I traced my claw across the scent-message parchment, embedding my reply:

"Understood. I'll retrieve you in three moon cycles."

Three cycles later, I stood at the gates of the Pack Holding Cells to collect Alaric—without exposing his deception.

I caught his scent before I saw him, mingled with false notes of deprivation. He emerged dressed in torn furs, playing the part of an Alpha heir stripped of territory and status, reduced to nothing. He'd even used ash and herb paste to create a fake scar slashing across his jaw.

The moment his amber eyes found me, he limped forward, rushing toward me with exaggerated emotion.

"Lyra!"

He pulled me against his chest, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"I reflected on everything during my confinement. The Council Elders noted my reformed behavior and granted early release."

"Lyra, you've endured so much these past seasons. I'm deeply sorry."

He looked so sincere, so genuinely moved—as if he'd truly suffered through three years in the binding den.

But I gently pushed against his chest, my expression unchanged. "It's good you're free."

Alaric stiffened, his wolf clearly sensing something different in my demeanor. But the next heartbeat, he seized my wrist.

"Lyra, what happened here?"

His concern seemed genuine as his thumb traced the damaged flesh.

But I found it almost laughable.

Alaric, what exactly are you pretending for?

You're the one who sent those wolves. They appeared claiming to be Rogue Hunters collecting on my family's debts and beat me until I looked like this.

And now you're playing innocent?

A wave of exhaustion washed over me. Or perhaps I was simply afraid to face what would happen if I tore away the mask.

"It's nothing. I fell during a run."

I pulled my hand free from his grip. "The Pack Healer said it will mend with time."

Alaric finally relaxed, releasing a breath that stirred the air between us. "That's good."

He reached for my hand again, lacing his fingers through mine with practiced tenderness.

"The injury's on your right wrist. If it worsens and affects your moon-blessed painting, you'll be howling with grief again."

His voice dripped with indulgence. But every word cut straight through me.

I used to possess extraordinary talent for scent-art painting—the rare gift of capturing emotions in pigments that carried living scents.

Recognition from allied territories, more honors than I could count. Everyone said my future shone bright as the full moon.

But for those experimental treatments—for that tribute payment—

To secure Alaric's early release from confinement—

I let them destroy my wrist in the healer's trials.

Now I cannot even grip a brush.

And now I learn it was all merely a punishment game Alaric orchestrated.

How utterly absurd.

I remained silent the entire journey back to the den. Alaric seemed nervous, filling the quiet with endless chatter.

Obviously rehearsed words he'd gathered from other wolves.

All to convince me he'd truly spent three years in the holding cells.

I listened without really hearing. When he finally stopped, I asked quietly:

"Alaric."

"Did I do something wrong?"

He went completely still. His eyes reddened as he turned to look at me, his wolf flickering behind his gaze.

"What do you mean, Lyra? Why would you ask that?"

I suddenly remembered the last time I'd been permitted to visit the binding den.

I was so happy. I'd saved my meager allowance for ages and hunted fresh game to prepare for him—a proper meal I'd made with my own hands.

No wonder he'd wrinkled his nose and refused to touch it.

He thought the offering was beneath him.

Of course. I believed he'd spent three years suffering in confinement.

But in reality, he'd been traveling through distant territories with his little Omega Liaison.

Fine feasts. Imported delicacies from across the realm.

Why would he ever lower himself to share my hardships?

Even that prison visit—he'd paid a hundred and twenty tribute coins to stage the entire scene.

These past three years, I'd been nothing but a fool. Their plaything, spun in circles by their lies.

When Alaric noticed my tears, panic flashed across his face. He stepped closer, reaching up to wipe them away with his thumb.

"Lyra, why are you crying? Did someone hurt you?"

I looked into his eyes.

"If someone hurt me, what would you do?"

"Would you still protect me like you swore before—no matter what, even if it cost you your life?"

Alaric reached for a cloth, his movements clumsy as he wiped my tears.

He didn't even hesitate. Just nodded, firm and certain.

"Anything, Lyra. Whatever you ask, I'll do it."

I held his gaze—those eyes so full of sincerity.

"Really?"

"Then kill Lily Ashgrove."

His head snapped up. He stared at me, stunned.

"What did you say?"

A flicker of panic crossed his face. "Did something happen? Did you misunderstand something?"

He was terrified I'd figured it out.

His whole body went rigid, his wolf's energy pulling tight beneath his skin.

"After the pack lost its territories, Lily left her position and crossed into foreign lands. I haven't had any contact with her in three years."

