan IronwoodCaelan didn't go to his office on rturning, instead, he went to the training yard.The night air was cold. The moon was hidden behind clouds. He stripped off his bloodied shirt, rolled his shoulders, and began to drill.Punch. Block. Kick. Sweep.Over and over, until his muscles burned. Until his lungs screamed. Until the scent of honey and whiskey faded from his senses. But it didn't really fade.It clung to him like smoke. Like the bond he couldn't sever, couldn't complete, couldn't control.He hadn't knotted in three years.His body refused other females. He'd tried, the first time, his wolf had gone limp the moment he entered her. The second time, he'd thrown her out of his bed before they'd even started. Her scent was wrong. Her touch was wrong. Everything was wrong. He eventually learned that no other female could please or satisfy him.But Sera, her scent.....Focus.He drove his fist into the training post, causing wood to splinter.The primal omega gene,
The explosion tore through the van like shrapnel through flesh.Sera hit the floor. Something heavy landed on top of her; Caelan. His body was a wall of muscle and bone, blocking her from the debris that sprayed through the ruined doors."Stay down," he ordered.She didn't argue, not when they were clearly under attack. And her head still felt heavy, she was trying so hard to keep her eyes open.Through the smoke, she saw figures leaping into the van. Blackmoor's enforcers; red eyes, extended claws. They moved like wolves, all hunger and violence.Caelan shifted mid-lunge.His wolf was massive, easily three hundred pounds of silver-furred muscle. His jaws closed around the first enforcer's throat and tore. Blood sprayed and the body dropped.The second enforcer lost an arm.The third grabbed Sera and she screamed and kicked, trying to free herself. But the enforcer's grip was iron. He dragged her toward the hole in the van's back, toward the waiting SUVs.No, no, no.Her wolf stirred.
POV: Caelan IronwoodSix Months Ago: Ironwood Pack TerritoryThe first time Caelan felt her again, he was drowning, not metaphorically, literally. There had been an assassination attempt; poison in his whiskey, a rogue shifter with a silver blade, and a plunge through the ice of the frozen river behind the pack house. The water was black and endless and cold enough to stop his heart.He should have died, but instead, he felt her.Sera. The omega who was supposed to be his mate. He'd felt a pulse, a heartbeat. He'd felt a golden thread connecting his chest to somewhere far, far away; Verance City, he'd learn later, and she was alive. His mate, the very one he'd rejected. The one he'd dreamed about every single night for three years. The one they'd been searching for.Her fear hit him first; she was having a nightmare, something about blood and mud and teeth, and he felt every second of it. Her terror was somehow his terror. Her grief was his grief.And somewhere beneath all that pain
Present Day: Verance CitySera poured whiskey with steady hands. Four fingers, no ice, a flick of the wrist that sent the amber liquid spinning before it settled, she'd perfected this. She slid the glass across the sticky bartop, and the grumpy regular, a werewolf from the Southside crew, grunted his thanks."You're a gem, Ser." He said."Sera," she corrected smiling. "Not Ser. Not Serena. Sera.""Whatever." He knocked back the whiskey in one gulp. "Same time tomorrow?""If the roof doesn't collapse." She wiped down the bar with a rag that smelled of bleach and old beer. "You know how landlord Thursdays go."The Rotted Oak was a dive, the kind of place where the floorboards creaked, the neon sign flickered, and the clientele had more scars than teeth. It sat on the border between Verance City's human district and the shifter underbelly, it was a grey zone where everyone pretended not to notice claws under gloves or eyes that glowed in the dark.Sera had worked here for two years.No o
Three Years Ago, Ironwood Pack Territory.The ceremonial clearing smelled of blood and jasmine.Sera Vane stood at the edge of the moonlit circle, her hands were trembling inside the pockets of her only clean dress. The fabric was thin, secondhand, pale blue with a stain on the hem she couldn't quite scrub out. She'd borrowed mascara from another omega and immediately smudged it. 'Don't cry. Don't hope. Don't embarrass yourself.' she reminded herself again and again.Around her, the Ironwood Pack gathered in a loose ring consisting of two hundred shifters, their eyes gleamed gold and amber in the torchlight. There were also wealthy families in dark silks, enforcers with scars crossing their throats, and Omegas like her, pressed to the back, completely invisible.Tonight was the Claiming Moon, the night when unpaired wolves over twenty were brought before the pack to scent their fated mates.Sera had never believed she'd find one.Twenty-one years old. Orphaned at twelve when her moth







