When I returned to the pack from my travels, all I found of my master was a heap of ruined flesh.

Every bone in his body was gone. His Wolf Core, ripped clean from his chest. My senior pack brothers and sisters were nowhere to be found.

Matron Thornwell sat before his corpse, her aged voice calling out to me.

"Lynara, your master traded his life for every ranked wolf's ascension to Celestial status. You should go report to the Sovereign Grounds too."

Only then did I learn the truth. Fenris Voss, Supreme Alpha of the Realm Council, ruler of all Three Territories, had needed a Wolf Core to graft a werewolf physiology onto his mortal mate. He'd chosen my master. The one with the strongest spiritual affinity. A Moonheart Core, the rarest kind in existence.

In exchange for allowing every ranked wolf of the Dawnveil Pack to receive Celestial Rank, he had ripped every bone and sinew from my master's body and torn the Wolf Core from his living chest.

I've had a flaw for as long as I can remember. I don't cry. I don't laugh. The whole pack called me cold-blooded.

Now, staring at the mangled remains of the man who had saved my life and raised me as his own pup, I was still calm. Somewhere deep below my ribs, in the hollow space where my wolf usually stirred, there was only silence. Not grief. Not rage. Just silence, vast and flat and wrong.

"Matron, did Master agree to this willingly?"

Her eyes reddened instantly.

"Fenris Voss is the last Primordial Alpha in existence. What he says goes. We never had a choice."

I gave a quiet "oh."

"If Master didn't agree to it willingly, then Fenris Voss deserves to die."

The Matron seized my arm, her voice tight with worry. "Lynara, before your master drew his last breath, he told all of you to take care of yourselves. Don't throw your life away picking a fight with a Primordial Alpha."

I pulled my wrist free, lifted my gaze toward the Sovereign Grounds far above the mountain line, and smiled faintly.

"Matron, Master said not to fight a Primordial Alpha. He never said anything about killing one."

——

I turned and walked back to my courtyard. Without a word, I dropped to my knees and began digging through the soil beneath the spirit-blossom tree with my bare hands. The earth was cold. It smelled of mountain sage and old pine, and something underneath that, something that smelled like safety itself. My master's scent, soaked into the roots.

Before long, a short blade caked in dirt saw daylight again. The air around it held no scent at all. A void where scent should be, unsettling in a way that made the Matron flinch back before she caught herself.

She rushed after me and snatched the blade from my grip, tears brimming in her eyes.

"Lynara, I know you want to avenge your master."

"But Fenris Voss is a Primordial Alpha. With this unremarkable little blade, you cannot defeat him."

"Please don't throw your life away for nothing."

"Your master said it himself. Trading one life for the future of every ranked wolf in the pack was worth it."

But I knew Master was lying.

One look at the wreckage strewn across the Dawnveil territory told the whole story. The moment Fenris Voss killed him, every last pack member had followed the Supreme Alpha away without hesitation. Their scent trails led outward, all of them, not a single one circling back.

Not a single one stayed behind to bury him.

For a pack of wolves that heartless, did Master truly believe it was worth it?

Faced with my silence, the Matron's eyes grew redder still.

But she was terrified I would do something reckless, so she swallowed her own tears and forced a smile. I could smell the salt on her, dried lavender and hearth-smoke and beneath it all, the faint undercurrent of tears that never fully dried.

"Lynara, you came back, didn't you? As long as you remember your master, that's enough."

Desperate to smother the hatred in my heart, she hurried into the kitchen and brought out a pot still faintly warm with steam.

"Lynara, our Dawnveil Pack is small. We don't have the power. Let's not talk about revenge."

"Look. Your master stewed this pigeon soup for you right before he died."

"He said you must have suffered on the road. You were already too thin, he said. You needed to eat properly."

I reached out and touched the dried blood crusted on the side of the pot. My face showed nothing. "Was Master making me soup when he died?"

The Matron's hands trembled. Her voice cracked further.

"Yes. He was watching the pot. He was afraid it would turn bitter if it stewed too long."

"He said you hate anything sour or bitter."

I thought to myself, that foolish old man. He died without ever realizing I'd been lying to him.

I never actually minded sour or bitter things.

I just hated taking medicine.

When Master first found me, I was badly wounded. A two-year-old pup, half-shifted and covered in wounds that smelled of something ancient. My health never fully recovered after that, and I needed wolfsbane tonics constantly just to stay alive.

It drove me mad. Every now and then I'd dump the doses in secret.

When Master caught on, he bought sour jujubes to coax me, saying that if I ate one first, the medicine wouldn't taste so bitter.

I didn't want to cooperate, so I told him offhandedly that I didn't like anything sour or bitter.

