Three

Malakor's POV

I had come to this border territory to inspect the guard posts in secret.

Dressed in a dusty brown traveling cloak with my hood pulled low, I walked the dark stone streets alone. I preferred traveling without an entourage. When an Alpha knows his High King is visiting, he cleans his streets, hides his corrupt guards, and puts on a fake smile. Silence and shadows were the only way to see the truth of how my people were actually treated.

As I turned down the main road, the loud sounds of drums, cheering, and roaring laughter echoed from the pack hall. A crowd had gathered inside for their annual ceremony.

I slipped through the back entrance unnoticed, blending into the dark shadows near the exit doors.

On the raised wooden stage stood a young Alpha—Torren—pompous, arrogant, and preening in his polished leather armor. Beside him stood a girl in a tailored green silk dress. She was slim, delicate, and preened like a peacock under the crowd’s applause.

Then my eyes drifted toward the back wall.

Standing alone in the shadows was another girl. She wore a patched, cheap brown wool dress that pinched tight across her broad shoulders. Her hands were rough and calloused from hard labor, and her body was built strong and thick.

She stood beside an older woman and the silk-dressed girl.

My jaw tightened in the darkness. I had seen thousands of wolves in my life, but the quiet dignity in this girl’s posture caught my attention.

Then the Alpha spoke.

Instead of leading his pack with honor, Torren pointed a calloused finger directly at the girl in the brown dress and began to tear her down. He mocked her size. He called her fat, ugly, lazy, and useless. He boasted about how he had used her, throwing her private hope into the light just to crush it in front of three hundred cheering wolves.

The entire hall erupted into brutal, hysterical laughter.

I watched the girl closely, expecting her to collapse, to sob, or to beg for mercy.

She did none of those things.

Her cheeks burned red with shame, and I could see her digging her fingernails so deep into her palms that blood trickled over her knuckles. Her eyes stung with tears, yet she clamped her jaw tight, locked her knees, and held her head up high. She refused to give them a single tear. She stood like an unyielding mountain in the middle of a pathetic storm.

In that moment, I didn't see a helpless maid. I saw a rare, unbroken strength that most of my grand lords in Volca-Crest could only dream of possessing.

Torren’s mocking voice echoed over the crowd once more. "If any male in this room wants this fat, useless wolf, take her right now! Take her, feed her, or use her as a servant—I don't care! She is worth nothing!"

He laughed, looking around the quiet room. "No takers? Then she can go sleep outside in the dirt with the wild dogs—"

"I will take her."

My voice cut through the hall like a heavy iron blade.

The roaring laughter vanished instantly. Dead silence swallowed the room.

I stepped out from the dark shadows near the exit doors, keeping my hood low over my face. I didn't look at the shocked pack members, nor did I look at Torren, who stood gaping on the stage like a fool.

I walked straight down the central aisle, letting my aura push outward just enough to settle the room. Wolves shrank back against their benches, their inner animals whining in sudden, instinctual fear.

I stopped directly in front of the girl.

Up close, I could smell the faint, clean scent of rain and river water on her skin, mixed with the sharp metallic tang of her own blood from her pierced palms.

"Vaelira," I said softly, keeping my voice deep and calm.

She flinched slightly, her dark, expressive eyes wide with fear and confusion.

I extended my broad, scarred hand toward her. "Come."