C2

"Aziel!"

Mireya Duskrell’s ecstatic voice shattered my focus, his designer leather boots clicking hard against the stone pathway. He bypassed me entirely, lunging directly into the warrior’s muscular chest. Aziel caught him out of pure reflex, stabilizing the high-ranking submissive wolf against his frame as though navigating his weight was second nature.

"Do you possess any inkling of how many moons I have tracked the sky awaiting this day?" Mireya exhaled, his tone radiating a spoiled, fierce possessiveness. "If those iron gates had not parted within the hour, my sire would have dragged me back to the northern borders to bond with a foreign Alpha!"

Aziel’s dark eyes locked onto Mireya’s flawless face as the smaller wolf pressed his lips against the warrior's mouth. A slow, dangerous smirk spread across the rogue's features. "That frantic for my scent, little bird? Instruct your pack driver to wait beyond the boundary lines later. I intend to deliver your sire a personal tribute myself."

Mireya let out a soft, melodic laugh, winding his arms tighter around the fighter's neck. "You remain utterly ruthless! My sire demands your presence at our estate. He claims he is eager to evaluate your strength, and he wants to host a massive tribal feast to celebrate your liberation..."

I stood entirely rooted to the frozen earth, staring at the display in an absolute daze.

A suffocating layer of humiliation and deep, hollow isolation washed over me.

The Aziel who had once been my fierce protector, the one who used to scent my neck and make my safety the single axis of his entire world—had that wolf ever actually breathed, or had I merely survived a decade-long illusion?

A sickening, throbbing heat radiated from my silver-ravaged ribs.

It felt as though a serrated claw had sliced through my history, ripping open every old wound simultaneously.

"Lardon, I refuse to let the elders register me under the Vexley pack lineage. I will not be your brother by law."

"When your wolf matures... will you accept my mating bite?"

The phantom echo of his deep, protective vows swirled through my thoughts, leaving me feeling unstable and fractured on the gravel.

"Get back!"

A low, guttural roar snapped me back to reality. I spun around just as a heavy, weaponized Wraithfang Recon Unit drone malfunctioned, roaring down the path straight toward our position on a rogue trajectory.

Without a second of hesitation, Aziel yanked Mireya back behind his massive frame, shielding the delicate wolf completely with his own heavily scarred body.

I was left to scramble away entirely unaided, stumbling blindly into the jagged briars as I flung my arms up to guard my throat. My ankle twisted with a sickening pop against a sharp rock.

"You?" Aziel’s gaze shifted toward me, his amber irises darkening as they swept over my battered frame, a fleeting shadow of feral instinct and uncertainty crossing his scarred face.

"I am unhurt..." I managed to choke out, averting my face before the moisture in my eyes could spill over. I forced my broken stride into a run, fleeing toward my transport while swallowing the agonizing scream in my throat.

Mireya watched my retreating form, a sharp glint of curiosity in his eyes. "What manner of creature was that?"

Aziel stared at the empty path for a beat, then lowered his head, tracing Mireya’s jawline with a calloused thumb before brushing his lips against the other's. "Merely an old stray from a lifetime ago."

An old stray...

Someone he had shared blood and territory with since our claws first grew. Someone he had once sworn to claim before the moon itself.

I threw myself into the driver’s seat of my transport, collapsing over the wheel as I pressed a trembling hand against my burning, rotted ribs. Cold, oily sweat saturated my leather tunic. I could no longer decipher which torment was more absolute—the poison of his indifference in my throat or the literal silver decay eating through my flesh.

A piercing, high-frequency chime cut through the dark cabin.

I glanced down at my communication slate: Ronzek Hale was demanding a live link.

Inside the obsidian spires of the Calder Dominion Supreme Council.

Ronzek Hale snarled softly as he scrolled through the digital parchment data I had routed to his terminal.

We operated within the same territorial fortress—what kind of pathetic political play was this low-ranking omega trying to execute now?

Just because the Alpha-Prime had restricted him from ever setting foot on the elite executive tier, did Lardon truly believe this stunt would draw Draven Calder’s attention?

Pathetic.

Infuriated, Ronzek strode out of the inner sanctum and descended toward the Mooncrest Relations Division.

But the lower-tier omegas informed him that I had failed to report to my station at dawn.

The pack hierarchy was already demanding total focus today; Ronzek’s agitation spiked further as he forced the connection to my slate.

"Lord Vexley, I am entirely indifferent to whatever desperate game you are playing to get noticed. Return to your command desk this instant."

I lowered my eyes, watching the glowing text. Was this regarding Draven? Had the Alpha-Prime finally reviewed the physical dissolution scrolls and demanded an audience to sever our secret bond?

It was the only logical explanation.

I didn't hesitate, throwing the transport into gear and steering it back toward the Calder Dominion's black stone gates.

When Ronzek saw me limp through the grand archway, a smug, self-righteous sneer twisted his lips—Lardon simply couldn't help himself, always crawling back for a scrap of the Alpha’s attention.

"Where is he hiding?" My voice sounded completely frayed, my skin an unnatural, sickly grey.

I still needed to collect my suppressing herbs from the healer’s quarters. I was weighing the lethal risks of the marrow surgery, but the moment the elders cut into my chest, the truth of my failing life would be exposed to my remaining bloodline.

"This is a ruling pack fortress, Lardon. You surely do not harbor the delusion that Alpha-Prime Calder will descend to these common quarters merely to look at you?" Ronzek’s voice was pure iron. "There is a vital crisis the Alpha demands you neutralize immediately."

"The dissolu..."

"During the birth-night ritual at Frostveil Peak last night, several malicious rumors leaked among the lower betas. Whispers are spreading that Mireya Duskrell seduced another wolf's fated mate to secure his alliance with our lineage. Mireya is no common stray—he is poised to become the intellectual architect of our entire Lunarcore Innovation project. The dominion cannot tolerate a single stain on his honor; his reputation must remain completely immaculate."

