THE ALPHA'S CAGE

The sharp, rattling sound of the tea tray being abandoned in the hall was louder than a scream.

Oreon’s eyes followed Eltonia as she fled like a small, dark shadow vanishing into the corridor. He saw the slump of her shoulders, the tremor in her hands before she turned.

Holly’s words rang in his ear too. "...wherever it is you sleep."

A spike of blinding pain, entirely unrelated to his neck, shot through Oreon's temple. Even when he turned his head, the movement was agonizing.

"Holly."

His voice was not a request. It was a command.

Holly, who had been smiling from her small victory, turned back. Her expression softened into a fake sweet concern. "Oreon, darling, don't let her upset you. She's just an Omega. She doesn't understand the pressure you're under. I do."

As she walked toward him with her hips swaying, the scent of her perfume—jasmine and something too sweet—assaulted his senses.

"Her place," Oreon gritted, "is where I tell her it is. She is my personal attendant. Not a stray dog from the kennels."

Holly’s smile broke and her eyes flashed. "I was just—"

"You were being cruel," he cut in, his patience gone. "And you were doing it in my study. You will not do it again."

"Oreon!" she snapped. The sweetness vanished. "I am trying to protect you! Don't you see what Abram is doing? He's making you a laughingstock! He sends in that... that shrieking harpy... and he's got this little Omega mouse running circles around you, serving your tea while your childhood friend, the one who should be by your side, is forced to watch!"

She was close now, her hands reaching for his face. "I know your pain, Oreon. Let me help."

He flinched, leaning back into his chair. The move sent a fresh jolt of fire down his spine. "No."

The rejection was harrowing.

Holly’s face crumpled. "Why are you like this? Why do you push me away?" her voice broke as she whispered. "We grew up together. We... we should have been..."

"We were children, Holly," he said, exhausted and in pain. "And now I am your Alpha. You are forgetting that."

Her eyes filled with a new kind of spite. A bitter resentment that twisted her beautiful features.

"Am I?" she hissed. "Or are you? You're so buried in your 'duty' and your 'pain' that you can't even see the vipers in your own den. Abram is going to ruin you. And when he does, who will be there? Me. Not that... that pet."

She pointed to the mug she had stolen, the one Eltonia had prepared. "She's a mouse, Oreon. You are a lion. You need a lioness. You need me."

"Get out, Holly."

"Oreon—"

"Now."

The Alpha command in his voice, the guttural rumble that no wolf could disobey, slammed into her. She recoiled as if physically struck. Her face went pale, then flushed a dark, ugly red.

She gave him one last look, a look of pure hatred. Then, she turned and stormed out of the study. The heavy door slammed shut behind her with a boom that rattled his skull.

As Oreon sank back, his entire body trembled with the effort of control.

He was alone.

The silence of the study was absolute. The fire crackled in isolation. He looked at the mug of tea Holly had left on his desk. He wouldn't touch it. It wasn't the right tea.

Holly thought she knew him. Abram thought he could be controlled. They all saw him as a title, a puppet, a prize.

None of them knew.

His pain was not just his neck. His pain was his life.

The fire eleven years ago hadn't just taken Eltonia's family. It had taken his.

His father, Alpha Roric. His mother, Luna Tamsin. They had died in that wing, betrayed by faulty stonework and a fire that had moved too fast. Oreon, at twenty, had been dragged from the flames by his father's Beta, his back and neck seared, only to be told he was an orphan.

And an Alpha.

Abram, his "grieving" uncle, had been there, his hand on Oreon's shoulder, guiding the shocked, wounded young man to the council. "The pack needs an Alpha now," Abram had insisted. "We must show strength."

Oreon had been in too much pain to argue. He had taken the title.

And Abram had taken the power.

The only good thing that had come from that night... was her.

He remembered pulling her from the rubble, a tiny, half-dead thing covered in ash. She hadn't screamed. She hadn't cried. She had just stared at him with huge, terrified eyes. He had lifted a burning beam off her, and in that moment, a bond had formed.

Not a mate bond. Something different.

She was the piece of his past he had managed to save. His one victory from a night of total loss.

And he had kept her. He'd made her his attendant, a position that was beneath her high-born status but kept her close and safe. Under his protection.

Over the years, that protection had become... a reliance.

She was the only person in his entire territory whose presence did not grate on his nerves. She was quiet. She was loyal. She never asked for anything. And her hands... by the Goddess, her hands were the only thing that could stop the constant, throbbing fire in his neck.

He trusted her.

And Holly, in her jealousy, had just called her a kennel-dog.

Oreon gripped the arms of his chair. This whole "selection" was a farce. A cage built by Abram, brick by brick.

Melissa was the first brick. Loud, abrasive, disrespectful. Abram had known she would be. He'd chosen her specifically to make Oreon look foolish, to make the council believe he was incapable of controlling a simple potential mate.

And Oreon had fallen right into the trap, dismissing her like a petulant child.

He dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his temples. The migraine was settling in. He needed his tea. He needed his attendant.

He was the Alpha. He could summon her. He should summon her. It was his right.

He opened his mouth to call for her, to override his own foolish dismissal.

A polite, slick tap-tap-tap echoed from the door.

It wasn't Eltonia. Her knock was softer.

"Enter," Oreon growled, sitting up straight as the Alpha aura slid back into place.

The door opened, and Lord Abram glided in. His hands were clasped behind his back and his face was a perfect picture of sympathetic concern.

"Nephew. A difficult first night, I see," Abram said smoothly.

"What do you want, Abram?"

Abram chuckled, papery. "I just saw Lady Holly leave. She looked... distressed. And I heard from the servants that Lady Melissa has locked herself in her suite, complaining of 'barbaric' treatment."

"Get to the point."

"The point, my dear boy," Abram said, walking to the fireplace, "is that this isn't starting well. The council is already... murmuring. They feel you are not taking this process seriously."

Oreon's eyes narrowed. "This 'process' was your idea. You chose her."

"I chose a strong-willed female from a powerful pack! How was I to know she would be so... uncouth?" Abram sighed, as if truly disappointed. "It seems my judgment was flawed."

He turned, his eyes glittering in the firelight. "Which is why I have taken the liberty of accelerating the schedule."

Oreon’s blood went cold. "Accelerating?"

"Yes. Lady Melissa's 'stay period' has been... concluded. She will be leaving at dawn."

A small, pathetic relief lit in Oreon's chest, but Abram snuffed it out instantly.

"The next candidate," Abram continued, "will be here before noon tomorrow."

Oreon stiffened. "A new one? Already? I am meant to have a week."

"A week with a viable candidate," Abram corrected him. "Melissa was clearly not viable. We cannot afford to waste time, Oreon. The clock is ticking."

Abram’s smile widened into a thin, reptilian gesture that made Oreon's skin crawl.

"Don't worry, nephew. This next one is... very different. Not loud at all. Her name is Radinah. From the Shadow Creek Pack."

He paused at the door, his hand on the handle.

"In fact," Abram added in a covert whisper, "you'll hardly even know she's there. She's known for being... very good with her hands."