I returned from a territory patrol to find my personal den-slippers still damp with another wolf's scent.

I asked Selene Frostveil if we'd had visitors.

She went rigid for a heartbeat, then let out a light laugh. "How could we? You know I'm terrible at hosting other wolves."

"I prefer spending the moon-rest quiet, just the two of us in our chambers."

"Isn't that what you always said drew you to me? How devoted I am to our bond?"

I offered a hollow smile and waited until she left to visit the pack market. Then I searched our den, chamber by chamber.

Someone had used the grooming blade in the bathing room. A set of sleeping furs in the wardrobe carried a foreign musk.

But the worst part? The sealed pouch of mating herbs in the bedside chest was completely empty.

Two days. Twelve doses.

Impressive stamina.

I swallowed my fury and sent a mind-link to my most trusted guard:

"Contact the den-keeper. Retrieve all ward-stone scrying from the past two days."

"And make certain no other wolf learns of this."

——

The next evening in my council hall, the scrying images were already waiting in my private viewing crystal.

I activated it and pulled the vision forward.

Crystal clear. Time-marked to the moment.

Starting three days ago, a male had been entering and leaving my den. Frequently.

The final vision was recorded one hour before I'd arrived:

The main entrance shimmered open. He stepped through with his arm wrapped around Selene's waist. They stopped just outside our private chambers—and kissed. Long, slow, desperate. The kind of kiss that made it impossible to tell where one wolf ended and the other began.

Selene's hand slipped beneath his tunic. I'd never witnessed her like that. So eager. So hungry.

I recognized him immediately.

Kael Ashford. Selene's new Omega Liaison.

I'd reviewed his credentials myself. Twenty-five years old, returned from training with a distant pack.

Six-foot-one, with the kind of face that made she-wolves forget their bonds.

The vision froze on the frame where he dipped his head to nuzzle the curve of her throat—right where my mate-mark should have been sacred.

I closed the scrying crystal and leaned back in my carved oak chair.

That's when the knock came. Two raps against the heavy door. Not too soft, not too loud.

"Enter."

The door swung open.

And there he stood.

Kael Ashford, in a tailored silver-gray tunic that emphasized his height and lean build. Every strand of dark hair perfectly groomed. His eyes carried the sharp confidence of youth—edged with something lazier. Almost arrogant.

He held a leather-bound ledger in one hand.

"Alpha Blackthorn."

His voice was clear, all formality.

"Beta-Consort Frostveil asked me to deliver this season's tribute reward list for your seal."

He walked to my desk and set the ledger down.

No pleasantries. No move to withdraw. He simply stood there, waiting.

Posture perfect. But his gaze drifted past my face to the ancestral tapestries behind me, as if this were nothing more than a trivial errand.

I looked up at him.

He didn't flinch. He even smiled—a smile with something unreadable beneath it.

Normally, when Selene sent documents like this—or had her attendant bring them—I'd glance at the totals and press my signet ring to the page. She managed the pack stores and tribute flow. I'd always granted her that authority.

But today, I picked up the ledger. Opened it.

Page by page, I went through the list. Tribute rewards ranged from modest silver portions to generous hunting allotments—consistent with this season's contributions.

Then I reached the last page.

My hand stopped.

Next to Kael Ashford's name was a staggering allocation.

Season's tribute reward: One thousand silver marks.

And in the remarks column, a single line: Plus one prestige patrol mount and prime den quarters.

One thousand silver marks. An elite mount. Private chambers fit for a ranked wolf.

For an Omega Liaison who'd served less than six moon-cycles.

My eyes lingered on those figures for two heartbeats. Then I looked up.

Kael was watching me. That faint smile had deepened, and something flickered in his gaze—impatience.

"Alpha Blackthorn, is there a problem?"

His tone stayed respectful. But there was an edge now.

A challenge.

"The Beta-Consort is... waiting to head out."

He made a point of emphasizing those last two words.

I reached for the obsidian quill resting on my desk and lifted it from its holder.

The sharpened tip hovered over the blood-seal line. It didn't come down.

"Kael, you've served in this den for almost five moon cycles now, haven't you?"

My voice was steady. Unreadable.

"One week shy of five cycles."

His answer came quick and easy.

