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"Are you all ready?" he whispered, his amber eyes cutting through the gloom like blades.
Five men were spread out among the bushes and ancient trees. Loyal warriors of the Ironfang pack, dressed in black tactical gear and masks that hid almost all of their faces. They nodded silently, already in formation. Cael raised his hand, giving the signal. With agile and synchronized movements, the group advanced. The mission was clear: destroy a clandestine outpost of the rival pack, the Bloodclaw. Internal intelligence had revealed that Lucian, the Alpha of the Bloodclaw, was trafficking lone wolves, selling them as mercenaries to unscrupulous humans or using them as bargaining chips in power struggles. A brutal crime, even by the standards of the cruelest alphas. Cael moved with precision, as if he were part of the forest. His breathing was contained, controlled. The wolf inside him, always lurking, remained alert, but silent. "Target 200 meters north," murmured Jarek, his Beta, in a whisper almost inaudible over the communicator. "We have a heat signature coming from the structure. Presence confirmed." "Await my command," Cael replied, his eyes fixed on the darkness ahead. "No rash actions." They were approaching the perimeter when Cael stopped suddenly. A different scent cut through the air. It wasn't iron, sweat, or smoke. It was something softer... yet saturated with despair. A scent that activated something primal in his chest. Crouching slowly, he inhaled once more. There was blood, fresh, mixed with the sweet perfume of a female omega. The wolf inside him growled. "Change of course. Something's wrong," he said, veering east without explanation. "Cael?" Jarek called over the communicator. "We need to stay focused." "I said something's wrong," the Alpha snarled, cutting the conversation short. His voice was deeper, more laden with instinct. No one dared to question him. Following the scent through thick roots and low branches, Cael advanced about thirty meters until he found her. The young woman lay fallen among dry leaves, her body covered in scratches, bruises, and mud. Her hair was tangled and dirty, stuck to her sweaty forehead. Her slightly parted lips released weak, almost irregular breaths. Time stopped. The moment his eyes landed on her, Cael felt a violent impact in his soul. As if a lightning bolt had struck him, splitting him in half. A warmth ran through his chest, his muscles, his bones. His wolf howled inside him, desperate to get closer. The connection was clear. She was his mate. "By the Moon..." he whispered, kneeling beside her body. He reached out carefully, as if afraid she would disappear at his touch. His fingers landed on the cold skin of her neck, searching for a pulse. Weak. But still there. Her body trembled slightly. A murmur escaped her chapped lips. "D-don't make me... I... don't want... to marry..." Cael's eyes widened. She was running away. Running from someone who wanted to force her to marry. And, by the scent on her skin, that someone was from the Bloodclaw pack. His blood boiled. "Jarek, prepare for extraction. We found a prisoner. We're taking her now." "A what? Cael, this could be a trap," the Beta retorted. "She's my mate." Silence. It took Jarek two seconds to process. "We're on our way." Cael slid his arms gently under her body, trying not to press on her visible wounds. She moaned softly, unconscious, and instinctively snuggled against his chest. The gesture broke his heart. I will protect you. You are safe now. In the following minutes, the group retreated through the forest in absolute silence. The outpost was left for another night. Nothing else mattered to Cael at that moment. That wounded, fragile woman he barely knew... was his other half. As they got into the armored truck, he settled her body on his lap. With his jaw tense and eyes narrowed, he whispered in a dark tone: "Whoever hurt you, I swear to the Goddess they will pay with their life." The interior of the vehicle was completely silent, except for the faint sounds of the young woman's irregular breathing in Cael's arms. She was still unconscious, her eyes squeezed shut as if living a nightmare she couldn't escape. With every muffled moan, the Alpha's heart constricted, and the wolf inside him growled, impatient. "How long until we arrive?" Cael asked, without taking his eyes off her face. Jarek, at the wheel, shot a quick glance in the rearview mirror. "Less than fifteen minutes to the estate gates." Cael nodded, stroking the omega's pale face with his fingers. Her cheeks were cold. Her skin, marked by dark bruises. Her lips, chapped. Yet, even in such a fragile state, she was beautiful. As if the Moon herself had placed her blessing upon her. He felt the bond vibrating beneath his skin, unstable, incomplete. But real. Intense. She was his. "Alpha..." Jarek hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Are you sure about this? About her?" Cael lifted his eyes slowly, the muscles in his jaw rigid. "The moment I touched her, I knew. The bond is real. The wolf recognized it before I did. She is my mate. My Luna." Silence returned, but this time laden with meaning. In the wolf hierarchy, a mate bond wasn't a choice—it was a spiritual, sacred, indestructible truth. When they finally passed through the Ironfang estate gates, the mansion of stone and glass was revealed in the background, grand, imposing amidst the darkness. Surrounded by hectares of forest and protected by magical barriers and security technology, it was a safe refuge and now, the home of the wounded young woman. "Tell Doctor Myles. He has five minutes to be here." Cael's voice was a sharp order. Jarek immediately got out and ran inside the mansion, activating the pack's emergency system. Meanwhile, Cael carefully carried her up the stairs, crossing the silent corridors to his own room.The heat emanating from Freya's body was not