THE FIRST ARRIVAL

Eltonia’s hands were not shaking.

She was an Omega. She was the Alpha’s personal attendant. Her hands did not get to shake.

But as she placed the last piece of heavy silver cutlery on the formal dining table, she had to press her palms flat against the cool wood to still the tremor.

It was one hour until dinner. One hour until she arrived.

Eltonia had spent the entire day in a state of muted trepidation. She had changed the linens in the guest room; the finest linens, per Lord Abram’s instructions. She had ensured the Alpha’s study was stocked with his preferred tea, knowing he would need it. She had done her duties, her feet silent on the stone floors, while her heart pounded terrifiedly against her ribs.

A shout from the grand foyer shattered the quiet of the packhouse.

"Helloooo? Is no one here to greet me? My goodness! Alpha Oreon, darling! Your future has arrived, and she is freezing!"

Eltonia froze, her blood turning to ice. She was early.

She hurried from the dining hall, smoothing her simple brown tunic, only to stop in the shadows of the main archway.

The woman who had just burst through the front doors was not a woman; she was a puissance. She was covered in a garish crimson fur that pooled at her feet, and the dress underneath it was a blinding shade of yellow. Her black hair was piled high in a style that defied gravity, and her voice...

Her voice sounded like a flock of very angry, very loud birds.

"Abram, you old wolf! You said he'd be waiting!" she boomed, striking a pose.

Lord Abram, who had been gliding down the main staircase, adopted his usual snake-like smile. "Lady Melissa. What a... vibrant entrance. You are earlier than anticipated."

"Fashionably early, darling! The best guests always are." She tapped her foot. "Now, where is he? The man of the hour! I've been dreaming of this face for weeks."

"I am here, Lady Melissa."

Oreon’s voice came from the top of the stairs. Eltonia’s head snapped up.

He stood there, looking like a perfect image of Alpha power. He was dressed in a simple black tunic with his dark hair pulled back, having an impassive expression on. But Eltonia knew. She saw the tightness in his shoulders. She saw the way his hand was clenching the railing.

He was already in pain.

Melissa’s head whipped around. Her painted-red mouth dropped open, and then a slow, appreciative grin spread across her face. "Well, hello there."

She shimmied out of her fur, letting it drop to the floor without a second glance, and practically bounded up the first few steps. Eltonia flinched at the disrespect, both to the Alpha and to the fur.

"You," Melissa declared, pointing a long, claw-like nail at him, "are much more handsome than your portraits. Abram! You didn't do him justice at all!" She let out a braying laugh that echoed off the stone walls.

Oreon descended the rest of the way, maintaining his carefully neutral face. "Welcome to Ashwood, my lady. I trust your journey was... manageable."

"Oh, it was dreadful," she complained, already linking her arm through his. Oreon’s arm went rigid. "Bumpy roads, dreadful trees. But you," she said as she squeezed his bicep, "you make it all worthwhile. So tense! You need to relax, Alpha. I'm here now."

From the far side of the hall, near the fireplace, a magazine page turned with a sharp shh-rip.

Holly, Oreon’s childhood friend, hadn't even looked up. She was curled on a sofa, one leg folded under her, looking utterly bored. "He’s an Alpha, Melissa. 'Tense' is sort of the point."

Melissa’s eyes narrowed. "And you are?"

"The one who knows where the bodies are buried," Holly replied leisurely. "Holly. Don't get too comfortable."

Before Melissa could retort, her eyes landed on Eltonia, who was still frozen in the archway.

"Ah! A servant!" Melissa clapped her hands. "Finally! You, girl. My bags. They're still on the carriage. And that fur, don't let the dogs sleep on it." She waved a dismissive hand. "And get me a strong drink. None of that watered-down wine you serve in these dusty old halls. I need something with a kick!"

Eltonia’s stomach twisted. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and a sudden hot wave of shame. She kept her eyes down and her voice low. "Yes, my lady."

As she moved to retrieve the discarded fur, a heavy, expensive-smelling weight of disrespect, she chanced a look at Oreon.

His jaw was a solid line of granite.

His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second, and in that moment, she saw it. Not just anger. It was rage. A cold, deep rage that was directed not at her, but at the entire situation. He gave a tiny shake of his head.

It was a silent apology.

It’s not your fault, the look said. Endure this.

And for him, Eltonia would endure anything.

÷•÷

Dinner was a new circle of hell.

Lady Melissa, now changed into a glittering green dress that was far too tight, had not stopped talking for two solid hours.

She dominated the table. Oreon sat at the head, stone-faced. Abram, to his right, was the perfect, encouraging host. Holly sat to his left, pushing a single pea around her plate with a silver knife. Eltonia stood by the sideboard, her entire body aching with the need to go to Oreon, to put her hands on his shoulders, to stop the headache she knew was building behind his eyes.

"...and in my pack," Melissa was booming, "we have feasts every night. This... this is a bit heavy, isn't it? All this roasted meat. It's so... primitive. I prefer lighter things. Fruits. Champagne."

"We are wolves, my lady," Oreon said, quietly losing patience. "We eat meat."

Melissa laughed in a a high, piercing tone. "Oh, you're traditional! That's adorable! Don't you worry, I'll loosen you up. This whole place needs life! It's so... dark." She waved her wine glass, sloshing red wine perilously close to the white tablecloth. "These drapes are a sin. I'm thinking... gold. And velvet. Everywhere!"

"It's a packhouse, Lady Melissa, not a brothel," Holly muttered, her voice just loud enough to carry.

This time, Melissa did not laugh. She slammed her glass down on the table. "You!" she snapped at Holly. "You're that 'childhood friend,' aren't you? The little hanger-on. How cute."

She leaned forward, "Don't you worry your pretty little head, dear. You'll still have a place here. Perhaps you can... arrange the flowers. The ones I pick out, of course."

Holly's eyes flashed, and for a second, Eltonia thought she saw a bit of a wolf. But Holly just smiled sharply. "I'd be careful, Melissa. Flowers can be poisonous."

"A wonderful energy!" Abram interrupted, raising his own glass. "Lady Melissa brings a wonderful, vibrant energy, does she not, Alpha? A refreshing change!"

Oreon didn't answer. His knuckles were white where he gripped his knife. He was rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, a sure sign his pain was becoming unbearable.

Eltonia saw her cue. She moved forward silently with her pitcher of water in hand and her gaze on his glass. It was her duty.

As she reached him, Melissa, who was now several drinks in, decided to lean across the entire table. Her voice dropped to a "whisper" shout that filled the silent room.

"So, Alpha... Oreon... darling..." she purred, her eyes half-lidded. "Abram told me you have... needs. You know, with the deadline and all."

Eltonia’s hand slipped. A cold drop of water splashed onto Oreon’s hand.

He didn't even flinch.

"Abram says," Melissa continued, oblivious to the horrified silence, "it's been a long, long time since you've had a proper... warm-up. He said you're all 'business' and no 'pleasure.'"

She giggled, sloppily, drunkenly.

"When," her voice echoed in the vast, still hall, "do we get started on the heir part of this arrangement?"

Eltonia, whose hand still hung with the pitcher, felt her heart stop. She didn't dare breathe.

The entire table was frozen. Abram’s smile was gone. Holly looked ready to commit murder.

Oreon’s eyes, which had been fixed on his plate, slowly lifted. They didn't look at Melissa.

They looked directly at Eltonia.

And they were not exhausted. They were not pained.

They were pure, Alpha-level ice.