C2

"Elira Stormveil, guide Lady Blackwynd to the upper den."

The moment Vickon issued the command, my racing pulse steadied. His voice—low, commanding—wrapped around me like a chain I no longer wanted to escape.

Before rational thought could stop me, instinct took over. I lunged forward and wrapped my arms tightly around his broad, powerful shoulders in a desperate embrace. "I am going to protect you, Alpha. I swear it on my blood."

The words slipped out raw and reckless. His heat seared through my clothes, winter pine and raw dominance flooding my senses. For one stolen heartbeat, I felt the thunder of his heart against mine—the closest I had ever been to him in either lifetime.

Embarrassment crashed over me. I tore myself away and bolted up the stone stairs without looking back, cheeks burning.

What have I done? Vickon executed wolves for less. In my first life, no one dared breach his personal space without full submission.

Down in the grand hall, Vickon stood frozen.

The phantom warmth of her small body lingered against his chest. Protect him? No wolf in the Dominion had ever spoken those words to his face. Most trembled. Many fled.

Zyric Fenwolf stared, jaw nearly slack. The Alpha wasn’t unleashing his feral aura. He wasn’t shredding the girl to pieces. Last moon cycle, when a high-ranking female tried to force her scent on him, Vickon’s growl had shaken the valley and he nearly tore her throat out.

This time… nothing.

Upstairs, Elira Stormveil led me with rigid disapproval. I stopped dead at the threshold of a cramped, dingy chamber. "You expect me to sleep here?"

I knew this room from my previous life—low-tier omega quarters, far from the Alpha’s wing. A deliberate slight.

"Your arrival was unannounced," Elira said coldly. "The master suite still reeks of silver toxin. Survive here tonight."

I bit back a snarl and stepped inside, slamming the heavy oak door. The washbasin water was ice-cold—another test. Elira ran this fortress like a blade. Fine. I wouldn’t play their game.

I intercepted a young omega in the corridor. "Where is the nearest functioning washroom?"

Sorelle Mistfang flinched. "The northern doors…"

I pushed into the massive chamber before she could finish. Pine, crushed slate, and raw lethal power slammed into me. Vickon’s private sanctuary. The nostalgia hit like a silver blade.

"Leave us," I told Sorelle. "And bring me a clean tunic."

Meanwhile, in the grand hall, Vaelira Nightvale stepped forward with calculated grace. Her eyes gleamed with predatory hunger. Even poisoned, Vickon Blackwynd was power incarnate. Becoming his mate meant ruling the entire northern territories.

Why her? Vaelira thought bitterly. They shared the same Nightvale bloodline. She should have been the one chosen.

Her plan had worked perfectly—manipulating her naive sister into fleeing with Thorne. The title of Lady Blackwynd should have been hers by now.

"Alpha Vickon," she announced, voice honeyed with false humility, "I came to answer for my sister’s treason. Zafira is weak. She heard rumors of your silver sickness, panicked, and fled into the wastes with a rogue because she feared your mating bite."

Vaelira tilted her chin, offering her slender neck, her scent shifting into something fertile and inviting. "I am ready to offer my neck to preserve our alliance."

Vickon’s golden eyes remained cold stone. "Nightvale blood. Bold of you to walk into my hall after your sister’s betrayal."

I stepped out of the washbasin, skin flushed and dripping. The servant had never returned with the tunic. Snarling, I yanked open the cedar chest and pulled out one of Vickon’s massive black ceremonial robes. The fabric swallowed me, heavy with his scent. I knotted the leather belt tight around my waist, the collar hanging loose over my collarbones, and marched toward the mezzanine.

Vaelira’s poisonous voice drifted up from below. "I only pray you do not slaughter my pack for Zafira’s cowardice."

My lips peeled back in a silent snarl. Not this time, sister.

"Vaelira," I called, voice cutting through the hall like a blade. "Who gave you permission to stand in this hall?"

Every head snapped upward.

I descended the stone steps slowly, wet hair clinging to my neck, eyes glowing with lunar fire. Vickon’s enormous robe dragged behind me like a shadow of dominance, carrying his scent across the entire hall.

Vaelira’s face drained of color. Pure terror flashed in her eyes. "How… how are you still here?"

Vickon went completely rigid. His pupils dilated into black rings as he took in the sight of me—dripping wet, wrapped in his sacred robe, marked by his scent on my very skin.

Zyric and the guards reached for their blades, eyes wide with dread. Everyone knew the Alpha’s territory was sacred. No one touched his private chambers. No one wore his furs.

Yet here I stood, bold as the full moon, defying every rule on my very first night.

A low, dangerous growl rumbled from deep in Vickon’s chest. The sound vibrated through the stone floor. He took one step forward, towering over everyone, golden eyes locked on me with an intensity that made my knees weak and my inner wolf howl.

"You dare wear what belongs to me, little wolf?" His voice was velvet over steel. "Explain yourself… before I decide whether to mark you… or break you."

The air crackled with raw, unspoken power. The mate bond flared violently between us—fierce, hungry, and on the edge of something irreversible.

Vaelira’s expression twisted with murderous rage behind her mask of shock.