The hierarchy of the Obsidian Pack was simple.

At the top was the Alpha. At the bottom was the dirt. And somewhere beneath the dirt, buried under layers of shame and bad luck, was me.

"Vanessa! Move your ass! The Alpha’s glass is empty!"

The Head Omega’s voice cracked like a whip across the bustling kitchen. The air was thick with the smell of roasted venison, expensive wine, and the nervous sweat of a dozen servants.

I flinched, nearly dropping the heavy silver pitcher in my hand. "I’m going, Martha. I’m going."

"Don't look him in the eye," Martha hissed as she shoved me toward the swinging double doors. She grabbed my chin, her nails digging in, checking my face for smudges. "And for Goddess's sake, don't embarrass us. Tonight is the Ascension. If you mess up, Alpha Marcel won't just fire you. He’ll skin you."

I swallowed the lump of fear in my throat and nodded. "I know."

I pushed through the doors and stepped into the Grand Hall.

The noise hit me instantly. A roar of laughter, clinking crystal, and the deep, vibrating hum of powerful wolves. The chandeliers above cast a golden glow over the room, making the diamonds on the women’s necks sparkle like stars.

But I didn't look at the women. I didn't look at the Betas or the visiting dignitaries.

My eyes, traitorous as always, went straight to the head of the High Table.

Marcel.

He sat on the velvet throne-like chair, looking less like a man and more like a statue carved from midnight and ice. He had just turned twenty-two, but the weight of the pack rested on his broad shoulders as if he’d born it for centuries.

His black hair was swept back, revealing a face so handsome it hurt to look at sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and lips that used to smile at me when we were kids.

Used to.

Now, those lips were pressed into a thin, hard line. He wasn't smiling. He was scanning the room with bored, predatory eyes, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

I felt a phantom ache in my chest. Ten years ago, we shared sandwiches behind the training grounds. Five years ago, he stopped saying hello. Two years ago, he started looking through me like I was made of glass.

Now? Now I was just the help.

"Keep your head down," I whispered to myself, tightening my grip on the pitcher.

I moved through the tables like a ghost. I filled glasses for the Beta, Raval, who ignored me. I poured water for the Elders, who grunted.

Finally, I reached the High Table.

My heart was hammering against my ribs so hard I was sure he could hear it. Wolf hearing was sensitive, but Marcel usually tuned out the background noise of omegas like me.

I stepped up to his left side. He was deep in conversation with a neighboring Alpha, his voice a low, commanding rumble that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up.

"...border patrols need to be doubled," Marcel was saying, his tone brooking no argument. "I don't care about the treaty. If a rogue crosses the line, kill them."

"Ruthless," the visiting Alpha chuckled. "Just like your father."

"Better than my father," Marcel corrected coldly.

He held out his empty glass without looking at me. He didn't even turn his head. He just expected the wine to be there.

I stepped forward, my hands trembling. Steady, Vanessa. Just pour the damn wine.

I tipped the pitcher. The dark red liquid flowed into his crystal goblet.

Just as I was pulling back, disaster struck.

Mia, the Beta’s daughter who had been draping herself over Marcel all night, threw her head back in a fake, tinkling laugh. Her elbow shot out and clipped my hip.

I stumbled.

The pitcher jerked.

A splash of red wine no more than a teaspoon, but enough to look like a gunshot wound—landed on the pristine white cuff of Marcel’s tuxedo shirt.

The entire hall went silent.

The music didn't stop, but it felt like the world did.

I froze, the blood draining from my face. Mia gasped, covering her mouth with a hand that held a malicious smirk behind it.

"Oh, look what you did, you clumsy stray," Mia sneered.

Marcel slowly set his glass down.

The sound of the crystal hitting the wood echoed like a gunshot.

He looked at his cuff. Then, slowly, painfully slowly, he turned his head to look at me.

His eyes were black. Not dark brown. Black. The wolf was close to the surface, and it was pissed.

"I I’m so sorry, Alpha," I stammered, grabbing a napkin from the table. "I didn't mean Mia hit my arm and"

"Don't touch me."

His voice was quiet. Deadly.

I froze, my hand inches from his wrist.

Marcel stood up. He towered over me, radiating waves of power that made my knees buckle. The scent of him—dark chocolate, rain, and raw aggression—slammed into me, overwhelming my senses.

"You," he said, his voice dripping with ice. "You are the orphan girl. Vanessa."