"Did she come after you while I was in the holding cells? If she did, I swear I'll make her pay—"

I grabbed his arm and let out a soft laugh. "Relax. I was kidding."

"Killing a pack member without Council judgment is forbidden, you know."

"You just got out of the binding den. You think I'd let you go back?"

"I was just teasing."

I turned away, lowering my eyes as I reached for something. He couldn't see my expression.

He thought it was really just a joke. I heard him exhale with relief.

"Lyra, I'm sorry."

"These three years... you must have suffered so much."

I didn't turn around. But in my heart, I was thinking:

It's fine.

Your reckoning is coming.

After Alaric's release, I started visiting the territory infirmary more and more frequently.

Pack Healer Rowan Ashenvale looked at me over his spectacles. "Are you really not going to tell your pack?"

"This isn't some minor ailment. Your mate has a right to know."

I shook my head with a faint smile.

"Let's just leave it. I don't want him to know. And I don't want treatment anymore."

Alaric was hiding in the corridor, catching fragments of the conversation—but nothing clear.

When I stepped out, his face was all concern.

"How did it go? What did the healer say?"

I smiled and shook my head, about to answer—

When Lily's scent-message reached him through the pack bond.

"Alaric, my den flooded from the storm and I'm soaked through. Can you come help me?"

His expression shifted instantly.

"Sure. I'm on my way."

He thought I hadn't sensed it. Blocking the bond-thread, he turned to me with a perfectly straight face.

"Lyra, remember that alliance pact I mentioned? I'm going to meet with them now. If it works out, we might finally rebuild our territory."

I stared into his eyes.

When he'd claimed me as his mate, those same eyes had been filled with nothing but sincerity.

Now they looked just as sincere.

But the lies rolled off his tongue without so much as a blink.

My unbroken gaze made him uneasy. He nearly tripped over his own act.

"Lyra... is something wrong?"

"Go ahead."

"If you can secure this alliance, we won't have to worry about those rogue hunters anymore."

Those rogue hunters—every single one of them had been sent by Alaric himself.

They'd cornered me in dead-end forest paths.

Stripped the den of anything worth trading.

Most weeks I ate once every three days. When the hunger became unbearable, I'd drink from the stream just to fill my stomach.

I thought about last night—waking up in tears, asking Alaric:

"Where are my parents?"

When his pack lost its territories, I'd tried to reach them for help.

But they'd vanished. No answer through the bond, no trace of their scent.

Alaric told me they'd been caught in a mountain collapse on their way back to our ancestral grounds.

Both of them. Gone.

They told me the search parties never recovered their bodies. For three years, I hunted through every territory, followed every cold trail—only to discover two days ago that my parents never perished at all.

Alaric had manipulated them into fleeing beyond pack borders.

Three full cycles of seasons.

He'd been intercepting my scent-messages, sending false assurances in my place, letting them believe I thrived under his protection. They had no knowledge of the existence I truly endured.

"Alaric."

I met his amber gaze directly, choosing to offer him one final opportunity.

"Is there anything you've kept hidden from me?"

He paused, then reached over to smooth the hair from my face, his touch gentle.

"Foolish little wolf. Why would I ever conceal anything from you?"

I dropped my eyes, letting the hope drain from them completely.

"Good."

After a stretched silence, I murmured, "I miss my parents."

"At first light tomorrow, I'll escort you to their memorial stones."

I pressed further—surely they'd left me something? Territory rights, bloodline artifacts, anything from the Nightveil holdings?

But Alaric's response came out fragmented, uncertain.

"Everything unraveled so fast. Before I could sort through the inheritance claims, rival packs conspired against me. I was confined to the holding cells under false accusations."

"Now I finally have the standing to investigate what truly happened back then."

His gaze shifted as he captured my hand in his.

"Lyra, perhaps your parents didn't truly die. Perhaps there's still hope."

Ha.

The three-year mark was approaching. He'd deceived me about their deaths, and now his story was unraveling beyond repair.

So he changed course—suggested there might be hope after all.

Too late. He'd already wasted his final chance.

Several days later, Alaric departed under the guise of an alliance negotiation. In truth, he was going to see Lily.

I watched the moon climb toward its peak, then scattered sleeping herbs across the den floor.

My runner arrived with word. Healer Rowan's voice carried steady through the message: "Everything's prepared."

I nodded and sent Alaric a scent-message:

"Alaric, your penance wins. You wanted to defend Lily? Fine. Take everything."

"Take my life too."

At that same moment, his message-stone hummed insistently on the bedside ledge.