Chapter 7

The Rot

​POV: Alpha Kaelen Blackwood

​It had been one month since the Blood Moon Ball. One month since I cleansed the pack of its weakness. One month since I sent Elara Vance into the snow to die.

​So why did the pack feel weaker than ever?

​"Alpha, we lost two more patrols on the eastern ridge last night," Marcus said, tossing a bloody dossier onto the mahogany table.

​We were in the War Room, a bunker beneath the main pack house. The air was stale, smelling of old coffee and unwashed wolf. My top advisors sat around the table, their faces grim.

​"Rogues?" I asked, rubbing my temples. A headache had taken up permanent residence behind my eyes since the night of the ball. It was a dull, thrumming pressure that never went away.

​"Organized rogues," Marcus corrected. "They didn't just attack; they tested the perimeter. They knew exactly where the shift changes were. It’s like they can smell the gaps in our defense."

​"There are no gaps in our defense," I snapped, slamming my hand on the table. "We are the Blackwood Pack. We are the iron wall of the North."

​"The wall is rusting, Kaelen," my father’s voice came from the shadows in the corner.

​Former Alpha Silas Blackwood sat in his wheelchair, a blanket over his legs. He was old, his body failing him, but his eyes were still sharp. He wheeled himself forward. "The bond of the Alpha affects the land. It affects the warriors. A pack without a Luna is vulnerable. A pack with a... broken Alpha is a target."

​I growled low in my throat. "I am not broken."

​"Then why can't you sleep?" Silas challenged. "Why does the pack feel anxious? The bond you severed... nature does not forgive that easily."

​"I did what was necessary!" I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the concrete floor. "I removed a runt who would have made us a laughingstock. Do you think the Council would respect a Luna who can't even shift? Who scrubs floors?"

​"Power comes in many forms," Silas murmured, looking at me with something akin to pity. "You threw away a gift from the Goddess because it didn't come wrapped in the package you wanted."

​"I have a Luna," I stated cold, buttoning my suit jacket. "And tonight, I will make it official. Once I mark Zara, the pack bond will stabilize. The anxiety will end. The defenses will hold."

​Silas didn't say anything. He just looked at the map on the table, where red markers indicated our losses. "Good luck, son. You’re going to need it."

​The Master Suite smelled of roses. Too many roses.

​I walked in to find Zara waiting on the bed. She was wearing black lace lingerie that left very little to the imagination. The room was dim, lit only by candles. It was a scene set for seduction, designed to entice a male wolf.

​It made my stomach turn.

​"Finally," Zara purred, crawling across the mattress like a cat. "I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me."

​She stood up and walked toward me, wrapping her arms around my neck. She looked up, her eyes hungry. "Is it time?"

​"It’s time," I said hollowly.

​This was the solution. The biological fix. Once I sank my teeth into her mating gland—the sensitive spot where the neck meets the shoulder—our scents would merge. The pack would recognize her as Luna. The mystical unrest that had plagued my warriors would settle.

​Zara kissed me. Her lips were soft, her technique practiced. She tasted of mint and expensive lipstick.

​I kissed her back, trying to ignite the fire. I pressed her against the wall, my hands roaming her curves. She moaned, tilting her head to the side, baring her neck.

​"Do it, Kaelen," she whispered. "Mark me. Make me yours."

​I looked at the pale skin of her neck. I could hear the pulse thrumming beneath it.

​Do it, I told myself. Seal the deal.

​My canines elongated. I felt the familiar itch in my gums as my wolf pushed forward. I leaned in, my breath hot on her skin.

​But as I opened my mouth to strike, a scent hit me.

​It wasn't roses.

​For a split second, the room didn't smell like Zara. It smelled of ozone. Of deep, freezing snow. Of her.

​ELARA.

​The name wasn't spoken; it was screamed inside my mind.

​Rage, my wolf, woke up from his month-long depression with a violence that nearly blinded me.

​NO! Rage roared. NOT HER. NOT THE FALSE ONE.

​My body locked up. I was frozen, my teeth centimeters from Zara’s skin.

​"Kaelen?" Zara asked, sensing my hesitation. "What’s wrong?"

​I tried to force my jaw to close. I tried to force my wolf to accept this necessary union.

​Mark her! I commanded my wolf. She is our choice!

​SHE IS NOT OUR MATE! Rage snarled. I WILL NOT BIND TO TRAITOR BLOOD!

​Rage took control. He didn't just stop me; he violently rejected the action.

​A wave of nausea crashed into me, so potent I gagged. I shoved Zara away from me—hard.

​She stumbled back, tripping over the rug and landing on the bed with a gasp. "Kaelen!"

​I doubled over, clutching my stomach, dry heaving. It felt like I had tried to swallow poison. My skin was burning, my wolf thrashing against my ribcage, clawing at my insides in protest.

​"Get out," I wheezed.

​"What?" Zara sat up, looking more annoyed than concerned. "Kaelen, you’re ruining the moment. Just take a breath and—"

​"I SAID GET OUT!" I roared, my eyes flashing a brilliant, unstable gold.

​The Alpha Command slammed into the room, shaking the windows in their frames. Zara flinched, fear finally piercing her vanity. She grabbed her silk robe and scrambled off the bed.

​"You’re crazy," she hissed, backing toward the door. "Everyone says you’re losing it, and they’re right. You can't even mark your own girlfriend? What kind of Alpha are you?"

​She slammed the door behind her, leaving me alone in the candlelit room.

​I collapsed onto the floor, bracing my back against the wall. I was shaking. Sweat dripped from my forehead.

​I had failed.

​An Alpha who couldn't mark a Luna was barely an Alpha at all. It was a sign of impotence, of a fractured soul. If the pack found out I couldn't complete the mating rite, my authority would crumble.

​I reached for the bottle of whiskey I kept on the nightstand and took a long swig, ignoring the burn.

​Why? I asked Rage, wiping my mouth. Why are you doing this to me? Elara is dead. We have to move on.

​Rage didn't answer with words. He answered with a feeling. A deep, hollow, aching sensation in the center of my chest. It was a pull. A tugging on a thread that stretched out of the room, out of the pack lands, and into the dark, frozen North.

​Not dead, Rage whispered, his voice weak but certain.

​I squeezed my eyes shut. "She’s dead, Rage. Marcus saw the tracks. The cold took her."

​NOT. DEAD.

​I threw the whiskey bottle across the room. It shattered against the fireplace, the glass exploding like shrapnel.

​I was going insane. That was the only explanation. The guilt was manifesting as hallucinations. Elara Vance was a pile of bones in the Wildlands by now.

​I stood up unsteadily and walked to the window. I looked out at the moon. It was a sliver of silver tonight, cold and unfeeling.

​"I will fix this," I vowed to the empty night. "I will purge this weakness. If I can't mark Zara, I will find another way to secure the pack. I don't need a mate. I am Kaelen Blackwood. I don't need anyone."

​But as I stood there, looking North, my hand unconsciously drifted to my chest, tracing the scar where the bond used to be.

​And for the first time in my life, I was terrified of the silence.