C3

My throat burned with a dry, bitter ache as I stood near the corner of the grand stone staircase inside the Salvatore Crimson Manor. I had been scrubbing floors and hauling heavy wash basins since the crack of dawn, my skinny, pale arms trembling with exhaustion. As I reached for a pewter cup of water, voices echoed from the lower corridor. Two pack servants were whispering in hushed, malicious tones.

"I heard Dani Connor finished her training with the High Elders of the Northern Wastes," the first servant sneered. "She's an elite Beta female. Beautiful, deadly in battle, and she won the Moonfang Alpha's silver blade tournament last spring."

"No comparison," the second servant snorted quietly. "Look at the female Alpha Kyle got stuck with instead. Aya can't even howl to call her wolf. She hides like a terrified omega, submissive and weak, handed over without a proper blood-binding feast. She's so cheap. What kind of Luna is she supposed to be?"

"Alpha Kyle's face might be scarred from the rogue wars, but he commands the strongest bloodline in the territory. A broken omega like her shouldn't even be allowed inside the manor walls. She's basically a defective wolf."

A defective wolf.

I leaned my thin frame against the cold stone wall, my dark eyes dulling. I wasn't born a mute omega. When I was ten winters old, a rogue attack set our border lodge on fire, and the toxic smoke scorched my throat until my vocal cords failed. My father, Miles Connor, refused to spend the pack's gold on high-level healing salves for an unpromising daughter, delaying my treatment month after month until the damage became permanent.

It took me years to realize the cruel truth: Miles didn't hate me because I was mute; he hated me because I wasn't the prized Beta daughter born to sit at his right hand.

I let out a silent, bitter breath and turned to slip away, but a deep, icy voice shattered the quiet hall like breaking glass.

"Who gave you permission to run your mouths in my manor?"

The two female servants spun around, turning deathly pale as Kyle Salvatore stepped out from the shadowy archway. His dark, muscular frame seemed to swallow the light, his golden wolf eyes burning with lethal disgust.

"Alpha! Forgive us!" the first servant shrieked, dropping to her knees on the stone floor. "We spoke without thinking! Please, have mercy!"

"We won't speak another word, My Lord!" the second sobbed, pressing her forehead against his leather boots.

Kyle didn't even look at them. Miles Dyson, his broad-shouldered Beta enforcer, stepped silently out from behind him, his hand resting on the hilt of his heavy iron blade.

"Pack your belongings and cross the border by nightfall," Miles Dyson said, his voice flat and unyielding. "If you are seen on Salvatore territory after dawn, your marks will be stripped."

The servants gasped in horror—being cast out as stateless rogues was a death sentence—but they scrambled away without another word.

Kyle turned his sharp, predatory gaze toward me. His eyes swept over my bruised, calloused hands, taking in the rough apron tied tight around my waist. His heavy brow furrowed in immediate irritation.

"Why are you doing the work of an omega servant?" Kyle demanded, his voice thick with a dark, commanding growl. "You are bound to the Alpha of this bloodline."

I stared back at him, my heart hammering hard against my ribs. Does he really not know his aunt Grace has been treating me like a house slave since the moment he left for border patrol?

"The manor has lower-ranking wolves for labor," Kyle grunted, his tone clipped when I offered no vocal reply. "Drop the rags."

I nodded once, keeping my expression entirely blank. I untied the coarse apron, setting the heavy bristle brush on the floor. As I turned toward the stairs, my eyes briefly landed on the spot where the servants had been kneeling moments before.

I knew the truth. Kyle didn't banish those servants to protect my feelings or defend my dignity. He did it because allowing common servants to mock his legal mate reflected poorly on the Salvatore Crimson Dominion. Fairy tales about protective Alphas claiming their mates didn't exist in a world ruled by blood and territory. I owed him no gratitude.

I hurried up the winding staircase to my private chamber. I had barely pushed the heavy wooden door open when the small communication stone in my leather pouch began to glow hot against my hip.

I pulled it out. Miles Connor was calling through the blood-link.

Downstairs in the tactical war room, Miles Dyson handed a small, glowing parchment to Kyle.

"My Lord," Miles Dyson murmured quietly. "The Connor Moonfang Lodge just opened a direct, encrypted blood-link to Aya's chamber."

Kyle took the parchment, his dark eyes darkening to a dangerous pitch, his jaw clenching as he slowly reached up to loosen his tie by one inch. "Monitor the line."

In my room, I held the warm stone to my ear, listening silently as my father's harsh, demanding voice vibrated through the magic.

"Listen closely, Aya," Miles Connor growled, his voice cold as winter frost. "Kyle Salvatore froze our pack's trade routes. I need you to go into his private study tonight. Find the border treaty marked with the red Salvatore crest. Use your tracking mirror to take a copy of every single page and send it back to me. Do not let him catch you."

My chest tightened until I couldn't breathe. He's asking me to commit treason against the highest Alpha in the territory...

I stayed silent, my hand trembling against the stone.

"Don't play quiet with me, girl," Miles Connor warned, his tone dropping into a deadly threat. "You are an omega, but you are still my daughter. Grandmother Serena is still resting in my lodge's infirmary. If I cut off her spirit-herbs tomorrow morning, her life-force will fade before sunset. Do what I tell you, or she dies."

The threat against Dr. Serena Kogan struck my heart like an iron blade. My breath hitched in my dry throat.

Miles Connor hung up the link, leaving the stone cold in my hand. I squeezed my eyes shut, my soul tearing in two. My father was a cold-blooded monster who viewed me as nothing more than a pawn, but my grandmother was the only person in the entire world who had ever held me, fed me, and loved me when I was a voiceless child. I couldn't let her die.

When I stepped back into the hallway an hour later, Kyle was walking toward the main entrance, a heavy fur mantle draped over his broad shoulders. He paused at the end of the corridor, turning his dark, scarred face toward me. His golden wolf eyes lingered on my trembling frame with an unreadable, suffocating intensity.

He didn't say a word. He simply turned and walked out into the night, the massive iron doors closing heavily behind him.

I waited in the dark as the hours bled away.

By eleven o'clock at night, the manor was completely silent. The guards had rotated to the outer perimeter, and the house servants had retired to the lower quarters.I stood alone in the dark corridor outside Kyle's private study. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it throbbing in my throat. My palm pressed against the cold iron handle of the door, and with a quiet breath, I pushed it down.