C7

"Watch how Mireya pilots that Wraithfang Recon Unit; his ancestral blood dictates the sky," Tavros Kane sneered as the metal frame tore through the clouds, drawing a deafening roar of approval from the northern packs assembled in the arena. "Talented, lethal, and completely synchronized with his beast. No marvel Alpha-Prime Calder selected his scent at first glance; a high-born male like Mireya possesses the genetic line to command any warlord's attention."

I tracked the soaring mechanism, the silver-rot inside my chest burning like liquid lead as I leaned heavily against the stone pillar. "His focus is immaculate."

"You speak as though he earned that recognition honestly, Lardon," Thalia Raventhorne hissed, stepping beside me, her golden eyes flashing with ancient pack hatred. "Every runic calculation Mireya displays tonight was plundered from your lineage. His dam was a nameless stray until your own father paid his sanctuary tuition and gave him access to the ancestral texts, only for that parasite to plagiarize the entire Vexley legacy, claim the status for his own blood, and run to the western territories to sire Mireya with stolen wealth."

"The hierarchy only looks at the crown, not the blood on the stairs," I whispered, watching Mireya descend from the pilot's platform to a swarm of territory scouts and heralds seeking alliances.

The press of heavy bodies shoved my frail frame forward, my injured ankle twisting against the granite flags as a low-ranking warrior barked, "Clear the path for the Alpha-Prime, stray!"

"Are the rumors regarding a blood-merger between the Calder Dominion and the Duskrell line valid, Alpha?" a herald bellowed over the din.

Draven Calder swept his massive, fur-lined cloak around Mireya’s shoulders, pulling the high-born submissive tightly against his chest while his alpha pressure flattened the surrounding wolves into silence. "Remove your claws from his vicinity; my enforcers do not issue second warnings."

"Look how fiercely Master Calder guards his chosen mate," a group of young omegas whispered nearby. "They are a flawless alignment."

Draven’s amber eyes suddenly cut through the crowd, locking directly onto my pale face for the briefest fracture of a second.

"Do not risk your life by enacting a scene here, Lardon," Lucien Mordane rumbled, his thick fingers clamping around my upper arm like an iron shackle. "This is a sovereign broadcast. If your wolf attempts to humiliate Mireya or expose the old vows, I will personally throw your carcass into the mountain wastes."

I wrenched my limb from his grip, my gaze turning so absolute and icy that the dominant warrior actually took half a step back. "Your touch offends my beast, Lucien. Remove yourself before I forget the laws of the peace-treaty."

"What has happened to his eyes?" Lucien muttered, staring at his empty palm as I turned my straight, unyielding back to the arena and walked into the darkness of the outer tunnels. "He has never bared his fangs at a commander before."

"Leave the stray to his delusions," Tavros laughed, slapping Lucien’s shoulder guard. "He is merely playing another desperate game to make Draven look upon his low rank."

"Drink the willow-bark extract, Lardon; your core is freezing," I commanded myself, dry-swallowing the unmarked apothecary pills as the agony in my lower abdomen forced my knees to the dirt floor of my temporary sanctuary.

I isolated myself within the small stone chamber until the following noon, the heavy medicinal doses numbing my senses until the frantic chimes of my communication slate shattered my slumber.

"Grandma Kalista?" I answered, forcing my inner wolf to project strength.

"Sweetheart, has your beast reached Frostveil Peak with Draven yet?" Kalista Thornmere’s voice carried the frail warmth of an elder who still believed in the old blood-bonds. "I dispatched the territorial travel tokens to Draven’s lodge days ago to force you two into a private weekend cycle."

My chest tightened as the deception became transparent—Draven had accepted the tokens from his grandmother and simply buried them, never intending to share a mountain cabin with an omega he was discarding. "Grandma, the Relations Division requires my presence at the borders, so—"

"The moon is full and the weekend has arrived!" Kalista growled, her ancient alpha authority bleeding through the link. "Do not cover for that stubborn whelp. I am commanding the dominion drivers to bring your flesh to the high ridge immediately, and I will personally roar down the telepathic link until Draven presents his beast at the same hearth."

"Grandma, listen to my voice, the blood vow between us is already—"

"What of your vow?" she interrupted, her breathing turning shallow and strained.

I bit my tongue, knowing her weak heart could not survive the shock of our impending dissolution if I revealed the truth before Draven prepared the council. "It is nothing, Grandma. I will journey to Frostveil Peak now; Draven simply miscalculated the hour."

"Are you certain this is the cabin Kalista reserved?" I muttered to the driver as I dragged my traveling furs toward the threshold of the mountain lodge, only to freeze as the heavy timber doors swung open.

Draven and Mireya stood side by side in the firelight, their scent profiles deeply entwined with the aroma of cedar and winter lilies.

"Did my grandmother dispatch your wolf to this ridge?" Draven asked, his handsome features turning to solid marble as his amber eyes narrowed at my luggage.

Mireya merely offered a faint, amused curve of his lips, treating my intrusion like the clumsy stumble of a common servant. "Do you possess the runic key to the adjoining chamber, Draven? The mountain frost is settling into my cloak."

Draven slid the iron keycard into Mireya’s palm without breaking his chilling stare from my face. "Enter the nesting room, Mireya. I will resolve this disturbance."

As the high-born male stepped inside, leaving the partition open to signify his absolute ownership of the Alpha's time, Draven stepped into my space, his aura dropping the temperature of the corridor. "Request a room change from the lodge-master, Lardon. Your presence in the next chamber is an unnecessary distraction to my mate."

"So my wolf is merely a nuisance to your courtship?" I whispered, my pale lips tightening as the final remnants of my dignity turned to ash in the mountain air.