C3

"You will scrub Mireya Duskrell’s name from the territory networks, Lardon, or the Alpha-Prime will personally ensure your banishment from every allied hunting ground in the northern sector."

Ronzek Hale’s voice bled through the communication slate, delivering Draven Calder's absolute decree.

I closed my eyes, the high-frequency vibration of the device making my silver-rotted ribs throb with a sickening heat. It was transparently clear. No matter how the high alphas spun the pack politics, Mireya had been entwined with Draven while our secret mating bond was legally active—he was, by every law of the wild, an intruder on another wolf's territory. Draven expected me to shoulder the political fallout, to manipulate the pack optics. If any rival pack dredged up the scandal, he required the hidden mate to publicly clear Mireya's name. That way, the prestigious Moon Scholar could never be accused of fracturing a bloodline alliance, and Draven could silence the moral outrage of the elders.

The Alpha-Prime was truly willing to bend the laws of nature for his chosen male.

As for Draven’s thinly veiled threat regarding my future—it was a standard alpha enforcement. If I refused to play the submissive hound, he would blackball my name from every elite enclave, leaving me to starve as a rogue.

For three winter cycles, I had done everything right, dedicating my entire wolf to being the perfect lodge master. From the dawn our blood mixed, I had severed all ties with my previous pack, determined to secure a fresh start. But my absolute submission had earned me nothing—certainly not Draven’s loyalty.

I was utterly hollowed out.

A bitter, fractured smile tugged at my lips as I kept my tone entirely flat. "I am officially logging medical leave due to internal silver decay. If the dominion insists on forcing an ailing wolf to perform labor, it violates the tribal charter. We can let the regional pack council arbitrate the offense."

I was already holding the signed dissolution scrolls and walking away from the Mooncrest Relations Division—I no longer possessed a single ounce of fear regarding Draven's wrath.

The moment I threw my transport into gear, a priority command text flared on my slate from my sire, Darius Fenrir.

Your brother is passing through the iron gates of the hold. The house is gathering for a blood feast. Will you return to the territory?

It was phrased as an invitation, but my instincts knew better. Darius would infinitely prefer his low-ranking, submissive son stay buried in the outer valleys so as not to disrupt the pack dynamic.

Back when Aziel Crowbane and I had shared a hidden nest, Darius considered our bond an absolute abomination. He believed I had brought dishonor to his lineage, and if I hadn't proved useful by securing a secret alliance with the powerful Calder Dominion, he would have exiled me to the wasteland seasons ago.

But that warrior had been Aziel. The male who once constituted the absolute center of my world. After a painful beat of hesitation, I rubbed a rough stone against my pale cheeks to force the blood to the surface, then steered the transport toward the Fenrir estate.

If it weren't for Aziel's release, I would never step foot inside that household again.

The moment I crossed the threshold, a senior omega keeper glared at me with naked hostility. "Lord Vexley, what business brings your scent back to this house?"

I passed him without a word. This territory had ceased to be my sanctuary winters ago—even the lower-ranking staff treated me like an unwanted stray.

Nyelle Ravaryn descended the stone staircase, his eyes flashing with a predatory chill. "Lardon? You possess an unbelievable amount of audacity. Aziel has barely washed the prison iron from his skin and you are already here to foul the air with your weakness. Does it amuse you to bring discomfort to this bloodline?"

Nyelle was Darius’s bastard son, born from a rogue pairing and sharing my exact lunar birth-cycle, yet he paraded around the estate like the crown heir, looking down his nose at my position.

"If your honor is so pure, Nyelle, you are entirely free to vacate the halls my mother built with her own hunts. Let us see how high your posture is when you sleep on bare stone." My voice remained entirely level.

My mother had secured this territory through her own military victories, selling her war spoils for a small fortune. Now Darius, Kalista, and Nyelle all lived in absolute luxury off her legacy. And this bastard had the nerve to bark at me?

Nyelle’s jaw tightened with feral rage, but he quickly masked it, a malicious, triumphant glint entering his eyes. "Let us see if you maintain that arrogance after the pack announcement tonight."

"Aziel, look at this one!"

Zoraya Flint’s delighted voice cut through the tension as two figures stepped out of the private quarters, their arms locked together. The submissive male wolf caught sight of my face and nudged Aziel's shoulder. "He is remarkably beautiful."

Aziel barely cast a passing glance over my frame before shifting his entire focus back to his mate, his powerful arm tightening around Zoraya’s waist. "He is merely my brother. Just like Nyelle. Are you truly flashing your claws over my own bloodline?" Aziel teased, his voice low and rich.

Zoraya flushed, playfully bumping his hip against the fighter's side before tracking his eyes to me. "So Aziel possesses two brothers? What name do you carry?"

I stood frozen on the stone floor, completely blindsided by the fact that Aziel had brought a mate home to the sire. It signaled an absolute seriousness.

The Aziel who once swore to fight the high councils just to claim my hand was completely dead. Now he categorized me and Nyelle under the exact same indifferent label.