He remembered my name. I didn't know if that was a good thing or a death sentence.

"Yes, Alpha," I whispered, staring at his shoes.

"Look at me when I speak to you."

I forced my chin up.

Our eyes locked.

And then, the universe shifted.

It wasn't a spark. It was a lightning strike. A shockwave of heat exploded in my chest, tearing through my veins, setting every nerve on fire. My wolf, usually dormant and quiet, howled inside my head, clawing at my ribcage, screaming one single word.

MATE.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

I gasped, the air leaving my lungs. The pitcher slipped from my numb fingers and crashed to the floor, shattering into a million pieces.

I stared at him, wide-eyed, my heart stopping. He was mine. The ruthless, cold Alpha was mine. The Moon Goddess had blessed me.

For a second, I saw the shock flare in his eyes. His pupils dilated. His nostrils flared as he inhaled my scent—vanilla and fear. He felt it too. I knew he felt it.

"Marcel?" I breathed, the name slipping out before I could stop it. Hope, wild and desperate, bloomed in my chest.

Maybe this changed everything. Maybe the bond would melt the ice. Maybe

Marcel’s expression shifted.

The shock vanished. In its place, a look of pure, unadulterated disgust curled his lip.

He leaned down, his face inches from mine. The heat radiating off him was intoxicating, but his eyes were cold enough to freeze hell.

"Clean it up," he snarled.

My heart shattered. "W-what?"

"The mess," he said, stepping over the broken glass and kicking a shard toward me. He didn't acknowledge the bond. He didn't acknowledge the pull that was currently tearing my soul apart. "Clean it up. Before I have you thrown in the dungeons for incompetence."

"But..." tears pricked my eyes. "Marcel, don't you feel—"

He grabbed my arm.

The contact was electric. Sparks danced across my skin, pleasurable and agonizing. He felt it I saw his jaw clench, a muscle feathering in his cheek but he yanked me closer, his grip bruising.

"Do not," he hissed, his voice a low growl only I could hear, "mistake biology for affection, Vanessa."

He released me like I was burned. He turned to the crowd, to Mia, to the watching elites, adjusting his stained cuff with a sneer.

"Get this trash out of my sight," he commanded to the guards. "And get me a fresh shirt. This one smells like poverty."

Mia laughed. The crowd chuckled nervously, following their Alpha’s lead.

Two guards grabbed my arms, dragging me back. I stumbled over the broken glass, cutting my ankle, but I didn't feel the pain.

I only felt the hole in my chest where my heart used to be.

I watched him as I was dragged away. He sat back down, taking a fresh glass of wine from Mia, and didn't look at me once.

He knew. He felt the bond. And he hated it.

The dungeons of the Obsidian Pack weren't actually dungeons. They were just cold, damp holding cells beneath the servant’s quarters, smelling of mildew and old fear.

I sat on the edge of the cot, my hands trembling in my lap. My ankle throbbed where the glass had sliced it, a steady thump-thump-thump that matched the erratic beating of my heart.

But the pain in my ankle was nothing compared to the fire in my blood.

Mate.

My wolf, usually a quiet, timid thing, was pacing inside my mind. She was scratching at the walls of my consciousness, whining, desperate to get back to him. To Marcel.

"He felt it," I whispered to the empty room. "I know he did."

I closed my eyes, replaying the moment. The way his pupils had blown wide, swallowing the iris. The way his scent—dark chocolate and rain had flooded my lungs, making me dizzy. The electricity that snapped when he grabbed my arm.

Alphas couldn't ignore the bond. It was biological law. It was the Moon Goddess’s will.

Maybe he was just shocked. Maybe, once the party was over, once the cameras and the dignitaries were gone, he would come down here. He would open the door, and his eyes would be soft, like they were when we were children, and he would tell me he was sorry.

creak.

The metal door at the top of the stairs groaned open.

My head snapped up.

Heavy footsteps descended the concrete stairs. Slow. Deliberate. Authoritative.

My wolf let out a sharp yip of excitement. Him.

I stood up, wincing as weight hit my bad ankle, but I straightened my spine. I tried to smooth down my stained uniform. I tried to wipe the dirt from my cheeks.

The shadow appeared first, stretching long across the floor. Then, Marcel stepped into the dim light of the cell.

He had changed. The wine-stained shirt was gone, replaced by a crisp black dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal thick, muscular forearms. He looked devastatingly handsome.

He also looked like he wanted to murder someone.