"Draven specifically commanded that you execute this cleanup. He expects your division to scrub Mireya’s name and silence the gossiping mouths across the territory."

I froze.

I bit my lower lip until the flesh split, tasting copper. "Those are Draven’s direct orders?"

"They are."

Ronzek had always carried a profound disdain for me. Certainly, I was tireless and highly efficient at managing pack optics, but I had secured my place in the master lodge through what he considered a pathetic gamble, weaving my way into Draven's bed during a chaotic lunar heat and then extracting a secret vow of protection.

Weak omegas trying to secure power disgusted him.

"The Alpha-Prime commands that you do not exit this fortress today—not until every single rogue broadcast is completely scrubbed from the network."

"If your division lacks the competence to execute this, the Calder Dominion has absolutely no use for dead weight within these walls."

I understood with brutal clarity that I held zero value in Draven's eyes now.

Yet I had never anticipated that, on the literal eve of our permanent separation, he would chain me to a desk like this—demanding that I, his soon-to-be discarded mate, sweep the illicit scandals of his true love under the rug.

The sheer, venomous injustice of it suffocated me. My stomach convulsed with a violent spike of pain; I grabbed the edge of the iron console to keep my knees from buckling, masking my physical agony behind a freezing, hollow smile as I unclipped my silver command badge.

I held it up, wrapping the leather cord slowly around my fingers.

"The Calder Dominion does not tolerate dead weight, that much we agree on," I said quietly, dropping the heavy badge onto the metal table with a dull clank. "But this station no longer belongs to me. I officially sever my service."

I had routed my official resignation through the digital network hours ago, immediately after sealing the dissolution papers.

Perhaps the archives hadn't updated on Draven’s personal slate yet, but I would rather walk into a silver mine than protect Mireya’s honor today.

"Do not bring Mireya’s crises to my quarters again. Inform the Alpha-Prime to select a different hound for his errands. The Calder Dominion spans three entire continents—I am certain its infrastructure will not crumble because one wolf walks into the wild."

Ronzek stood completely paralyzed.

Lardon was actually walking away from his title?

He was genuinely willing to abandon the single position that granted him proximity to the Alpha-Prime’s presence?

Then again, perhaps this was merely another calculated manipulation—a desperate new strategy to force Draven into tracking his scent.

Ronzek returned to the peak of the obsidian tower.

Draven’s calendar was dense with territorial strategy. He was currently reviewing a massive defense pact with Lord Orion Greyclaw from the Frostfang Data Nexus.

"Alpha-Prime, here are the terms from the Frostfang Data Nexus awaiting your sigil."

Draven’s amber eyes flicked over the glowing slate, his voice dropping into a low growl. "How is the relations team handling the whispers surrounding Mireya?"

Ronzek shifted uncomfortably. "Lord Vexley... well—"

"Speak, beta."

"Lardon declared he will not touch the matter. He has surrendered his command badge and stated he is no longer available to handle anything regarding Mireya."

Draven’s claw paused mid-air above the digital document. He lifted his head, his gaze turning to absolute ice, deep and lethal. "He renounced his position in person today?"

"He was technically on medical leave for the cycle, but I summoned him to the fortress. The administrative archives show he logged his permanent resignation last night."

"Leave?" Draven bypassed the mention of the resignation entirely, his predatory instinct locking onto the unusual request for absence.

Ronzek could never anticipate the complex calculations of his Alpha's mind. He hesitated. "He must have a critical personal matter to attend to. In three complete winter cycles, Lardon has never once abandoned his post for a single dawn."

Draven was acutely aware of that fact.

Lardon had always been a quiet, background presence in his life, cold and unbothered, yet he was remarkably sharp, fiercely competent, and entirely unwavering in his devotion to the territory, to his duties, to every task assigned to him. Had he been any less, he never would have risen to command the Mooncrest Relations Division before his third winter.

For him to simultaneously demand leave and sever his pack contract—this was no ordinary submissive tantrum.

Draven lowered his amber eyes, lost in dark thought.

Then, a sudden, arctic fury washed over his features. He stood up from his carved stone throne, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the hall.

"Approve his departure, but only after he has completely buried the rumors about Mireya. If this dominion's standing suffers a single fracture among the allied packs, he will answer for the fallout with his own skin."

Ronzek was deeply perplexed.

By all laws of nature, the Alpha-Prime should be relieved to have this low-born mate remove himself from the board—so why was he suddenly barring the door to prevent his escape?

The politics of the high Alphas made no sense to his position.

"Furthermore, Alpha-Prime, Lardon also delivered a physical—"

A secure priority frequency flared on Draven’s slate before Ronzek could hand over the scroll. The Alpha-Prime dismissed him with a sharp wave of his hand, not even looking up. "Deposit it in the vault. You know the protocol."

The protocol was absolute: anything bearing Lardon’s personal seal was buried without review.

In the seasons past, he had sent over custom-tailored riding furs, bone-carved tunic clasps, hand-forged daggers, and rare elixirs. Because the Calder Dominion's primary war initiative was centered on aerial Wraithfang Recon Units, he had even spent months meticulously hand-crafting a miniature wooden model of a scout drone as a private tribute.

Draven had never granted any of it a second glance. Every offering from my hands ended up gathering dust inside a locked iron cabinet in the corner of his war room.

Only during an extreme border emergency did anyone ever rifle through that cabinet to find a spare tool or a replacement blade.

Ronzek, thoroughly trained in this dismissal, tossed the unopened dissolution file into the dark cabinet alongside the rest of my forgotten life.

All of my silent, agonizing devotion utterly wasted on an Alpha who had never even learned to see me.