I swallowed hard, my throat feeling like ash. "Lardon."

Zoraya blinked in surprise, his head tilting. "Why does your scent not carry the Harcourt pack marker?"

I offered no explanation.

Zoraya smiled, undeterred by the silence. "I am Zoraya. You may address me as—"

"Address him as your brother-in-law," Aziel interrupted smoothly, his amber eyes finally locking onto mine with zero warmth. "I have finally chosen a fated mate to run with. You should afford him the proper respect of his station."

I met Aziel's gaze straight on. He watched me with a faint, mocking curve of his lips, like a spectator waiting for a wounded animal to collapse.

I curled my fingers into my palms, feeling the absolute last thread of my past dissolve into nothing.

I refused to look away, giving him the exact submission his ego demanded. "Welcome to our home, Zoraya."

Zoraya’s smile widened as he pressed his entire chest against Aziel's side, marking him thoroughly with his scent.

Aziel paused, his eyes flickering toward me for a fraction of a second, then he turned his back and guided Zoraya into the feast hall.

"Why continue the performance?" Nyelle scoffed, stepping into my space with an arrogant sneer. "My brother harbors zero desire for a wolf bound to another Alpha’s lodge."

"And regarding that Mireya Duskrell—the one Alpha-Prime Calder honored on the mountain last night—he holds a Moon Scholar Rank in Skyfang Rift Engineering. The entire northern alliance is fighting to claim his intellect. How could a lodge keeper whose only talent is warming sheets and tracking rations ever compare?"

"Or perhaps you sense Draven is about to throw you to the wild, so you are scrambling back to beg for a place in our hierarchy?"

This miserable existence—every single wolf was circling, waiting for my demise.

I set the ceremonial hunting dagger I had brought down on the stone table. "Save your breath, Nyelle. Whatever fate my wolf meets, it will never involve the Fenrir lineage. My name remains Vexley."

Without another word, I turned toward the exit, refusing to give them my back twice.

"He has departed?"

Darius Fenrir emerged from the shadows of the council chamber just as the heavy oak doors shut behind me. His brow furrowed into a dark line.

Nyelle turned on his heel, grumbling, "Sire, did you witness his total lack of respect? He holds zero regard for this pack or your authority. If you ask my opinion, the Alpha-Prime is going to sever his bond sooner rather than later."

After three winters, Darius could read the political winds perfectly; I had never truly secured Draven’s beast. The only advantage the Fenrir pack had ever extracted from the mating was at the very beginning, leveraging the Calder name to secure a border treaty. Since then, they had tried to access the dominion's vaults, but Draven never showed an ounce of concern for his hidden father-in-law.

And it was entirely my fault for being too weak to hold an Alpha's interest. Useless.

His expression hardened as he looked at his bastard son. "Your wolf is maturing, Nyelle. Lardon is a dead asset. When the next moon peaks, I will arrange a private hunt for you to cross paths with Alpha-Prime Calder."

Nyelle’s eyes widened as the realization hit him.

He unconsciously glanced toward the grand sofa in the hall, where Aziel was lounging, feeding berries to Zoraya with a dark, wicked grin.

Nyelle bit his lip, a sharp flash of envy dancing in his eyes.

I secured a small, fortified stone apartment nestled in the lower valley—completely isolated and move-in ready. I signed a twelve-moon lease; the dwelling sat barely a mile from the healers' quarters where I frequently sought treatment.

It would allow me to crawl there when the silver-rot finally took my legs.

My skull was hammering violently after exiting the Fenrir estate, but I didn't forget to block Draven’s frequency on my communication slate.

I preserved his core digits solely for the single legal summon required to finalize the dissolution at the territory altar.

All I had to do now was survive the thirty-day cooling-off cycle required by tribal law.

I threw the slate onto the furs, stripped out of my soiled travelling leathers, and let the hot water wash over my scarred body before collapsing into sleep.

Meanwhile.

Draven Calder returned to the master lodge. The grand entrance was pitch black; not a single torch had been lit.

No matter how deep into the midnight watch he returned in the past, I had always left a flame burning for his wolf, greeting him at the threshold to take his heavy riding furs and fetch fresh water.

He rarely slept here. In truth, it was only on specific lunar alignments each month—out of sheer biological obligation to the bloodline—that he appeared at all.

Tonight, as his hands found an empty hall and no submissive wolf waiting to scent his collar, his amber eyes scanned the darkness, his jaw tightening.

Playing games with his alpha authority?

He strode up the stone steps and threw open the master bedroom door, expecting to find me curled beneath the pelts, feigning sleep to mount a silent protest. But the furs were completely cold.

The entire wing was dead and silent.

Lardon had not returned to the territory grounds.

Ronzek had already delivered the report regarding my insubordination over Mireya—how I had even threatened him with the tribal council codes.

And now...

Draven loosened his heavy collar, a dark, dangerous smirk touching his lips.

So the tracking hound had learned how to run?

He harbored zero concern.

Perhaps a few freezing nights in the wild was exactly what my wolf required to learn his place.