2

Hudson gazed at Avery with his bioluminescent, predatory eyes. After a moment of heavy silence, he reached for the obsidian mask.

Before he could fully reveal the man beneath the beast, Avery—driven by a volatile cocktail of trauma and feral instinct—snatched a jagged shard of silver-flecked stone from the floor. With a snarl, she raked it across his right cheek, drawing a line of deep crimson.

It was the culmination of years of exile, a scream of a wolf that had been suppressed until it finally snapped.

Despite the stinging iron in his wound, Hudson didn't flinch or retaliate. He kept his gaze locked on hers, those dark, compelling irises anchoring her soul, as he slowly pulled the mask away. The movement revealed the horrific, jagged scar that tore through the left side of his face—the mark of a "Dead Wolf."

Hudson managed a grim, pained smile. "I feared my mutilation would send you running. But looking at you now, I see a Luna who has survived the winter. Avery, it has been many cycles. You’ve transformed into the Alpha female Harrison and I always knew you were."

Avery’s breath hitched as she stared at the ghastly silver-white scar on his left cheek. Her heart quivered.

Fresh blood trickled from the new wound she had gifted his right side, staining his pale skin. Rather than repelling her, the raw, primal sight of him drew her in. He looked like a fallen god of the Silver Ridge.

Almost purely on instinct, Avery reached out. But before her fingers could brush the ruined skin, she flinched back. Hudson was faster. His hand shot out, catching her wrist in a grip of warm iron.

He forced her palm against the scar tissue on his face. His gaze was a turbulent sea of sorrow and intensity.

"Scent this, Avery. This is the price of my failure to protect you. Do you loathe the sight of me? I am not begging for your mercy," Hudson rasped, his voice thick with self-loathing. "I am a shadow that has stalked your borders for years. I am despicable, but..."

Hudson, the iron-willed commander of the barrens, faltered. His voice cracked like dry wood.

Avery was paralyzed. Torn between the urge to shred him and the urge to howl into his chest, she was lost. She finally understood the "Shadow" that had protected her auction houses, yet the wound of his abandonment remained unhealed. She hated him for the lie, yet the mate-bond hummed beneath her skin, louder than ever. Overcome by the crushing weight of it all, she began to weep, her tears hitting the furs.

Hudson, visibly shaken by her distress, dabbed at her face with his thumb. "Please... don't howl in pain. It is my sin. Claw me, bite me, challenge my rank—I will accept it all."

In her turmoil, Avery seized his forearm and bit down, her fangs sinking deep.

Hudson winced, his dark brows knitting together in a sharp V. "You still have a sharp bite, little wolf," he gasped.

Just then, a frantic scratching sounded at the door.

It was Blake Donovan, his scent spiked with adrenaline. "Alpha Montgomery! The media pack has breached the outer wards. Our enforcers are being swamped by recording orbs. We need to shift the narrative now!"

Hudson’s expression turned to flint. "Avery, the hunt is at the door. You must choose our path. Someone orchestrated this 'Heat-Bloom' trap to ruin your standing in the Ridge. Option one: Leap from the window. My shadow-wolves are below to catch you; I will stay and bleed for the distraction. Option two: We walk out together and declare a Mate-Contract. That will silence the gossip and put you under my protection. The choice is yours. I will not force the bond."

Avery looked at the narrow window, knowing the logic of the wild. "Why are you offering your life for mine?"

"Does a wolf need a reason to protect his heart?" Hudson responded with a gravity that shook the room. "I do it because I am consumed by you. I do not ask for your den, only for the chance to bleed out the debt I owe you."

Avery was stunned. The Hudson of the old Montgomery Pack would never have bared his soul so plainly. Her heart raced, the old embers of her love fanning into a terrifying flame.

Blake’s voice grew more desperate, and Avery took a lungful of the lodge's pine-scented air.

Outside, the pack of reporters—low-ranking wolves from tabloid territories—were howling with restless speculation.

"Is the Avery Monroe scandal true? Is the 'Auction Queen' a rogue in disguise?"

"She was the one who tried to seduce her foster brother, Bennett, before she was exiled! Now she’s back, using her wealth to lure high-born Alphas into her bed."

"And her pup? An illegitimate omega. And here she is, neglecting her den to rut with a stranger in a suburban lodge!"

"Did you hear? The male inside is a cousin of the Martels. A man of status! Avery is nothing but a mistress, a 'Heat-Thief' trying to climb the hierarchy. This will ruin the Nixon line!"