I said nothing more. I signed, pressing my thumb to the wax to seal it with my Alpha mark.

"Thank you, Alpha Blackthorn."

He took the leather-bound folder I handed back, flipped through to confirm the blood-seal, then closed it.

And in that split second as he turned to leave, I saw it clearly—his lips moved, fast and silent.

No sound. But the shape was unmistakable. Three syllables:

Old bastard.

He didn't even bother closing the heavy oak door behind him.

I stayed in my chair. Didn't move.

The quill slid back into its holder with a soft click.

Moonlight streamed through the arched window, falling across one corner of my desk. Almost too bright for midday—the celestial blessing that marked our kind.

I pressed the rune-stone that connected me to my Omega assistant.

"Alpha Blackthorn?"

"Close the door."

"Yes, Alpha."

A soft click, and the council chamber fell silent again.

My eyes drifted to the dimmed ward-stone on my desk—the one linked to the territory scrying network. My finger brushed its surface once, then stilled.

I didn't activate it.

Ten minutes later, the front gate keeper sent word through the message-rune.

"Alpha Blackthorn, the Beta-Consort and her Omega Liaison just left together. They took... your shadow-mount."

"Noted."

I severed the connection.

Rising from my chair, I walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Blackthorn territory.

Below, the sleek black carriage—pulled by my prized shadow-horse, a beast bred for speed and silence—glided out of the underground stables, merged onto the forest path, and vanished at the edge of my vision.

The glass reflected my silhouette—formal pack attire, expressionless face.

A few minutes later, I activated the travel scryer bound to the carriage.

The image was crisp. The sounds, crystal clear.

Kael had one hand on the reins. His other rested on Selene's silk-covered thigh.

His fingers traced lazy patterns there, the motion practiced. Familiar.

Selene had one hand draped over his arm, her face tilted up toward him, eyes curved with laughter, cheeks flushed pink. Her scent—even through the scryer—carried notes of arousal that made my wolf snarl in recognition. That scent should have been for me alone.

The modest cream cloak she'd worn in the council hall was gone—tossed in the back of the carriage.

All that remained was a silk blouse, the top two buttons undone, exposing the pale column of her throat where my mating mark should have kept her faithful.

Not a trace of the composed Pack Steward she played before the pack.

"You said he looked at it carefully?"

Selene's voice came through, soft and coy, with an undercurrent of tension she couldn't quite hide.

"Flipped through several pages. Even paused on mine."

Kael chuckled, his fingers trailing higher along her thigh.

"What's wrong—scared?"

"Just... surprised, that's all."

Selene hesitated, then leaned closer into him, her wolf clearly responding to his presence in a way that should have been reserved for her bonded mate.

"He never used to look twice at anything I brought him. Always just sealed it without question."

"Worried he caught your scent on the documents?" Kael shot her a sidelong glance, lips curling. "Relax. That old fool's got nothing in his head but territory and silver-tribute. Spends all day scheming how to expand his hunting grounds. Never occurs to him his own den is already burning—and the horns on his head are glowing bright green."

Selene swatted his arm, the touch playful, barely a tap. "That mouth of yours."

"My mouth?"

Kael laughed outright, his hand sliding higher, fingertips slipping beneath the hem of her skirt. The gesture was possessive—the kind of touch that marked territory.

"I can say worse. Want to hear? Last night, someone was whimpering my name, begging me to—"

"Shut up!"

Selene clamped her hand over his mouth, her face burning redder now, but her eyes—her eyes shimmered, dark and inviting. I could see the way her pupils had blown wide, the telltale sign of a wolf responding to its chosen partner.

The shadow-mount slowed at a crossing. The carriage stopped.

Kael caught her wrist, drew it to his lips, and pressed a kiss to her palm—right over the pulse point where her scent glands lay beneath the skin.

Then he turned and kissed her, claiming her mouth the way only a bonded mate should.

It wasn't a fleeting brush of lips—it was deep, lingering, consuming.

Selene pressed her palm against his shoulder, but the resistance held no real force. Within heartbeats, she softened into him, her arms winding around his neck as she returned the kiss with matching hunger.

I watched through the ward-stone's shimmering surface. My expression remained blank. My pulse stayed steady.

