C3

"You are certain that is your dynamic request? I will grant you one final chance to rephrase your terms."

David Duskbane tightens his crushing grip on my shoulder, his dominant alpha frequency spiking so hard the lesser wolves in the courtyard drop to their knees.

"You want to play the benevolent forest spirit now, Double D?" I bark, twisting my neck to look him dead in his amber eyes. "Do you think you are some fabled djinn granting wishes in the wildlands?"

The entire Vinqlo assembly including Tahlia and Mirelle stare at us with their jaws hanging loose. The scent of raw shock suffocates the air. They cannot comprehend why a ragged rogue from the Ashgrove Wildlands is speaking to the apex predator of the northern hemisphere without howling in submission.

David’s pupils dial wide, his chest vibrating with a low rumble as he prepares to answer. Before the alpha frequency snaps the tension, Cedron Sterling pushes through his personal guard line.

"Welcome to our territory, Supreme Lord Duskbane!" Cedron shouts, his scent flaring with a desperate, submissive panic. "Why did your shadowcraft give no advance notice of this honor?"

The surrounding pack scions draw sharp breaths at the sight of the Vinqlo Alpha humbling himself. Mirelle Voss shuts her eyes tight, her hands trembling against her fur tunic as she senses the shifting tide.

Cedron finally registers the strange atmosphere, his gaze shifting toward the center of the clearing. The moment his eyes land on my scarred, soot-stained face, a violent sneer deforms his jaw.

"Tahlia!" Cedron roars, turning to his illegitimate daughter. "Why have you permitted a mangy stray to defile your transformation feast? Purge this parasite from my grounds immediately!"

Tahlia freezes, a malicious satisfaction sparking in her eyes despite her confusion. "Father, he..."

"Father!" I cut her off, taking a sharp step forward, my tattered leather boots digging into the pristine grass. "Do you truly fail to recognize your own flesh? I am klinton!"

Klinton was the secret, inner-circle pup name given to me before the exile.

"Klin..." Cedron’s ears twitch, his eyes turning wide and completely white with pack horror. "You... you are Franklin?"

"Indeed, Father. Franklin Sterling has returned to the den," I growl, closing the distance between us.

Ten winters in the Ashgrove wastes had wiped away my memories of the manor’s layout, but I would recognize that treacherous face anywhere.

Cedron stumbles back two paces, his boots catching on the stone rim of the fountain. Pure, unadulterated terror radiates from his skin; his inner wolf is clawing to hide the fact that he paid the Bloodfang Raiders to execute me.

I smell his guilt. It tastes like copper on my tongue.

"We have been separated by a decade of frost," I say, my voice steady, carrying over the entire silent assembly. "I have missed your leadership immensely."

Cedron is completely choked by his own scent. Left with no political escape in front of the northern lords, he reaches out a trembling hand and pats my tattered shoulder.

"Welcome back to the bloodline, my boy," he stammers, his eyes darting frantically toward the towering figure behind me. "But... what is the nature of your connection with Lord Duskbane? Why are the two of you drenched in the grime of the Blacktide Waters?"

The attention of the entire crowd instantly shifts to David’s attire. Their senses had been so overwhelmed by his raw alpha aura that they hadn't noticed the dark salt-crust and shredded hems of his supreme tactical uniform.

Tahlia narrows her eyes, her scent spiking with bitter jealousy as she looks from me to David. There is no cosmic way the Lord of Duskbane Keep has bonded with a wild country omega, she thinks, her jaw clenching. Unless his wolf has gone completely mad.

Sensing the deadly stillness, Mirelle Voss steps between her family and the high alpha. "It appears Lord Duskbane was gracious enough to escort our lost heir back to the family den."

"Is that the truth?" Cedron’s disgust vanishes, replaced by a calculating gleam.

If this country bumpkin remembers nothing of the ambush, we can use his survival to tether our pack to the Duskbane lineage. The wealth of the Condex trade routes will be ours.

Cedron’s face instantly shifts into a warm, hospitable mask as he addresses David. "Then you are a savior to the Sterling name, Alpha Duskbane. Enter our hall, cleanse yourself of the wildlands, and share the ritual stag with us tonight."

Mirelle steps forward, her voice oily. "Yes, Lord Duskbane. We have elite guest garments prepared in the high chambers."

David looks down at his brine-soaked sleeves, his inner wolf clearly loathing the foreign scent of the Vinqlo territory. He gives a curt, silent nod.

Cedron guides him toward the grand archway, before leaning close to Mirelle's ear. "Get the boy scrubbed and presentable. We must use him to secure the Duskbane alliance."

Mirelle’s fingers curl into claws. She remembers how my birth mother, Mcqueen, used to rule this territory with absolute grace. She will never allow Mcqueen's son to reclaim the throne over her own daughter.

"Tahlia," Mirelle commands aloud, turning a sharp look on her daughter. "Guide your older brother to the bathing chambers. Treat him with the respect a returned heir deserves."

Tahlia catches the hidden pack command in her mother's scent. She forces her fangs back and smiles. "Of course. Come, Franklin. Let us get you cleaned up."

I know the mother-daughter duo would rather see my head on a spike, but I return the fake grin with a bared-tooth smile of my own. "Lead the way."

We walk into the stone fortress hand in hand, while the courtyard erupts into frantic whispering behind us. The lesser packs realize that from this night on, the Sterlings hold the ultimate protection.

Inside the upper guest wing, Tahlia flings open a heavy oak door. "You will occupy this cell while the servants clear the dust from your old quarters. The basin is filled. I will retrieve a tunic."

"My thanks," I reply.

"Oh, before I leave you to your devices," Tahlia turns, her voice dripping with condescension as she points toward the modern piping. "Do you comprehend how to activate the heated spring mechanism? The temperature is locked by the central furnace. A wild wolf from the wildlands might find it... complex."

I look at her, my expression completely neutral. "I will manage."

"Excellent." Tahlia sneers, slamming the oak door shut.

The moment she is in the corridor, her pleasant scent curdles into absolute disgust. She pulls a silk cloth from her belt, wiping her palms raw where she touched my skin before throwing the fabric into the torch fire.

"He reeks of swamp mud and dead fish," she mutters to the stone walls. "David Duskbane must have dragged him out of a ditch by accident. The High Alpha would never mate with a filthy creature like that."

Inside the chamber, I strip off the ruined leathers and sink into the steaming mountain spring water.

Ten winters of ash and salt melt off my skin. As the hot water washes over my brow, the grime clears, revealing the flawless, pale complexion of the true Sterling bloodline. My jawline is sharp, my throat long, and my physique carries the lean, lethal elegance of a high-born omega male—built for speed and survival.

A sharp knock rattles the door ten minutes later.

"Franklin, open up!" Tahlia kicks the bottom of the door. "I've got the suit. Shoes are at the door."

"Leave it," I call back, cracking the heavy door to pull the garments inside.

Tahlia is already walking away, a vicious smirk playing on her lips. She has left me a tailored garment from the Black Snake Vrig elite collection. It is a piece meant for a supreme high-ranking male model—cut so narrow across the ribs and low across the collarbones that it requires an immaculate, hyper-lean hourglass frame to wear without tearing the seams.

With Tahlia’s broad, unpolished alpha shoulders, she could never fit the proportions, which is why it sat rejected in her wardrobe.

Once that wild beast stumbles into the feast room looking like a bloated, deformed animal, she thinks, the High Alpha will reject him on sight.