"Alpha," I breathed, dipping my head in submission. It was instinct. His aura was so potent in the small space it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

He didn't speak. He just stared at me.

He stepped closer. Then closer.

He stopped inches from me. The heat coming off his body was incredible. It called to me, pulling at my naval like a hook. I wanted to lean into him. I wanted to bury my nose in his neck and breathe him in.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I lifted my gaze.

There was no softness. No apology. His eyes were hard chips of obsidian, burning with a mixture of lust and profound hatred.

"Does it hurt?" he asked softly.

I blinked, confused. "My ankle?"

" The bond," he corrected, his voice rough. "Does it burn, Vanessa? Does it feel like your skin is too tight for your body? Does your wolf feel like she’s clawing her throat out just to be near me?"

"Yes," I whispered, tears pricking my eyes. "Yes, Marcel. It hurts."

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Good."

I recoiled as if he’d slapped me. "What?"

"You think this is a gift?" He took a step forward, forcing me to back up until my shoulders hit the cold concrete wall. He caged me in, placing a hand on the wall beside my head. He didn't touch me, but the proximity was suffocating. "You think because the Goddess played a cruel joke, that I’m suddenly going to forget who you are?"

"I’m your mate," I said, my voice shaking but firm. "I’m your equal."

"You are a servant!" he roared.

The sound bounced off the walls, making me flinch. My wolf whimpered, tucking her tail.

"You are a scrub girl," Marcel snarled, leaning down so his face was level with mine. "You have no lineage. No power. Your parents were rogue trash that my father took in out of pity. And you think you’re fit to be Luna of the Obsidian Pack?"

"It’s not about power," I cried. "It’s about the bond! You can't fight it, Marcel. It will drive you mad."

"Watch me."

He reached out then, his hand wrapping around my throat.

He didn't squeeze. He didn't cut off my air. But the contact was electric. A gasp ripped from my throat, my eyes fluttering shut. Sparks, hot and addictive, danced across my skin where his fingers lay.

"See?" I panted, my body betraying me. I leaned into his hand. "You feel it too."

Marcel’s breath hitched. For a second just a fraction of a second his thumb caressed the pulse point of my neck. I felt his resistance crumble. I felt his wolf pushing forward, wanting to claim, wanting to mark.

He lowered his head. His lips brushed the shell of my ear.

"I feel it," he murmured, his voice sounding like gravel. "I feel the urge to take you right here on this dirty floor. To mark you until everyone knows you belong to me."

My knees went weak. "Marcel..."

"But," he pulled back sharply, his hand dropping from my throat as if I were toxic waste. The coldness slammed back into his eyes, worse than before. "I am not an animal, Vanessa. I am an Alpha. And I choose my destiny. I do not let a biological itch dictate my future."

I stared at him, horror dawning on me. "You... you’re going to reject me?"

"I can't have a weak Luna," he said, straightening his cuffs, looking at me with cold calculation. "I need an alliance. I need Mia. Her father controls the southern trade routes. Marrying her secures the pack’s future."

"Mia?" I choked out. "She’s cruel. She’s selfish. She doesn't love you!"

"She is suitable," Marcel said flatly.

"The pack will know," I argued, desperate now. "They’ll smell me on you. They’ll know I’m your true mate."

"No, they won't."

Marcel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver vial. He tossed it onto the cot.

"Drink that."

I looked at the vial. The liquid inside was a murky purple. "What is it?"

"Wolfsbane mixed with a scent-blocker," he said. "It will dull the bond. It will stop your wolf from calling to mine. And it will hide your scent from the pack."

"You want me to poison myself?" I looked at him in disbelief. "Marcel, wolfsbane hurts. It burns."

"It’s better than the alternative," he said darkly.

"Which is?"

"Death."

He wasn't joking. I could see it in the set of his jaw. He was threatened by me. He was threatened by what I made him feel.

"I won't do it," I whispered. "I won't hide who I am."

Marcel’s eyes flashed. The air around him shimmered with Alpha command.

"You will do as I say."

The voice wasn't his human voice. It was the Alpha Voice. It slammed into my brain, forcing my muscles to lock up, forcing my wolf to bare her neck in submission.

My body moved without my permission. I stumbled toward the cot. My hand reached out, shaking violently, and picked up the vial.

"Please," I sobbed, fighting the command with everything I had. "Marcel, please don't make me do this."

