CHAPTER 5

Elsin Waveridge POV

"Did you really drag a total stranger to the Pack Elders and sign a mate bond behind my back?" Tamsin Whitlocke slammed both hands on the steering wheel of her crimson runner-wagon, screeching the iron wheels to a halt outside the convenience store. "Elsin Waveridge, you don't even have a suitor! Did you pick an outland wolf off the side of the mountain trail?"

"He's not an outland wolf, Tamsin," Elsin said, holding her hands up defensively as her best friend stared at her in utter disbelief. "My mother pulled his profile off the territory notice board. His name is Alaric Westbourne. He works for Westbourne Alpha Holdings, his parents passed into the ancestral grounds, and his wolf is untainted."

"Alaric?" Tamsin frowned, her brows knitting together as she tried to place the name. "Alaric Westbourne... The Whitlockes aren't high enough in the pack hierarchy to attend Council summits, but that name sounds terrifyingly familiar."

"He's just an ordinary low-ranking pack laborer," Elsin insisted quickly, unwilling to let Tamsin’s runaway imagination spiral. "He drives an old iron cart, lives in a rented lower-territory shelter, and works hard. I don't care about silver vaults or noble titles, Tamsin. My mother is sick, and I need my life to be quiet."

"You're insane," Tamsin groaned, leaning her forehead against the leather wheel. "You refused every decent male in the territory after Percival Dainsley betrayed you five years ago, and now you give your entire mate bond to a complete stranger? What about Percival? He just returned from the imperial capital as the chief enforcer for the Pack Court. He bought a massive stone manor down in the Silverhorn Valley! If you just let me reach out to him—"

"I have a bound mate now, Tamsin," Elsin interrupted, her voice turning sharp and unyielding as her golden eyes flashed with raw warning. "Percival belongs to my past. I don't care how many silver manors he owns in the valley. I signed my oath with Alaric, and I intend to keep it."

Tamsin sighed heavily, waving her hand in defeat. "Fine, fine! But if this laborer treats my best friend like trash, I will personally rip his throat out with my claws."

Before Elsin could reply, the heavy silver mind-comm device in her tunic pocket vibrated against her hip. She pulled it out, her chest tightening when she saw the caller ID glowing on the glass screen: My Male, Alaric.

"Where are you, Elsin?" Alaric’s deep, velvet rumble filled her ear, sending an immediate wave of possessive heat straight down her spine. "I'm coming to collect you."

"I'm outside the lower market with Tamsin," Elsin answered, keeping her voice low. "Is something wrong?"

"Send me your exact territory coordinates," Alaric ordered calmly, ignoring her question. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

"I'm done here," Elsin said into the comm. "I'll send the location now."

She clicked off the device and turned to Tamsin, who was grinning like a wild mountain wolf. "Is that the mister?"

"He's coming to pick me up," Elsin muttered, her cheeks flushing warm as she sent her location link. "I have to go."

"I'm staying right here," Tamsin declared, crossing her arms over her chest. "I need to look this laborer in the eye and smell his scent before I let him take my best friend."

Less than ten minutes later, a beat-up, dark iron runner-cart rattled down the stone street, pulling smoothly up to the curb. The heavy wooden door swung open, and a tall, dangerously broad male stepped down onto the cobblestones.

Alaric wore a simple, dark laborer’s tunic, but the way he moved—every step dripping with silent, predatory dominance—made the air around him freeze. His sharp jawline, midnight hair, and piercing gray eyes commanded absolute submission from every common wolf passing on the street.

Tamsin’s jaw dropped so low it nearly hit the pavement. She leaned over and pinched Elsin’s arm hard. "By the Moon Mother, Elsin... If beauty could pay the pack taxes, that male would own the entire mountain range!"

Elsin rolled her eyes, her face burning with embarrassment as she stepped forward. "Alaric, this is my closest friend, Tamsin Whitlocke. Tamsin, this is... my bound mate, Alaric Westbourne."

She stumbled over the word mate, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Alaric’s gray eyes softened as he looked down at Elsin, a faint, dangerous smirk touching his lips before he turned a polite, cool nod toward Tamsin. "It's a pleasure, Tamsin."

"The pleasure is entirely mine, Mr. Westbourne," Tamsin purred, her eyes scanning his broad shoulders and the cheap iron cart behind him with a mixture of awe and pity. "Elsin certainly kept your looks a secret!"

Alaric wrapped a massive, warm hand around Elsin’s waist, pulling her flush against his side with effortless authority. "Shall we head to our new home, little wolf?"