The Weight of Gold

The air in the Grand Hall of the Bloodmoon Pack fortress was suffocating, thick with the scents of roasted meat, expensive wine, and the overpowering, dominant auras of hundreds of high-ranking wolves.

I kept my head down, my gaze fixed strictly on the polished marble floor as I navigated the crowd. In my hands, I balanced a silver tray loaded with crystal champagne flutes. To everyone here, I was just Lyra—a weak, scentless Omega servant who worked in the dark, damp under-bunk kitchens. I was a nobody. A ghost.

And I needed to keep it that way.

I reached into my apron pocket, my fingers brushing against the empty glass vial hidden there. The moon-root serum. I had swallowed the last bitter drop an hour ago, but tonight, the sheer volume of dominant wolves was making my inner wolf claw at her chains. Deep beneath my skin, a fierce, golden Royal Lycan aura pulsed, begging to break through. If it did—if anyone in this room realized a forbidden Lycan hybrid was walking among them—my life would end before I could take another breath.

"Watch it, useless," a harsh voice sneered.

Before I could step aside, a sharp foot deliberately extended into my path.

I tripped. Time seemed to slow as the silver tray slipped from my fingers.

Smash.

The sound of shattering crystal cut through the music and laughter like a gunshot. Shards of glass exploded across the marble, splashing champagne over the designer gown of Tanya, the Beta’s cruel daughter.

Silence dropped over the Grand Hall like a guillotine. The chatter died instantly.

"You clumsy, scentless freak!" Tanya shrieked, looking down at her damp hem. "Look what you did to my dress! Do you have any idea how much this cost, Omega?"

"I'm sorry," I whispered, immediately dropping to my knees. The glass cut into my palms as I desperately tried to gather the shards, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I'm sorry, milady. It was an accident."

"An accident? You did it on purpose because you're jealous!" Tanya barked. She raised her hand, her claws extending, ready to strike my face in front of the entire pack.

I braced myself, tightening my jaw. If she hit me, my instincts might react. If my Lycan side defended itself, everyone would see the golden glow in my eyes. Please, no, I prayed, closing my eyes.

The blow never came.

Instead, a sudden, crushing weight flooded the room. The air grew freezing cold, and a dark, lethal power slammed into the hall, forcing several low-ranking wolves to drop to their knees out of sheer instinct.

Alpha Killian had stepped down from his throne.

I didn't dare look up, but I could see his polished black boots stopping mere inches from my bleeding hands. The newly crowned Alpha of the Bloodmoon Pack was a ruthless dictator who hated weakness above all else. Rumors whispered he was actively hunting a spy in the territory.

"What is the meaning of this?" Killian’s voice was a low, gravelly vibration that sent a violent shiver down my spine.

"Alpha Killian," Tanya whined, her voice instantly changing to a sweet, victimized purr. "This pathetic kitchen servant completely ruined my dress for the Ascension ceremony. She needs to be punished. She doesn't even have a wolf scent—she shouldn't even be allowed up here."

Killian didn't look at Tanya. His dark, piercing eyes were locked entirely on the back of my neck.

"Stand up," he commanded me.

I swallowed hard, keeping my eyes glued to the floor as I slowly stood, tucking my bleeding palms into my apron. I kept my breathing shallow, trying to suppress the absolute panic raging inside me.

"Look at me," he ordered.

I had no choice. I slowly lifted my chin, forcing my expression to look blank, terrified, and weak. I met his gaze. Alpha Killian was devastatingly handsome, with sharp, aristocratic features, a hard jawline, and eyes as dark as midnight.

But as our eyes locked, a sudden, violent jolt of electricity snapped through the air.

My heart stopped. A phantom heat exploded at the point of contact, rushing straight to my core. My inner wolf roared, suddenly recognizing the pull. Mate.

He was my fated mate.

Killian flinched, his pupils dilating instantly. He felt it too. But because the moon-root serum was masking my true scent, the bond was warped, faint, and confusing to him. He couldn't smell a Luna; he just felt a bizarre, powerful pull toward a pathetic kitchen maid.

His eyebrows furrowed in immediate confusion, which quickly turned into dark suspicion. He stepped closer, invading my personal space, his towering frame casting a shadow over me. He reached out, his large, calloused hand wrapping firmly around my wrist.

Where his skin touched mine, sparks practically burned.

Killian’s eyes narrowed to slits. He didn't smell a wolf, but beneath my skin, he could feel the faint, heavy vibration of a terrifyingly raw power that didn't belong to an Omega.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear as his grip tightened on my wrist, trapping me against his chest.

"Your scent is dead, but your pulse is racing like a monster's," Killian growled into my ear, his voice laced with lethal authority. "Who are you, and what are you hiding?"