Selene Ashvale was retrieving my patrol relic when the transport harness failed. Her leg shattered on impact.

By the time I reached the healer's den, some young wolf with bloodshot eyes was snarling at me without pause:

"What gave you the right to send the Lady Ashvale to fetch your gear? If you hadn't been too lazy to handle it yourself, she never would've gotten hurt!"

"Do you have any idea her leg is fractured? That her ribs are cracked too?"

His tone dripped with self-righteous fury, like he was reprimanding a low-rank wolf who'd failed his duties.

It wasn't just me standing there stunned. Every packmate and blood-kin who'd come to check on Selene wore the same frozen expression of disbelief.

Selene cast him an indulgent look, her scent softening with fondness before she turned to soothe me:

"He's young. He speaks his mind when he's defending someone under his care. Don't take it personally."

Her heart clearly wasn't with me anymore. The mate bond between us had grown cold and thin. So no, I didn't take it personally.

I stared calmly at the pup sobbing like his world had crumbled, waiting until he'd exhausted himself.

"Done? Good. My turn."

"This is the second time your trade den has made this kind of careless mistake. If I don't get a reasonable explanation, you can deal with the pack enforcers and Nightfang legal counsel."

1.

The color drained from the young wolf's face. He looked desperately toward the female lying in the healing bed.

Selene's expression shifted:

"Kael Nightfang, it was my mistake. It has nothing to do with him. I've already handled the incident."

"Your mistake?"

I raised an eyebrow and looked directly at Selene:

"How bad is it?"

Selene coughed lightly:

"I'm fine. Just the fractured leg and a mild head injury. You don't need to—"

I cut her off:

"I was asking about the relic."

My coldness struck the young wolf like a physical blow. His voice shot up:

"The Lady Ashvale is lying here injured and all you care about is some patrol gear? Do you even have a conscience?!"

"You must be Ronan Duskvein."

I slid my hands into the pockets of my coat, unhurried, my face expressionless as I regarded him:

"First—that relic is worth the equivalent of two and a half million in territory resources. A rare crafting. One of a handful in existence."

"Second—Selene is my bonded mate. She was retrieving my gear. Is there a problem?"

"Third..."

I paused, my gaze dropping to his hand clutching the fabric of Selene's healing gown:

"You're just some stray pup Selene sponsored out of pity. So tell me—what exactly gives you the right to stand here and interrogate me?"

Ronan's face flushed crimson. He released her gown instinctively, but still tried to defend himself:

"I—I just feel bad for Lady Ashvale!"

"You could've retrieved the relic yourself, but you made her travel all that way. Now something's happened and you don't even have a single word of concern—"

I glanced at the message my omega assistant had just sent through the pack link. A cold smile tugged at my lips.

"Save your sympathy for yourself."

"The damage assessment just came in. Restoration costs are estimated at over three hundred thousand in pack credits, minimum. How do you plan to settle this?"

Ronan's legs buckled. He swayed, then glared at me with stubborn, wounded fury:

"Th-three hundred thousand? That's robbery!"

Then his eyes darted to Selene, pleading:

"Lady Ashvale..."

Selene pushed herself upright, aggravating her wound. She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, her scent spiking with pain.

"Kael, he just started working the trade dens—he's still a pup. Where would he get three hundred thousand? Don't frighten him."

"It was my mistake. I'll pay you back."

Ronan's eyes lit up instantly. A smug little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

I looked at her and let out a mocking laugh:

"The Lady Ashvale is certainly generous. Wasn't buying him an entire trade outpost enough?"

Selene clearly hadn't expected me to know about that. Her expression froze, her scent going sharp with surprise.

Ronan lost all his earlier bravado. He bit his lip and scrambled to explain:

"Alpha Kael, if you're angry, take it out on me. Don't blame Lady Ashvale. She only helped me establish my den because she felt sorry for me."

Selene sighed and waved Ronan off:

"This has nothing to do with you. Return to your quarters for now."

