Chapter 3

Kael

The moment I step into Bloodfang’s hall, the stench of rot and desperation hits me.

I keep my expression impassive, though my wolf snarls beneath my skin. Garrick’s pack reeks of sickness—mistrust, fear, and decay hidden beneath the false gleam of power. It’s a smell I know well, one I’ve spent my life crushing wherever I find it.

And yet, here I am, forced to stand beneath Garrick’s roof, bargaining for what I need.

My men flank me, silent and watchful. They know the danger of this place as well as I do. Bloodfang warriors line the walls, their gazes sharp, hands hovering near their blades. Tension hums in the air like a taut bowstring.

Garrick himself lounges at the head of the hall, his bulk wrapped in furs. His smile is too wide, his posture too relaxed. A predator pretending to be at ease.

We exchange the formal greetings, empty words meant to smooth over old grudges. Then we sit, the table between us laden with food and drink I have no desire to touch.

But my focus isn’t on the feast. It’s on the deal.

On the future of my pack.

Ironhide has grown stronger each season, but strength alone isn’t enough. My bloodline is thinning. Too many battles, too many losses. I need heirs—strong heirs—to secure my pack’s future.

And that means a mate.

My wolf growls at the thought. Not just any mate. The right one. A female who can bear the weight of my name, my blood, my legacy.

But I’ve waited too long to be picky. My enemies grow bolder by the day, and without an heir, they’ll scent weakness. I don’t have the luxury of waiting for fate to hand me a perfect solution.

So I came here.

When Garrick mentioned he had an omega available, I expected… more. Someone young, healthy, with a powerful wolf. What he presents instead is… her.

The girl kneeling before me is painfully thin, wrapped in a plain gray dress. Her hair is clean but hastily tied back, her posture rigid with fear. Even from across the hall, I can tell she doesn’t have a wolf. Her scent is wrong—faint, muted, like a candle burning low.

I circle her, taking in every detail. She doesn’t meet my gaze until I order her to. And when she finally does…

Something unexpected happens.

Those eyes—wide, dark, and full of defiance barely hidden beneath layers of terror—hit me like a blow. Not because of their beauty, though they are striking, but because they look back. Most omegas in her position would have already submitted completely, broken by fear or conditioning.

But this one? She’s trembling, yes, but there’s a spark there. A stubborn ember refusing to die.

I file the observation away. A spark can be useful—or dangerous.

“She’s wolfless,” I say, turning to Garrick. My voice is cold, controlled. “You didn’t mention that.”

Garrick waves a dismissive hand. “She’s young. Unspoiled. A blank slate for you to shape as you see fit.”

I almost scoff. A blank slate. As if people were clay to be molded. Garrick doesn’t understand. Power isn’t about brute force alone—it’s about what you can inspire. Fear is a tool, yes, but so is loyalty.

Still, I say nothing. My pack needs this, and arguments won’t change the girl’s nature. If she truly has no wolf, it makes her less threatening, less likely to rebel in ways I can’t predict.

I grip her chin, tilting her face up. She flinches but doesn’t pull away. Good. She’s smart enough to recognize her place… for now.

“Fragile,” I murmur, almost to myself. “But… perhaps useful.”

It’s the most I’ll give her. I release her and turn back to Garrick. “The agreement stands. I’ll take her.”

The words taste like ash in my mouth. I hate owing Garrick anything. But for the sake of my pack, I’ll endure it.

⸻

Outside, the night air is sharp and clean, a welcome change from the stifling stench inside. My warriors wait with our mounts, their expressions unreadable. They trust me, but I can feel their unease radiating like heat.

The girl—Elara, I heard one of the omegas call her—is brought forward with her wrists bound. She stumbles slightly as my man shoves her toward me. She’s so small it’s almost laughable. I could break her with a single hand.

“Please, I—” she starts, voice cracking with desperation.

Garrick growls sharply from behind us. “Silence.”

She bites her tongue, trembling. Her eyes are wide, wet with unshed tears, but there’s still that ember of defiance flickering beneath. It’s faint, but I see it.

Interesting.

“Bind her to my saddle,” I order. My voice is quiet, but my men move instantly. There’s no hesitation, no wasted motion. In my pack, commands are obeyed without question.

As they secure her, I mount my horse. She doesn’t fight, not really, though her breathing comes fast and ragged. When the rope tugs her forward, she stumbles again but catches herself.

I notice Garrick watching from the doorway, his expression smug. My wolf bristles. Garrick thinks he’s won something here, that by sending me this girl, he’s weakened me. Perhaps he has. Time will tell.

With a curt nod, I turn my horse and signal my men to ride.

We leave Bloodfang behind, the night swallowing the sound of hooves and the girl’s soft, uneven breaths.

⸻

Hours pass in silence. The forest stretches dark and endless around us, moonlight casting silver patterns on the ground. My men ride in a tight formation, always alert for danger.

Elara rides behind me, bound to the saddle. She hasn’t spoken since we left, though I can feel her tension like a taut wire. Every so often, she shifts slightly, as if trying to relieve the ache in her wrists or legs.

Finally, I speak.

“Are you hungry?”

She startles at the sound of my voice, then hesitates. “…Yes, Alpha.”

Her voice is soft, hesitant, but there’s a core of strength there. Not enough to challenge me, but enough to intrigue me.

I reach into my pack and pull out a small piece of dried meat, passing it back without looking. “Eat. You’ll need your strength.”

There’s a pause, then the faint sound of chewing. She eats quickly, like someone used to going hungry. My jaw tightens.

“Garrick doesn’t feed his omegas well,” I say.

It’s not a question, but she answers anyway. “No, Alpha.”

Of course not. Garrick rules through deprivation and fear. A starving omega is easier to control.

“Things will be different in my pack,” I tell her. My tone leaves no room for argument. “You will work, you will obey, but you will not starve.”

I feel her gaze on my back, wary and uncertain. “…Why?” she asks finally, so soft I almost miss it.

My lips curve in a humorless smile. “Because a tool kept sharp is more useful than one left to rust.”

She goes silent again, and I let her. I’ve said enough for now.

As dawn breaks over the horizon, the spires of my territory come into view—stone walls rising from the mist, dark and imposing. Ironhide’s stronghold. My home.

Elara stiffens behind me, her breath catching audibly. Whether it’s awe or fear, I can’t tell. Perhaps both.

Good.

Let her feel both.

Fear will keep her obedient. Awe might make her loyal. In time, I will decide which serves me better.

For now, she is mine.

My responsibility.

My risk.

And, if fate is kind, the key to my pack’s future.