C5

"I suspect it was the way you wore that dress," I murmured, watching Kael disappear into the crowd.

Declan exhaled at the exact same time, his voice a low rumble in my ear. "It was definitely the dress."

I glanced at him, noting the familiar, heavy warmth in his eyes. It didn't ignite the same chaotic, wildfire sensation that a lethal Alpha's predatory come-on had sparked in a dark lift, but we’d shared a territory for a long time. The way he looked at me was safe. It was comfortable.

And tonight, it was enough.

The adrenaline of the evening was still singing through my veins, pooling in my lower belly. I pressed my knees together, savoring the lingering tingle. "You look dangerous tonight, Declan. I’ve always had a weakness for you in formal pack-furs. You look like a leader."

His eyes darkened, a lazy, satisfied grin tugging at his lips. Then, his expression sharpened into something more serious. "The silk and leather might get you noticed, Rowan, but it won't keep you at the high table. We play a brutal game on that ice. Our work is what’s opening these Citadel gates. You earned this kill. We earned it. We deserve to be here."

My throat tightened. Every grueling practice, every late-night edit on the game tapes, every bruise I’d earned it was all for this.

I looked back at my phone, trying to swallow the lump of emotion, and took a bite of fruit to settle my stomach. I’d been too tightly wound to eat during the rites, and now I was ravenous. I scrolled through Nyra’s latest barrage of texts.

Nyra: You were the one who walked into his space. I know you, Rowan. Don't let the Alpha's scent go to your head. Be careful.

Having a friend who could read my soul was a blessing and a curse. Nyra still saw me as the young, green-blooded scout who had fallen hopelessly for a man twenty years her senior—a man who lived by logic and pack politics rather than the heart.

But Declan believed in alliances and career trajectories. When he offered me a bond, I knew the terms. It wasn't a fated-mate fairy tale; it was a partnership of power.

I was older now. I wasn't that naive girl anymore.

Rather than defending my choices to a phone screen, I set the device down and gave Declan a look that mirrored his own heat.

"That’s a very suggestive way to handle that fruit," he whispered. He circled the counter, abandoned his drink, and pulled me against him from behind. His strength was a solid wall at my back. "Should we take this celebration to the den?"

He meant my sleeping quarters. Even with our arrangement of mutual freedom, I didn't care for the lingering scents of other she-wolves in his space.

But I thrived on his presence in my room a fact Nyra used as evidence that I was still more emotionally entangled than I cared to admit. To me, it was just the reality of enjoying my partner.

His hand slid beneath the neckline of my dress, his calloused palm grazing my skin, and a soft, helpless sound escaped my throat. I arched my back, seeking more of him, and he claimed my mouth with an urgent, possessive hunger. I could feel the hard line of his desire against my thigh.

But as he began to unfasten the silver zipper, I pulled him toward the bedroom. The heavy furs were already spread, the moonlight blocked out by thick curtains. I preferred the shadows tonight. In the darkness, I could let the night’s excitement consume me. In the darkness, I could pretend the hands unzipping me were larger, colder. I could imagine a different scent—mountain air and ozone—burning against my neck.

I closed my eyes and let myself shatter, imagining storm-grey eyes watching me as I fell apart.

"Declan, wake up. You need to see the gates."

I nudged him without looking away from the transport's reinforced window. He let out a low groan, stretching his neck until his joints popped. "Are we in the Blackwood Territory already?"

"I think so," I whispered. The soundproof partition was up, separating us from the Dominion driver. "Look at the entrance."

The massive iron gates, forged in the shape of howling wolves, swung inward with a heavy, rhythmic groan. As the car began to roll down the long, winding drive, Declan unbuckled and leaned over my shoulder. "Are those frost-blossoms?"

"Yeah. They only bloom like that in high-altitude pack lands." They were stunning—pale, glowing white petals lining both sides of the path like a guard of honor. It had been years since I’d seen nature so raw and beautiful.

"Perfect timing. Another few days and the frost would have claimed them."

It had been a week since the Ironclaw Lift. Every day since, I’d tried to convince myself I’d imagined the intensity of Kael’s gaze that I’d inflated a few arrogant words into something they weren't. The thrill of the invitation had mostly buried the unease. The luxury transport ride into the deep woods and the arrival at this sprawling territory had cleared away the last of my doubts.

A few minutes later, we pulled up in front of a fortress-like mansion that looked more like a castle than a home. I didn't wait for the driver; I hopped out the moment the locks clicked.

"Unbelievable." The Citadel was impressive, but this place was ancient and massive. "It has to be thirty thousand square feet of stone and timber."

"At least," Declan said, stepping out behind me. "And this is just his 'retreat' from the Tower."

I made a crude, jerking gesture with my hand this place was the peak of Alpha-tier posturing.

Declan caught my hand, laughing softly before the staff could see my disrespect. "I thought this was the kind of power you were hunting for, Rowan."

I shrugged, my eyes scanning the high battlements. "I want the status that earns a place like this."

He raised an eyebrow. We both knew this level of dominance was rare, even for the most elite athletes. Only the Alphas of the major networks and the legends of the ice ever saw this kind of wealth.

"Fine," I amended. "I want the career that gets invited to places like this on a regular basis."

He interlaced his fingers with mine. "The first dream was better. Hunt big, Rowan. You never know what the moon will provide."

I felt a glow of appreciation. Declan had always been the loudest voice in my corner. His passion for my potential was what had drawn me to him in the beginning. I used to think it was love. I used to think it was the kind of fire that poets wrote about.

I’d since realized the spark in his eyes was usually a reflection of his own ambitions, fueled by my success. He was honest about it, which I respected. I was the one who occasionally caught myself wishing for something more primal.

"Mr. and Mrs. Voss."

I turned, seeing a woman in sharp, tailored hunt-furs waiting by the massive oak doors.

"She keeps the name Ashcroft," Declan corrected smoothly.

"My mistake. I’ll update the manifest. I’m Elira, the Warden of the House. Welcome to the Moonspire Estate."

"Moonspire?" I asked.

"It’s the name of the ancestral grounds," Declan informed me, ever the expert on Dominion history.

"Correct, Mr. Voss. It was named by Alaric Thornridge's predecessors."

"Magnus’s father?" I wanted to ensure I knew exactly whose territory I was treading on.

"Yes. Though Kael Thornridge took ownership of the title and the grounds three years ago. He renamed the main hall in honor of his grandmother's lineage." Elira gestured toward the entrance. "The Alpha is eager to begin the retreat. I trust your journey through the pass was smooth?"

"It was perfect," I said, watching as a porter in a dark waistcoat gathered our trunks. "Thank you."

I glanced at Declan, wondering if we should offer a tribute or a tip, but he remained still. I trusted his instincts in these high-blood circles. He knew exactly how to move among the wolves of the Blackwood Territory.

But as the heavy doors of the estate groaned open, my scent caught something on the wind a sharp, electric spark of ozone that told me Kael was already close.

And he was waiting.