Ronan hung his head and shuffled toward the door, glancing back every few steps with those wounded pup eyes. But the moment he reached the threshold, he spun around and hurried back.

Ronan pressed a small, delicately carved peachwood talisman into Selene's palm.

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, gazing up at him with a softness that could melt steel.

Anyone watching would've sworn these two shared more than a simple pack connection.

Ronan bit his lip, reluctance written across his face as he finally pulled away. Passing by me, he lowered his voice in explanation:

"Alpha Kael, this is my fault. I let Lady Selene take the patrol relic before the harness was properly checked, and then the accident happened."

"Please don't misunderstand—I carved that peachwood talisman myself. I'm hoping it'll ward off any lingering dark spirits for her."

The harness wasn't properly checked?

But the trade den had sent word for me to collect it.

And that harness failure last time—was that also due to careless inspection?

"Kael, I've been meaning to talk to you about the trade den situation."

Selene's voice pulled me back to the present.

We were alone in the healer's chamber now. A smile spread across her face as she carefully set the talisman aside, then reached for my hand.

"Ronan just completed his training trials, and it happened to be his birth-moon. It was just a gift. Don't tell me my powerful Alpha mate is jealous?"

She said it like it was nothing—like she'd given away some worthless trinket.

I shifted, avoiding her touch.

"So this is what you're drawn to?"

The air went still.

Selene's expression flickered. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"I didn't tell you because I was worried you'd overthink it. Ronan and I are innocent. We—"

"I don't care."

I cut her off, my tone detached.

"I haven't caught you sharing a den with him, I'll admit that. But I don't tolerate even a trace of another wolf's scent on what's mine, Selene. Whatever ideas you're entertaining—drop them. I have no interest in making this ugly."

Selene looked up at me, disbelief clouding her features.

"You don't believe me?"

I gazed down at her, my eyes flat and unreadable.

Silence was answer enough.

She opened her mouth to say more, but the communication stone on the bedside table hummed with an incoming message.

The scent signature attached—Ronan—burned into my senses.

Selene hesitated, then answered. Ronan's pitiful voice immediately drifted through:

"Lady Selene, is Alpha Kael giving you a hard time? Even if he's angry, please don't fight with him, okay?"

"I ordered some healing broth from the Fortune Den kitchens for you. I didn't want Alpha Kael to get the wrong idea, so I won't deliver it myself."

Two sentences. He'd managed to play the devoted pup while subtly reminding her just how close they really were.

I didn't move.

Selene glanced at my face and ended the connection.

A cold laugh echoed in my chest. I had no patience left for this charade. I turned and walked toward the chamber door.

"Kael!"

Selene called after me, frantic.

"You're really angry?"

"I promise I'll stay away from him. No more contact, ever. Please don't be so cold to me?"

"My leg hurts..."

I paused, turning my head just slightly. My voice could've frozen the air.

"If your leg hurts, call a healer. I have pack matters to attend to. Rest well."

Outside the healing den, the cold wind hit my face, finally tamping down the fury coiling in my chest.

I pulled out my communication stone and reached my assistant.

"Rowan Frostclaw. Dig into Ronan Duskvein. I suspect he had something to do with my harness failure last time."

After that last maintenance visit, my patrol harness had given out mid-run through the territory. I'd veered into a rocky outcrop to avoid a fatal crash down the cliffside.

That evening, Lyra Gildenshade—keeper of a high-status relic atelier that crafted moon-silver timepieces and scent-lock charms—arrived at my private den on Selene's orders. She presented dozens of ceremonial pieces for my selection.

"Lady Selene certainly knows how to care for her mate," Lyra remarked, admiration in her voice. "Such devotion. It's enviable, really."

I glanced over the moon-silver pieces, feeling nothing but bitter irony.

"You're reading it wrong. The night a wolf commits scent-treason, he tells his mate 'I love you' over and over—trying to drown out his own guilt."

"She-wolves are no different."