the vital glow that Cedrik had learned to observe in recent days; it was the sickly fire of fever. She lay on the furs of the bed, her breathing short and shallow, while a darkened stain began to seep through the thin fabric of her night tunic, just below her rib. The blow she had suffered during her capture, neglected under the adrenaline of the dungeon and the stubbornness of imprisonment, had finally taken its toll. The wound, a deep cut caused by a metal edge or a dull blade, was inflamed, its edges swollen and tinged with a sickly purple.Cedrik entered the hidden chamber carrying a silver basin with warm water and a velvet case containing ointments distilled from the rarest herbs of the mountains. The wolf within him was restless, scratching at his consciousness with an anxiety he hadn't felt even in the bloodiest battles. Freya's scent had changed—the sandalwood and rain were now muffled by the metallic odor of infected blood and the
The silence in the hidden chamber was a living creature, fed by isolation and the pale light that the small high window allowed to enter. Freya spent her hours counting the stones on the walls or watching the movement of dust particles dancing in the beams of moonlight. The luxury of the silk clothes that Cedrik had provided her after the bath seemed like a mockery; the fabric was too soft for a soul that still felt made of wood splinters and rustic determination. She was trapped in a limbo where physical survival was guaranteed, but her mind was beginning to wither in inaction.The opening of the secret passage did not startle her this time. She merely shifted her eyes from the wall to see the Alpha Prince enter. He carried no weapons, nor the military austerity he usually wore as a shield. Under his arm, Cedrik carried three heavy volumes, bound in aged leather with worn gold details. He placed them on the oak table with a dull thud that seemed to awaken the room."I thought the sil
The vapor rose in slow, lazy curls, carrying the aroma of essential oils of pine and rosemary that contrasted with the roughness of the stone walls of the hidden chamber. In the center of the room, a polished copper tub had been filled with steaming water, a luxury Freya hadn't known since the flames of her village had consumed the little she possessed. Cedrik was leaning against the side of the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest, the light from the embers carving the shadows of his face with ruthless precision."The dirt from Oakhaven is still ingrained in your skin," he said, his voice a smooth baritone that seemed to vibrate against the humidity of the air. "Wash yourself. I won't allow the smell of death to contaminate my quarters."Freya looked at the water and then at him, her chin trembling not from cold, but from an indignation that fought against her imminent nudity. She was exhausted, her skin burning under layers of dust, dried blood, and the sweat of fear that had
The creak of the cell door was different this time; there was no mockery from the guards, no dry clatter of a tin bowl against the stone. Cedrik entered alone, the light from a single lantern casting his immense shadow over Freya, who remained huddled in the corner—a stubborn stain of resistance amid the mold. Without a word, he sliced through the ropes binding her wrists with a swift motion of a silver dagger and pulled her by the arm, forcing her to stand. His grip, though firm, lacked the brutality of the previous hours; instead, it carried a silent urgency that set her on edge.“Where are you taking me?” Freya asked, her voice faltering as she was led through corridors she did not recognize—narrow, damp passages that spiraled upward, far from the main dungeons. “Has the executioner finally grown impatient?”“If I wanted you dead, Freya, I wouldn’t be wasting my breath on these stairs,” Cedrik replied, his voice a rough murmur that seemed to vibrate against the temperature of her s
The throne room was not a place of comfort, but a monument to oppression. Columns of obsidian rose like the ribs of a colossal beast toward the vaulted ceiling, where crimson velvet banners bearing the rampant wolf hung in sepulchral silence. The air there was thin, laden with the scent of ancient incense and the weight of centuries of lupine sovereignty. Seated upon the throne of polished bones, Queen Isolde appeared carved from the very ice that covered the northern mountains. Her eyes, an arctic blue that had never known the warmth of compassion, fixed on Cedrik as he crossed the central corridor.“My son,” she said, her voice sharp as a silver dagger sliding over silk. “Oakhaven has fallen, the flames have died, and the dust has settled. Yet I hear rumors that unsettle me. They say you brought within our walls a living reminder of our victory. A prisoner who breathes our air and occupies my dungeons.”Cedrik stopped at a reverent distance, but he did not kneel. The tension between
The echo of Cedrik’s boots on the stone staircase was the only warning before the iron door of the interrogation room swung open. Unlike the damp cell where Freya had spent the last few hours, this space was wide and lit by braziers that cast long, trembling shadows against walls adorned with ancient coats of arms. In the center, a heavy wooden chair waited, flanked by chains that hung from the ceiling. Cedrik entered with his instincts bristling, sensing Freya’s presence before he even saw her seated there, guarded by two soldiers who resembled statues of moss and steel.“Leave,” Cedrik commanded, without taking his eyes off the ragged woman before him.The guards clicked their heels and withdrew in absolute silence. Cedrik approached the wooden table that separated them, tossing a worn leather map onto it. His movements carried a contained violence, an impatience he rarely showed in front of inferiors. He studied Freya: her once-golden hair now dulled by dust, and a small cut above







