Chapter 4 : The Prince Arrives

Kane’s POV

The SUV’s tires hummed against the forest road as Blackstone Pack's territory loomed ahead. Trees blurred past the tinted windows, shadows stretching long in the late evening light.

Kane leaned back in his seat, one hand resting on his thigh, the other curled into a loose fist. His wolf stirred restlessly beneath his skin - alert, pacing.

He could feel it.

Something was wrong here.

“You’re quiet,” Thorne said from the passenger seat, casting a sidelong glance. The commander’s voice was casual, but Kane caught the edge beneath it. “Tense?”

Kane didn’t look at him. His golden eyes stayed on the trees.

“They’ve kept too much too quiet,” he muttered. “Their reports are clean. Too clean. No real details. No recent trials. No record of internal punishment or dissent. That doesn’t happen without someone silencing it.”

Thorne whistled under his breath. “So we’re not just here to dine and smile.”

Kane’s jaw tightened. “We’re here to see what they’re hiding.”

Ahead, the gates of the Blackstone estate creaked open.

Stone walls rose high, cold and rigid. The pack house sat like a fortress carved from the mountain -proud, unyielding, and suffocating. Kane’s eyes narrowed.

This place didn’t welcome. It contained.

The welcome committee was already assembled on the steps.

Alpha Caden stepped forward, forced smile in place. Tall, thick-shouldered, and visibly aging. His power wasn’t gone - but it was brittle now, worn around the edges. Luna Regina stood beside him like a blade in heels - elegant, immovable, watching Kane with calculating eyes.

“Your Highness,” Caden said, bowing. “We’re honored to host you.”

Luna Regina inclined her head. “We hope the Blackstone Pack meets your expectations.”

Kane didn’t smile. “I don’t come with expectations,” he replied. “Just eyes.”

The Luna’s expression flickered.

Behind them stood their children - Aiden and Seraphine. The son looked as smug as his father once had. The daughter… beautiful, yes, but Kane saw the venom curled behind her smile.

Seraphine met his gaze and held it too long. He dismissed her with a blink and turned back to Caden.

“I’ll expect a full inspection of your warriors and housing tomorrow,” Kane said. “Tonight, I’ll observe your formal court and banquet.”

“Of course,” the Alpha said, voice a bit too eager. “We’ve prepared a feast in your honor.”

The word feast landed wrong in Kane’s gut. He nodded once and followed them through the towering doors.

The main hall was too lavish.

Silks draped windows. Chandeliers glittered. Servants hurried with trays of food and wine. Everything gleamed with perfection - except the people.

Their eyes were too careful. Their movements too still.

Kane’s wolf growled quietly in the back of his mind. Something’s off.

He sat at the high table, tuning out Alpha Caden’s speech about unity and legacy and whatever else packs thought impressed Lycans. Kane’s attention drifted - not out of boredom, but instinct.

His gaze scanned the crowd. And then he caught it.

A scent.

Faint. Unexpected. Incongruous.

Lavender.

But not perfumed or synthetic. Wild. Untamed. Sharp and alive. It wrapped around him like a hook in his lungs.

He inhaled again.

It was her. Someone here - wounded, hidden, buried beneath blood and filth - carried that scent. And it called to him.

His wolf surged upward. „Mate.”

Kane rose abruptly.

Thorne tensed beside him. “Kane?”

“Do you smell it?” Kane’s voice was low, tight.

Thorne inhaled. “Lavender. Beneath the rest. But... tainted.”

Kane’s eyes darkened. “There’s blood in it.”

He turned on his heel, leaving the table.

“Your Highness?” Caden called after him.

Kane didn’t stop. “Continue without me.”

He followed the scent through the halls, past courtyards, down a narrow passageway that twisted away from the polished halls into cold, stone silence.

And there - on the steps leading to the old dungeons - was blood. Fresh. Smearing the stones.

Thorne reached it beside him. “That’s not a soldier’s wound.”

“No,” Kane said, voice hardening. “It’s someone they’ve locked away.”

He descended the stairs.

The dungeon air was damp, heavy with mold and iron.

The scent of blood grew stronger. But beneath it -  lavender. Pure and relentless. Her scent. It guided him to the last door at the end of the corridor.

He opened it. And froze. She lay crumpled on the floor, unmoving.

Blood soaked her thin dress. Her skin was covered in bruises and cuts - some fresh, some old. Her breathing was shallow. Hair matted with sweat and dirt. Arms wrapped tightly around her body, as if trying to hold herself together.

And even broken, even beaten, Kane knew her.

His wolf growled, deep and low. „Mate.”

Rage surged up inside him like a tidal wave. Cold, controlled, lethal.

“Thorne,” he said, voice low. “Get the healer. Now.”

Thorne vanished. Kane stepped forward slowly, kneeling beside her.

“Can you hear me?” he asked quietly.

She didn’t respond. But her breathing hitched.

He reached for her gently, brushing tangled hair from her face.

Her lips moved. A whisper. A name.

“…Aiden…”

Kane’s jaw clenched.

His voice softened. “No. Not him.”

Her eyes flickered open. Dull. Clouded. But they locked with his.

The bond snapped tight. Electric. Ancient. Real.

She was his mate. And someone had dared to treat her like this.

Not anymore.