The heavy oak doors groaned and swung open.

Avery emerged first, her legs slightly unsteady from the lingering effects of the drug. Her gait was the fluid, slightly rolling walk of a wolf who had just been claimed.

The reporters surged forward, their recording orbs glowing like malicious eyes.

"Are you the mistress in this triangle? Is the Martel kinsman inside? How does it feel to be a Rank-Thief?"

Avery, nearly knocked back by the wall of noise, felt her balance fail.

Suddenly, a massive hand steadied her waist. A voice like rolling thunder broke over the crowd. "Disappointing news for you scavengers. I am the one who was in that room. Now, tell me... why has my fiancée been branded with such foul names?"

Leaning into Hudson’s broad, scarred chest, Avery caught his scent and played her part. "Who knows, my love? It seems some are keen to scent rot where there is only gold. Perhaps these 'truth-seekers' were fed silver by a hidden hand to track us here."

The reporters recoiled. They recognized the aura of the man behind the mask—the legendary 'Shadow Alpha' of the black markets.

Though Hudson’s legitimate holdings were stripped, he ruled the underground of Yoeloth. Even the Alphas of Avalon had to beg for entry into his markets for rare medicines and silver-steel. To cross him was to invite a slow, cold death.

The reporters began to whine and shake their heads. One fell to a submissive crouch. "No—no silver was taken! we heard rumors of a rogue... we never intended to insult a Sovereign!"

"Oh, really?" Avery purred, her eyes narrowing into golden slits. "Moments ago, you called me a 'Heat-Thief.' If my mate were a nameless omega, you would have torn my reputation to pieces, wouldn't you?"

Hudson’s eyes flashed a deadly amber.

Several reporters nearly collapsed, their recording orbs clattering to the floor. They tried to hide behind their 'duty.' "We are chroniclers! We only report the scents we find!"

With a disdainful snort, Avery trailed a finger across the muscles of Hudson’s chest. "What shall we do, Alpha? These wolves seem to have lost their sense of smell."

Hudson caught her hand, his voice dropping to a low, vibrating growl meant only for her. "Careful, Avery. Do not stoke a fire you aren't ready to sit by."

Avery saw the raw hunger in his eyes and felt a flush crawl up her neck. He was too easily provoked. If they weren't in front of the cameras, she would have bolted.

Hudson turned his cold gaze back to the crowd. "If they cannot scent the truth, we will sharpen their senses. We will find the source of these lies, and those who carried them will find their territories blacklisted from the Black Market. Choose your next words as if your life depends on them."

One reporter, his spirit breaking under Hudson’s pressure, fell to his knees. "Mercy! Someone did pay us! We were told the Martel family wanted her ruined! If we refused, we would have been exiled from the Ridge! Sovereign, please!"

Other reporters followed suit, dropping their heads in submission.

Avery’s blood ran cold. Joanna Martel had bribed half the media in the territory to destroy her. The malice was calculated and total.

"I leave these curs to your judgment. What is their fate?" Hudson asked, his voice pulling Avery back.

Avery took a steadying breath. "I want no blood today. I only want the truth. They will publish a retraction. They will state clearly that they witnessed the union of Avery Monroe and her long-term mate. They will reveal that I am no mistress. Do you understand, scavengers?"

The reporters nodded frantically.

Hudson added, his voice like iron, "Tell the Ridge this: I have known Avery since our days in the old dens. She is the wolf who saved my soul. I have returned to claim my place by her side, and I will mate into the Nixon line to prove it."

Avery’s head snapped up. Mate into her family? They were supposed to be acting! But she held her tongue for the sake of the narrative.

Once the reporters were dispersed, Avery slipped out of Hudson’s embrace. She headed for her transport, but Hudson shamelessly slid into the seat beside her.

"What are you doing?" she hissed. "The play is over."

Hudson blinked with a mock innocence. "The play has just begun. There are eyes in every tree. We must return to your den together. Actually, I am moving in."

As Avery bared her teeth in a warning growl, Hudson added softly, "Besides... I haven't scented my daughter in an eternity." A shadow of grief crossed his face.

Avery went silent. She couldn't deny him Madison. The pup had spent nights howling for a father she didn't remember. Madison needed the strength of both her parents to survive the brutal hierarchy of the Silver Ridge.

