It wasn't the ceremonial spread she found fault with—it was me.

I rose from my seat, but Howl stood at the same moment and caught my arm.

He pressed close, his breath warm against my ear, voice low and pleading. "Mother's always been this way... Let's just finish the feast, and then we'll return to our den, alright?"

My claws pressed against my palms as I held his gaze.

His submission made my wolf snarl with frustration.

For his sake, I'd bitten back my pride time and again.

But even an Alpha has her breaking point.

For his mother's name-day, I'd gifted her a bracelet of pure moonsilver. When fever took her, I'd summoned the finest healer in the territory. She craved the admiration of the pack, so I'd commissioned this extravagant eighteen-course ceremonial spread.

And what had I received? Humiliation heaped upon me at every gathering—all because I hadn't yet carried a pup.

What wolf could endure such treatment?

Sensing my genuine fury, Howl hurried to soothe me in hushed tones. "I know you've suffered unfairly. Next moon-turn, we won't come here—we'll celebrate with your birth-pack instead, I swear it."

I felt my hackles lower slightly.

Three years of mating, and I hadn't spent a single Moon-Turn feast with my own kin. Even on the second day of the celebration, I wasn't permitted to visit them.

His mother's words still echoed in my mind: "If you leave, who will distribute the winter gifts to all these pups and pack-kin?"

"You've taken the mating bond—you must uphold this den. Running back to your birth-pack is out of the question."

For the sake of Howl's promise, I told myself: One more time. Just endure it one more time.

At that moment, Jarek Frostclaw lifted his goblet and swayed to his feet.

"Little brother," he slurred, the stench of fermented honey-wine rolling off him, "not to lecture you, but you need to keep your mate under control!"

"Can't carry a pup, but certainly knows how to drain the storehouse dry. Tsk, tsk." He shook his head with exaggerated disapproval. "If she were my bondmate, I'd have put her in her place long ago!"

Beneath the feast table, Joryn kicked him. Her face, however, remained a mask of gentle concern. "You've drunk too much. What nonsense are you howling?"

"I'm not howling nonsense!" Jarek waved her off. "She bonded into the Frostclaw line, so she follows Frostclaw ways. A female running a pack? Out there mingling with who knows which wolves?" He let out a derisive snort. "Probably being mounted by another and doesn't even catch the scent!"

Muffled snickers rippled around the feast table.

Howl kept his head bowed. Silent.

I fixed Jarek with an unwavering stare. "Elder brother, who secured your position in the howl-network? Without me 'out there mingling,' where would you be right now?"

Jarek's face flushed dark as old blood. He jabbed a claw in my direction. "You—!"

"Me what? Did I speak anything but truth?"

I held his gaze without flinching.

Howl immediately seized my arm. "Selene, that's enough—he's my blood-brother!"

My eyes burned with sudden heat.

When others attacked me, he went mute.

When I defended myself, he held me back.

I'd never feared the fangs and claws of the outside world. But betrayal from the one closest to me? That I couldn't bear.

Dahlia Crowmire suddenly turned to her daughter. "You work within Selene's pack—how much of the resource share does she grant you?"

Alyra Crowmire blinked, caught off guard, then answered honestly. "Three hundred silver-weight base, plus a hundred in performance shares."

"What?" Dahlia slammed down her eating knife. "You completed your youngling training, and she's granting you three or four hundred? She's cheating her own bond-kin!"

Alyra rushed to explain. "Mother, I only finished my training this season. That's actually quite generous—"

Dahlia struck the table with her palm. "Selene, you spent eighteen hundred silver-weight on a single feast, but you're this miserly with your own relatives? I won't accept it—you will increase her share. Six hundred minimum!"

That opened the floodgates. Several relatives who held positions within my pack couldn't stay quiet any longer.

"Yes, Selene, what about me? I've served the pack for two seasons now—isn't it time for a larger portion?"

"Exactly! My sire handles your supply runs—that's the dirtiest, hardest labor there is. You can't show favoritism!"

I turned to Howl, my gaze burning.

Every single one of these relatives had found their way into my pack through him.

I had never wanted to bring them into the pack's work-circles in the first place.

"They share your blood now," I had reminded myself. "Some of them are elders of their own lines. If they fail at their duties, how am I supposed to correct them—bare my fangs at wolves twice my age?"

Howl had convinced me otherwise.

"They have all struggled through hard winters. Extend your protection if you can. We are all bound by the same pack-ties now."

So I had relented.