A growl rumbled from the patrol mount behind them—the beast sensing the blocked path ahead. The crossing marker had shifted to clear passage. Kael finally pulled back, his tongue dragging slowly across his lower lip, savoring her taste. He urged the mount forward.

Selene sank against the padded seat, her fingers combing through her disheveled hair, smoothing the rumpled fabric of her traveling cloak. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her cheeks still flushed with color that had nothing to do with moon-touched cosmetics.

"The den chamber is prepared?"

Her voice came out slightly breathless.

"Same place as always." Kael's eyes stayed on the forest path ahead, but his smirk was audible. "The suite with the open terrace. Overlooks the Silver River. You like that one, don't you?"

"Mm." A low hum of approval. Her hand drifted to his thigh, her nails tracing lazy circles through the fabric. "And my... tribute reward? You know how much effort it took to balance those ledger-runes. A chest of prime silver plus an elite patrol mount—I nearly didn't get it past those ancient fossils on the Elder Council."

"My Selene. Always so capable."

Kael reached over and pinched her cheek, his gaze heavy with undisguised want and smug satisfaction.

"Don't worry. I'll reward you properly tonight."

The mount carried them through the glittering heart of the territory before pulling into the curved entrance of a high-status guest den.

I didn't watch the rest. I closed the scrying feed.

Seven nights later. The annual Moon Gala.

The great hall blazed with light—enchanted crystals refracting into a thousand prismatic shards, ceremonial goblets catching the glow as they clinked in endless toasts beneath the full moon streaming through the skylights.

I stood by the head table, exchanging pleasantries with the Pack Elders. My gaze, however, kept drifting toward the entrance.

Selene and Kael were the last to arrive.

They swept in side by side. Selene wore a wine-red gown that bared her shoulders, her appearance immaculate. But the flush lingering on her cheekbones was harder to conceal—the telltale remnant of whatever had delayed them. Her scent carried traces of him, barely masked beneath perfumed oils.

Kael walked half a step behind her, draped in a midnight-blue velvet coat trimmed with silver thread. The arrogance of youth radiated from him, untempered, almost deliberately flaunted.

I watched from across the hall. A soft exhale escaped through my nose—not quite a laugh.

I raised my goblet, took a measured sip, and said nothing.

"Alpha Blackthorn." Ronan Stormwing appeared at my elbow, touching his goblet to mine with an amiable smile. The visiting Beta from our allied pack surveyed the gathering with approval. "The territory's tribute flow looks excellent this year. Border stability has never been stronger. You should be pleased."

"I should be."

I returned the smile and drained my goblet in one smooth motion.

Three rounds of mead later, the atmosphere had reached a fever pitch.

The ceremony leader took the raised platform, voice booming with theatrical energy as he announced the evening's main event.

The year-end tribute distribution.

Cheers and howls of approval erupted from the gathered wolves. Every eye in the hall locked onto the stage.

I straightened my ceremonial collar and ascended the steps.

Taking the speaking stone, I let my gaze sweep across the sea of faces—each one bright with anticipation, practically vibrating with excitement.

Selene sat at the head table, posture elegant, composed. Only the slight tightening of her hands in her lap betrayed anything beneath the surface.

Kael occupied the seat beside her. Spine ramrod straight. A faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. His eyes held the certainty of a wolf who already knew he'd won.

"First," I began, my voice carrying through the enchanted acoustics to every corner of the hall, "I want to thank each of you for your dedication to the pack this past year."

Thunderous applause and approving howls.

I worked through the list, calling names one by one.

Each recipient bounded up to the platform, beaming, accepting their tribute pouch with effusive thanks. The amounts varied—modest silver shares here, substantial hunting rights there—but every face wore the same delighted expression.

Kael watched the proceedings with hooded eyes.

When a mid-rank patrol leader collected his generous tribute allotment, I caught the subtle curl at the corner of Kael's lips. Contempt, barely concealed.

He leaned toward Selene, murmuring something. She pressed her lips together in a knowing smile and reached over to pat the back of his hand.

The gesture was casual. Intimate.

A few wolves in the crowd noticed. Curious glances flickered their way, nostrils flaring as they caught the mingled scents.

Kael didn't pull back. If anything, he sat up straighter—basking in the attention, savoring the whispered speculation.