CHAPTER 3

Eudora Whitlock POV

"The silver tokens are accounted for, and your shift log is logged," the elder stallkeeper at the Silverfang Market Hall says, handing Eudora a brass token. "You learn quickly for an Omega, Whitlock. Take your short break before the evening rush."

"Thank you, Master Dawson," Eudora Whitlock says, her voice soft as she tucks her apron around her waist.

The sprawling Silverfang Market Hall hums with activity under the glow of the lunar crystal lamps. Alpha traders, Beta craftsmen, and traveling Omegas pack the stone corridors of the Frostmere Dominion's largest trading forum. For three straight days, Eudora had worked tirelessly inside the Moonflower Hearth supply stall, cataloging rare herbs, learning the properties of silver-infused elixirs, and serving high-ranking pack members. She was the first to arrive at dawn and the last to lock the heavy timber gates at dusk. She needed the work. Deprived of the High Alpha's treasury by her own choice, she had only her hands and her own stamina to secure her daily bread.

A chime echoes near her hip. She steps into the shadowed alcove of the storage den, reaching for her communication stone. When the glowing runes spell out Alpha Matriarch, the breath catches in her throat. Her heart hammers violently against her ribs, her inner wolf cowering in fear.

Two years ago, when High Alpha Leighton Ashford chose to take a lowborn Omega as his mate, the Ashford pack elders roared in fury. The Alpha Matriarch, Thelma Ashbury, had despised Eudora from the very first hour, viewing her common blood as a stain on the ancient lineage. Leighton had shielded Eudora completely, barring his mother from interfering in their private den. In two years, Eudora had not seen or spoken to the formidable woman.

Eudora presses her thumb against the glowing stone, her fingers trembling. "Alpha Matriarch."

"I am seated inside the private chamber at the Moonflower Hearth across the stone square," Thelma Ashbury's voice cuts through the link, heavy, cold, and dripping with raw pack authority. "Get over here immediately, girl."

The link snaps shut before Eudora can utter a single word.

Eudora clutches the stone, her pulse racing. Does she know? Does Leighton's mother know that the severance papers have already been signed, or is she here to heap fresh humillation upon an Omega she deems worthless? Eudora smooths her simple cloth dress, steps out to inform Master Dawson, and walks across the busy stone square.

The private chamber of the Moonflower Hearth smells heavily of roasted boar and spiced pine. Sitting at the head of the dark oak table, clad in rich velvet robes lined with white wolf fur, is Thelma Ashbury. Her amber eyes, cold and sharp as frozen daggers, sweep over Eudora from her leather sandals to her unadorned hair.

"Have you lost your mind, Eudora?" Thelma snaps, her lip curling in disgust as she slams her silver cup onto the table. "I came to inspect the lower market territory, only to find the High Alpha's consort serving herbs like a common servant! Have you no shame?"

Eudora stands straight, swallowing the lump in her throat. She keeps her head held high despite the crushing pressure of the older woman's Alpha aura radiating through the small room.

"I am earning my own keep, Matriarch," Eudora says gently.

"Earning your keep?" Thelma laughs bitterly, her eyes flashing gold with anger. "The Ashford Moon Holdings treasury possesses more silver than the entire northern border! Do you wish to make our lineage a laughingstock among the neighboring packs? You drag Leighton's title through the dirt by standing behind a merchant's stall!"

Eudora blinks, her chest tightening as realization hits her like a physical blow. She does not know. Leighton has not told his mother about the severance paper or the return of Sybil Hargrove.

"Matriarch, please listen to me," Eudora begins, reaching out a hand. "It is not what you think. Leighton and I—"

"Silence!" Thelma commands, standing up and grabbing her heavy fur cloak. "I will not listen to your pathetic excuses! Pack up your things and return to the Silvermoon Grand Lodge this instant. You will sit in your chambers and behave like a proper consort, or I will have the pack enforcers drag you back in chains!"

Thelma turns on her heel, her heavy boots clicking against the flagstones as she storms toward the heavy wooden door.

Eudora turns quickly to follow her, desperate to explain the truth before the Matriarch causes a public scene. "Wait, Alpha Matriarch! Leighton has chosen another—"

As Eudora rushes past the doorway, a serving boy carrying a wooden platter laden with raw, blood-soaked wolf-meat for the Alpha patrons steps directly into her path. They collide hard. The heavy platter crashes to the floor, splashing warm, thick crimson fluid across Eudora's chest and hands.

The sharp, overwhelming scent of raw blood hits Eudora's senses instantly. Her stomach rolls violently. A sudden, terrifying wave of nausea hits her gut, making her vision swim. She clutches her stomach, drops to her knees right in front of the doorway, and gags uncontrollably, heaving onto the clean stone floor.

Thelma halts in her tracks, turning around with a scowl. She opens her mouth to utter another harsh rebuke, but as her sharp amber eyes drop to Eudora doubled over on the floor, clutching her lower belly in sheer agony, her breath hitches. The Matriarch's nostrils flare, catching the subtle, hidden scent shift in Eudora's blood aura—a faint, sweet vibration of new life resting deep within her womb.

The color drains completely from Thelma's face. The harshness in her eyes shatters, replaced by a sudden, terrifying look of shock.

"By the Moon Goddess," Thelma whispers, stepping forward with trembling hands. "You are carrying a High Alpha's pup."