Selene believed I was simply lashing out—like one of those bonded mates who discovers their partner's scent-treason and crumbles into howls and empty threats, only to be soothed with a moon-silver timepiece and an elaborate moonfeast.

She seemed to have forgotten who I was.

I didn't have a pack dynasty to shelter me the way she did. But I'd forged my own path through blood and cunning. Accepted into an elite training ground across the border at sixteen. Fought my way through the cutthroat territory wars of the eastern packs by twenty-two. Returned to my homeland at twenty-five to challenge her as an equal in the struggle for dominance and resources.

We bonded not because I couldn't survive without her, but because she'd sworn herself to me. One life. One mate. Just the two of us beneath every moon.

The cruelty of it still burned in my chest.

Five years. That's all it took for her to forget every vow.

The next day, I received a pack-link request from Ronan. The message attached read: "Kael, I'd like to explain about your patrol relic's maintenance issue."

Pack duties consumed me that day—councils and territory disputes from dawn until the stars emerged, then a swift run across the border for my uncle Eamon's seventieth lunar-turn celebration. He was my only remaining blood kin.

I didn't accept the request until I reached his den.

Ronan immediately sent a voice-stone message. Something about the den-smith being a temporary hire who'd vanished without a trace. Couldn't be tracked.

I didn't respond. But my claw slipped across the message surface, and I accidentally opened his pack-feed.

The latest posting was from thirty minutes ago.

Selene sat on the carved stone settee in our private den, drinking broth. Behind her hung the ancestral tapestry I'd paid a fortune for at the elder auctions. The hand-woven pelts I'd commissioned from the mountain craftswolves.

And there was Ronan. Wearing my favorite sleeping furs. My den slippers.

Grinning beside her, one arm raised to capture their image in a reflection-stone, the other flashing a gesture of victory.

The caption: "Finally able to care for you while you're healing. I know I've been misunderstood, but the truth speaks for itself. Homemade bone broth—hope your strength returns soon."

I captured the image and sent it through our mate-bond channel to Selene.

"Living in my den. Wearing my furs. Getting cozy with my bonded mate. This is your idea of 'innocent'?!"

Her reply came instantly.

"Kael, Ronan spilled broth on his clothes while preparing it. He's just borrowing yours temporarily. He meant well. Don't let your wolf read too much into it."

I laughed—a cold, sharp sound that echoed off the stone walls.

"Meant well?"

"More like the spilled broth was an excuse and sneaking into my territory was the real goal. Wearing my furs to play at being the alpha of my den? What—does he think if he marks enough of my belongings with his scent, he'll get elevated to bonded mate?"

"Do you have to be so vicious?"

Her tone shifted, growing wounded.

"You're never here. He came to tend to me. Can't you show a little grace?"

"Kael, you weren't like this before. When did you become so domineering? So heartless?"

I stared at the message and laughed in disbelief.

Domineering? Heartless?

When the Ashvale Pack's resource lines collapsed, I was the one who led my wolves through a moon-cycle of sleepless nights to secure the alliance pact that saved her family's standing.

When her father fell ill with the silver-fever, I was the one who abandoned a massive territory expansion to sit vigil at his bedside for two weeks.

She used to say she admired my decisiveness. My killer instinct in pack politics.

Now that she had a sweet, attentive little wolf by her side, suddenly I was domineering and cruel?

My uncle insisted I stay for the full celebration. It wasn't until the third night that I caught the earliest dawn run back to our territory.

The scent-lock on our den hadn't been changed.

But my scent had been stripped from the recognition wards.

I stood at my own threshold and scratched at the entrance marker.

Ronan opened it.

This time, he wasn't wearing a tunic. Just loose training leathers slung low on his hips. His hair was damp, dripping—like he'd just emerged from the bathing pool.

"Kael?" His voice pitched high with false surprise. "What are you doing here? Selene's still resting—"

I cut him off with a low growl that made his wolf flinch.

"Last I checked, I don't need permission to enter my own den."