He watched me, his face a mask of stone. But his hands were clenched into fists at his sides, shaking. He was fighting it too. He was using every ounce of his will to crush the instinct to comfort me.

"Drink it," he ordered. "And tomorrow morning, you will stand before the pack, and you will witness my engagement to Mia. You will serve the wine. And you will smile."

"I hate you," I whispered, uncorking the vial.

"Good," Marcel said, turning his back on me.

I brought the vial to my lips. The smell was acrid.

I downed it.

Pain, sharp and immediate, tore through my stomach. It felt like swallowing liquid fire. I gagged, dropping the vial, clutching my stomach as my knees hit the floor. My wolf screamed in agony as the connection to the moon—and to Marcel was forcibly dampened.

I curled into a ball on the concrete, gasping for air.

Marcel paused at the door. He didn't look back.

"Stay here tonight," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "If you try to leave, the guards have orders to shoot. Just because you’re my mate doesn't mean you’re immortal, Vanessa."

The door slammed shut. The lock clicked.

I lay on the freezing floor, the poison burning through my veins, while the man I loved walked away to plan a future with another woman.

But as the darkness began to take me, I realized something.

He hadn't rejected me yet. Not formally. Not with the words.

He was afraid. He was afraid if he said the words 'I reject you', the bond would snap and kill us both.

He was trying to bury it.

But nothing stays buried forever. especially not this.

The wolfsbane was a slow poison. It didn't just mute my wolf; it turned my blood into lead and my bones into glass. Every step I took across the ballroom floor felt like walking on hot coals, but I couldn't stop. The Alpha’s command was still vibrating in my skull, a tether I couldn't break.

"Keep moving, Vanessa. If you faint, I’m not helping you," Martha hissed as she shoved a tray of crystal flutes into my hands.

"I'm fine," I lied, my voice sounding like it was coming from underwater.

The Grand Hall was even more crowded than the night before. The scent-blocker was working; the guests didn't look at me with curiosity or suspicion. To them, I was just a nameless shadow, a ghost in a black dress.

But Marcel… Marcel knew.

He was standing by the fireplace, surrounded by Barnard and Ray. Barnard, the pack’s oldest advisor, was gesturing wildly with a cigar, likely talking about border security. Ray, the lead trainer, stood like a statue, his eyes scanning the room.

And Marcel? He looked like he hadn't slept a wink, though his face remained a mask of cold perfection.

"You’re late with the drinks," Ray barked as I approached the group.

"I’m sorry, sir," I whispered, keeping my head down.

I reached for Marcel’s glass to refill it. My hand shook, the silver tray rattling. As I poured, the scent-blocker flickered for a second—the pain of the wolfsbane causing my control to slip. A tiny puff of my natural scent, vanilla and rain, escaped.

Marcel’s head snapped toward me. His nostrils flared.

"I told you to stay in the kitchen," he said, his voice a low, lethal vibration.

"Martha sent me," I said, finally meeting his eyes. They were merciless. "The guests are thirsty, Alpha."

"I don't care about the guests. Get out of my sight."

"Marcel, don't be so hard on the girl," Barnard chuckled, blowing a cloud of smoke. "She’s just doing her job. Besides, we have a guest of honor arriving any minute. We need all hands on deck."

"She’s incompetent," Marcel snapped, his eyes never leaving mine. He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing me whole. "And she smells like sickness. It’s disgusting."

The word disgusting twisted the knife in my heart. I wanted to scream that it was his poison making me smell this way.

"Is that any way to talk to a lady, brother?"

The voice came from the main entrance, loud and dripping with a playful arrogance that didn't belong in this tense room.

The crowd parted.

I froze. Coming down the stairs was a man who looked almost exactly like Marcel, but where Marcel was shadows and ice, this man was sunlight and fire. He wore an expensive leather jacket and a grin that promised trouble.

"Nathan," Ray breathed, his hand twitching toward his side.

Nathan Blackwood. Marcel’s twin. The "Wild Alpha" who had been traveling the world for two years, refusing to be tied down by pack politics.

Nathan ignored the gasps and whispers, walking straight up to the High Table. He didn't look at Marcel first. He looked at me.

"Well, well," Nathan said, stopping right in front of me. He leaned in, sniffing the air, his amber eyes dancing with mischief. "The Obsidian Pack has certainly upgraded its staff since I left. Who are you, little bird?"