"I will take you to her," Avery warned, her voice like ice. "But if you are not a true father to her—if you treat her like a political pawn—I will kill you myself. She is my sacred territory. Do you understand?"

Hudson gave a solemn, bone-deep nod. "Understood."

Madison was at the pack-kindergarten that day. Avery and Hudson waited by the iron gates for two hours, watching the other pups be collected. But as the final bell rang, Madison was nowhere to be found.

Avery’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She lunged into the classroom, confronting the teacher. "Where is Madison Clarke?"

The teacher looked confused. "Are you the mother?"

Avery’s eyes turned predatory. "What do you mean? Who took her?"

The teacher panicked as she realized her mistake. "You... you never come! It is always the elderly wolf, Preston Hale! But today, a high-born woman in Montgomery silks arrived. She said she was the mother, and Madison seemed to know her... she left without a fight! I thought she was the Sovereign!"

Hudson’s growl shook the windows. "The records! You didn't check the Blood-ID of the one who took a High-Alpha's pup?"

The teacher stammered about being "overwhelmed" by the number of yearlings. Avery ignored her, her mind racing. "Describe the woman. Now."

Meanwhile, Madison had been taken to a dingy apartment on the outskirts of the territory.

As they entered, a chubby, aggressive boy pup darted out. Madison pulled her hand away from the woman, planting her small fists on her hips. "You said you were taking me to see my Mommy's 'surprise.' Where is she? I want to go home now."

The boy burst out laughing, his face twisted with a cruelty far beyond his years. "You fell for it! You're just a dumb omega!"

Madison’s brow furrowed. "You lied? My Mommy will have the Sentinels hunt you."

The woman—a bitter, low-ranking relative of the Montgomerys—shoved Madison into a corner. "Quiet, you troublesome brat. I had to risk my neck dragging you here."

The boy smirked. "Mom, can I keep her? I want a servant to chew on."

The woman’s expression softened instantly. "Oh, you sweet boy. If you want a toy, you shall have one. You’re so kind to offer her a place in our house."

Madison couldn't believe the lunacy. "This is a kidnapping! The Council will brand you!"

The woman laughed and pinched Madison’s cheek so hard it bruised. "Call the Council then. My mate has a backer you can't even dream of. And you? You're the daughter of an exile. Your grandfather Preston is a broken old wolf. If you don't want him to 'accidentally' fall into a silver pit, you'll do exactly what my son says."

Madison realized these people had no idea who her mother really was now. She decided to play the "scared pup." "Who is backing you? Someone stronger than the Alpha?"

The woman laughed. "My mate is a direct blood-relative of the Montgomery Alphas! You're in over your head, pup. Now get in the kitchen."

The boy ran over, tugging on the woman's hand. "Mom, she's pretty. I want her to be my mate when I grow up."

The woman beamed. "Dear boy, she’s from a beggar line. She’s a toy, nothing more. Someone like her doesn't deserve to bear your mark when she's older."

Suddenly, the front door opened. A man with an unkempt beard and dull, lifeless eyes stepped in. It was Bennett Montgomery.

When his eyes landed on Madison, they nearly bulged out of his head. He strode over and snatched the girl's arm. "Who is this? Why is she here?"

The woman smiled saccharinely. "She’s a girl from the kindergarten who offended our son. We're just teaching her some humility."

Bennett’s disdain was visceral. Looking at Madison was like looking at a ghost of Avery as a pup. It stirred memories of the night he had framed Hudson and caused Avery’s exile—memories he had buried under piles of stolen wealth and bitter resentment.

His life was a failure. He had run the Montgomery Group into the ground, and now he was hiding in this hole while Avery was thriving in the trade markets.

Without warning, Bennett grabbed a porcelain tribute bottle and hurled it at Madison’s feet. It shattered into a thousand razors. A shard grazed Madison's cheek, drawing blood.

"You idiot!" Bennett roared, projecting his self-hatred onto the child. "Clean this up! Now!"

But Madison was Avery’s daughter. Despite the blood on her face, she stood her ground. "You broke it. You clean it. My Mommy says only cowards break things to feel big."

Bennett’s face turned purple. Fueled by the rot of his own failures, he swung his hand and slapped the child across the face.

The blow sent Madison flying into the broken porcelain. The jagged edges cut into her arms, and crimson stained her small dress. As she lay there bleeding, Bennett felt a sick sense of power—the only power he had left in a world that was moving on without him.