Alyra had only completed her first hunt this turning. She could not even organize a simple territory report. To sharpen her skills, I had personally funded her enrollment in an advanced craft-training with the guild masters—twenty thousand in resource shares from my own storehouse.

My second-aunt's son worked as a scout-runner for the pack. His tracking numbers sat at the very bottom of every ledger. I had been preparing to reassign him to lesser duties, and now he wanted a larger winter share?

And then there was Elder Stellan Thornforge—a retired laborer from the old iron-works whom I had brought into supply runs out of obligation. He could barely lift the equipment crates. Half the time, he had to beg wolves from other dens to carry his load.

I was not running a pack. I was running a refuge for wolves who believed they honored me by accepting my protection.

I had assumed they would show gratitude.

Instead, they had gathered their voices together to make demands.

I set down my eating knife. My voice emerged cold as frost-wind.

"If you find the pack's resource distribution unsatisfactory, you are welcome to seek better arrangements elsewhere. I lead a modest territory. I cannot afford to keep moon-blessed deities on my provision rolls."

The feast hall went silent. Expressions shifted like shadows under clouds.

Dahlia was the first to bare her teeth.

"My daughter serving under your banner is a privilege for you. And you have the arrogance to posture like this?"

She turned her muzzle toward my bond-mother.

"Can you believe this, Deirdra? Your son's bondmate grows bolder with each moon. She will not even grant her own blood-kin a scrap of honor."

My bond-mother straightened her spine, assuming her matriarch stance with practiced ease.

"Selene. Offer your apologies to everyone gathered here. Now."

A cold laugh escaped my throat, and I held her gaze without flinching.

"Apologize for what? I am the Alpha. They are pack members under my authority."

"My territory does not chain anyone to their duties. If they are unhappy, they may leave whenever they choose."

I turned to face them directly.

"Alyra—have I ever treated you unfairly?"

"Evren Ironpelt—you know exactly what your tracking records show."

"Elder Stellan—if you would truly prefer to return to rest, I will not prevent it."

All three of them went pale as winter-starved deer.

Alyra spoke up immediately, her voice small.

"Selene, I am truly grateful. Thank you for everything."

Evren dropped his head low.

"The larger share is not that important, actually..."

Stellan cleared his throat with obvious discomfort.

"Everything is fine. All is well..."

The hall fell into heavy silence.

But my bond-mother was not satisfied. She planted her hands on her hips and raised her voice until it echoed off the stone walls.

"What is wrong with all of you?"

"I still hold authority in this bloodline."

"Selene, you will grant them larger shares. Because I have declared it!"

Dahlia immediately began clapping her hands together.

"Thank you so much, Deirdra!"

A scattering of reluctant applause followed from the gathered wolves.

Most simply watched, ears pricked forward, waiting to see what would unfold.

I rose to my feet. Howl reached for my arm. I shook him off—hard enough that he stumbled.

"All you ever do is tell me to endure. Is that the only use you have?"

"You will not stand beside me? Fine. I will stand for myself."

His eyes pleaded with me, soft and desperate.

"Selene, please. Do not cause a scene..."

My bond-mother slammed her palm against the feast table, refusing to yield her ground.

"Howl! Show some backbone! This bloodline carries the name Frostclaw, not Wolfsbane!"

"She cannot even give us pups. The least she can do is work herself to the bone for the Frostclaw line."

"Selene—by next winter, you will surrender the Alpha position to one of our chosen wolves!"

"And you had better produce an heir. Healer's intervention, old remedies, I do not care how you manage it. But you will give me grandpups. Otherwise, you can gather your things and leave this territory!"

The hall went dead silent.

Every pair of eyes turned toward me.

I smiled.

Absolutely absurd.

I looked at her, my gaze cold as frozen iron.

"No need to wait until next winter. I am leaving right now."

"Steward!"

The feast steward, who had been hovering near the kitchen passage, stepped forward instantly.

"Pack up all the food. Every last dish."

He froze.

Deirdra's eyes went wide, her pupils dilating with shock.

"You... what did you just say?"

I ignored her and turned back to the feast steward.

"Pack everything in your finest preservation vessels. I'm settling the honor-debt now."

"Selene, what in the moon's name are you doing!"

Howl finally snapped out of his stupor.

I turned to face him.

"You can come with me, or you can stay. Choose."

His lips trembled. His gaze darted between me and his mother, unable to land on either. I could scent his fear—sharp and sour beneath the lingering aroma of the feast.