"She’s nobody," Marcel growled, stepping between us. The air between the brothers crackled with instant, violent dominance. "What are you doing here, Nathan? You weren't invited."

"It’s an engagement party, Marce! I couldn't miss my big brother selling his soul to the Beta’s brat," Nathan laughed, clapping a hand on Marcel’s shoulder. Marcel looked like he wanted to rip the arm off.

Nathan’s gaze flicked back to me, lingering on the way I was trembling. "You look pale, sweetheart. Why is my brother treating you like a criminal?"

"She’s just a servant, Nathan. Leave it," Marcel hissed.

"A servant with eyes like a storm," Nathan murmured, reaching out. Before Marcel could stop him, Nathan’s fingers brushed my cheek.

The contact was warm normal but it wasn't the spark. It wasn't the mate bond. It was just a man touching a woman. But Marcel’s reaction was anything but normal.

Marcel lunged forward, grabbing Nathan’s wrist and twisting it away from me. A low, guttural snarl ripped from Marcel’s throat, a sound so primal it made the guests scream.

"Don't. Touch. Her," Marcel breathed, his eyes turning pitch black.

The room went silent. Even Nathan’s smirk faltered.

"Whoa," Nathan laughed nervously, pulling his hand back. "Easy, Alpha. I didn't know the help was off-limits. Is there something you’re not telling me?"

Marcel realized he’d overreacted. He smoothed his shirt, his face returning to that terrifyingly calm mask. "She’s clumsy. I don't want her breaking more crystal."

He turned to me, and for a split second, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. It wasn't love. It was a hunger so dark it made my blood run cold.

"Vanessa," he said, his voice a ghost of a whisper. "Go to my study. Now. We need to discuss your… termination."

"Marcel, you can't" I started.

"Go," he commanded. The Alpha Voice hit me like a physical blow.

I turned and ran. I didn't stop until I reached the heavy oak doors of his private study. I pushed inside, gasping for air, the wolfsbane making my lungs feel like they were collapsing.

I leaned against his desk, trying to steady my heart. It smelled like him in here. Dark wood, old books, and that intoxicating scent of rain.

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.

The door slammed open.

Marcel didn't walk in; he stormed in. He kicked the door shut and locked it in one fluid motion. He looked possessed.

"You like the attention?" he snarled, crossing the room in three strides. He grabbed my waist and lifted me, slamming me back against the heavy mahogany desk.

"What attention?" I cried, my hands landing on his chest. His heart was thudding like a war drum.

"Nathan. You were practically throwing yourself at him," Marcel growled, his face inches from mine. "Is that the plan, Vanessa? If the Alpha rejects you, you’ll just move on to his twin? You want a crown that badly?"

"You’re insane! He just touched my face!"

"He touched what is mine," Marcel roared.

"You said I was nothing to you!" I yelled back, the tears finally breaking through. "You said I was trash! You gave me poison to hide me! So why do you care?"

Marcel froze. His grip on my waist tightened until it hurt. His gaze dropped to my lips, and I saw the war raging inside him. The Alpha who wanted power, and the Wolf who wanted his mate.

"I hate you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I hate that you have this hold on me."

"Then let me go," I sobbed.

"I can't."

He crashed his lips onto mine.

It wasn't a soft kiss. It wasn't a romantic reconciliation. It was a collision of teeth and tongue, a desperate, angry claim. It was the bond screaming for release, fueled by the wolfsbane and the jealousy and years of repressed longing.

I should have fought him. I should have pushed him away. But the moment his tongue touched mine, the pain of the poison vanished. I was soaring. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing the friction, needing the heat.

He groaned into my mouth, his hands roaming over my body with a frantic, possessive hunger. He hiked up my dress, his fingers searing my skin.

"Marcel," I whimpered against his lips.

"Don't speak," he growled, burying his face in my neck, his teeth grazing the spot where he should mark me. "Just… don't speak."

In that moment, under the dim light of the study, the world outside ceased to exist. There was no Mia, no pack, no rejection. There was only the fire.

But as he pushed me down onto the desk, his eyes suddenly cleared for a heartbeat. He looked at me truly looked at me and the coldness returned like a winter frost.

"This changes nothing," he whispered, even as he unbuckled his belt.

"I know," I breathed, pulling him back down.

I didn't know that this one night would be the beginning of my greatest joy and my deepest agony. I didn't know that as we lost ourselves in each other, a pair of eyes was watching through the crack in the door.

And those eyes weren't Nathan's.