Deirdra clutched her chest like her heart might give out.

"Howl Fletcher, don't you dare! If you walk out that door with this wasteful she-wolf, you're no longer my pup!"

Howl's face twitched. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. His wolf cowered somewhere deep inside him, too weak to surface.

I understood. I nodded slowly.

"Very well."

I turned back to the steward.

"Pack it. Now. Have it loaded into my carriage."

Garrick Stonebriar finally unfroze and scrambled to summon the serving wolves.

The private chamber fell deathly silent. Every single member of the Frostclaw gathering sat frozen, mouths agape, watching the scene unfold. I could feel their stares like heat on my back, could scent their mingled shock and outrage.

Deirdra shook with rage, her bony finger jabbing toward me, her claws half-extended.

"You... what is the meaning of this!"

I met her eyes, enunciating each word with the precision of an Alpha's command.

"It means you and your precious bond-daughter can return to your den and enjoy your root vegetables."

I picked up my satchel and walked out without looking back.

Behind me, Deirdra's shrill wailing echoed through the corridor, bouncing off the stone walls.

"Howl! Look at the bondmate you claimed! She's brought nothing but shame to our bloodline!"

Howl remained rooted to the spot—a statue, frozen mid-collapse.

I pulled out my message-crystal and sent word to my pack liaison.

"Hugo, find me the nearest refuge. I have provisions that need to be delivered."

While waiting at the crossroads for the path to clear, I reached through our pack bond and severed Howl's access to the territory resources. The connection snapped clean—I felt it like cutting a frayed thread.

If the Frostclaws were so confident in their self-sufficiency, they could figure out their own Moon-Turn feast.

Howl's attempts to reach me came in—one after another after another. I felt the desperate tugs at the fraying edges of our bond.

I didn't respond.

Harbor Haven Refuge finally came into view, its weathered wooden gates standing open beneath hanging lanterns. Hugo Nightwhisper was already waiting outside, his breath misting in the cold night air.

I brought my carriage to a halt, and a middle-aged she-wolf in a volunteer's marked vest hurried out to greet me. Her scent carried notes of lavender and old grief.

"Thank you so much, Alpha Wolfsbane—this is... we can't thank you enough!"

Behind her, several faces peered through the frosted windows. Elderly wolves. Middle-aged ones. A couple of younglings hovering uncertainly, their ears flattened with shyness.

"Some dishes need to be warmed over the fire, but most can be served immediately."

I opened the back of the carriage.

"Have everyone come help carry it in."

Thirty-some wolves with nowhere else to go gathered in the refuge's main hall.

Worn wooden tables had been pushed together into one long surface, now covered with the ceremonial vessels.

Slow-braised venison in moonflower sauce. The traditional Seven-Herb Stew. Fresh greens dressed in bone broth...

The dishes Deirdra had dismissed as pretentious excess received an entirely different reception here.

Wolves ate while murmuring their thanks between bites. Some wept openly, tears tracking down weathered cheeks. The scent of gratitude filled the room, warm and overwhelming.

Hugo and I sat among them, sharing the meal.

Mara Riverbloom, the volunteer who'd greeted me, settled into the seat beside mine and pressed a cup of warmed cider into my hands.

"These wolves..." She gestured around the room. "Some traveled to the central territories for work and got deceived by false pack promises. Some lost everything to circumstances beyond their control. Others fell ill and their own kin cast them out of the den." She paused, her voice catching. "It's Moon-Turn night. Everyone deserves a proper feast. But our storehouse is so bare—we were only planning to serve plain grain porridge tonight..."

That evening, I heard story after story.

Kaelen Stonewright, in his fifth decade. A craftsman who built dens and walls. His pack leader had abandoned the territory three winters ago, and he'd been chasing his owed resource shares ever since.

Faye Dawnshard, twenty-three winters old. Escaped a violent den. Still carried the marks—claw scars visible beneath her sleeve when she reached for bread.

And an elderly bonded pair whose son hadn't returned to the den in three years. They'd traded their territory claim in the outer woods to search for him in the central lands, only to discover he'd joined a new pack without leaving word. Changed his scent-markers too, making himself impossible to track.

"Alpha Wolfsbane."

A male wolf in his early thirties approached, his posture humble but his eyes holding a spark of hope.

"My name is Marek Stormhollow. I heard the council talk about your pack's work." He hesitated, then pressed forward. "I trained in forge-craft and metalwork." His voice steadied. "Are you... taking on new pack members, by any chance?"