Even though I could never win against Master's relentless coaxing, I still obediently took my medicine for six years. But he kept those words of mine close to his heart.

After I recovered, nothing sour or bitter ever appeared on my dinner table again.

I took the pot from Matron Thornwell's hands and, as if I couldn't feel the scalding heat, drank half the soup in one long gulp.

The remaining half I poured out beside Master's body.

I wiped my mouth. "Not bad, old man. But the blood mixed in makes it a little fishy."

"Have a taste yourself. Pay attention next time you make it."

That was what finally shattered Matron Thornwell's composure.

The tears she had held back for so long broke free all at once.

"Lynara, there won't be a next time. Your master is dead!"

Oh, right. There wouldn't be a next time.

Fine. Since Master couldn't look after me anymore, it was my turn to protect him for once.

I unfastened the cloak Master had sewn for me with his own hands and draped it over his body. My voice was calm. "Matron, watch over Master. Don't bury him."

"He'd be too lonely by himself. I'll find him some company for the grave."

Matron Thornwell couldn't stop me. All she could do was weep and beg me to come back alive. Somewhere beneath her words, I caught the salt-and-lavender scent of her grief thickening until it was almost unbearable, the hearth-smoke in it gone cold.

I carried my short sword and walked toward the Sovereign Grounds.

The stone path crumbled to dust behind me, and the whole mountain territory shook to its foundations. Every wolf within a mile radius felt it in their bones, a tremor that had nothing to do with the earth and everything to do with something old waking up.

Celestial-ranked soldiers rushed forward, blocking me outside the Gates of the Sovereign Grounds.

The one leading them was none other than my senior packmate from the Dawnveil Pack, Master's proudest wolf: Edwin Greymane.

He stared at me in surprise, brow furrowed. His scent hit me before his words did, that familiar damp parchment and tarnished copper, soured now with something I hadn't smelled on him before. Ambition, maybe. Or cowardice dressed up as pragmatism. "Lynara, if you've come to seek the Supreme Alpha's favor, you should keep your head down and your voice low."

"What's the point of making such a scene?"

I didn't bother looking at him. My eyes stayed fixed on the Gates. "Tell Fenris Voss to come out."

"Tell him an old friend has come to visit."

Edwin let out a weary sigh.

"Lynara, have you lost your mind?"

"We're mere low-born wolves. If not for this stroke of fortune, how could we ever have received Celestial Rank and stood before the Supreme Alpha?"

"'An old friend.' You're not embarrassed to say that out loud?"

Only then did I turn to look at Edwin, each word falling like a stone. "You call Master's death a stroke of fortune?"

Edwin faltered. A flicker of guilt surfaced in his eyes. His wolf dropped its gaze for half a breath before he forced it back up.

Rosalind Ashcroft, the second-ranked wolf, had just arrived. I smelled her before I saw her, that overripe berry sharpness cutting through the mountain air. She rushed to Edwin's defense the moment she saw his expression.

"Lynara, how dare you speak to Edwin that way?"

"Master's death wasn't our doing."

"If you want to blame someone, blame Master for being born with a Moonheart Core. We simply seized the opportunity that presented itself."

Looking at Rosalind's face, utterly devoid of remorse, all I felt was that Master had never been worth the love he gave them.

Edwin and Rosalind were the first wolves Master ever took into the pack.

He treated them no differently than he treated me.

He poured every ounce of his heart into raising them, even putting off having pups of his own.

That was why, after all those years, Master and Matron Thornwell never had a pup by blood.

Matron Thornwell would grumble about it from time to time, but that foolish old man would just laugh and wave it off. "It's fine. I trust my pack. When the day comes, they'll see us properly buried."

He was wrong, in the end.

But I knew that foolish old man.

He believed, to his last breath, that people were born good. Whenever his wolves made mistakes, he always gave them a chance to make things right.

I never agreed with that. But I didn't want him to die with his eyes open, restless and unsettled.

So I did what Master would have done. I gave Edwin and Rosalind one chance.

"I'll handle avenging Master myself. I don't need your help."

"Go back to the Dawnveil Pack now. Stay with Master and Matron Thornwell."

"Carry on Master's legacy. Make the pack flourish."

Rosalind had been spoiled rotten by Master since she was a pup, and her temper was as foul as they came.

The second she caught the commanding tone in my voice, her face soured. Something in my chest stirred, low and quiet, and I felt the air between us tighten. Rosalind's nostrils flared. She didn't understand what she was sensing, but her body did. Her shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch before she caught herself and stiffened again.

She shoved me, her voice shaking with fury. "Lynara, who do you think you are?"

"How dare you speak to your senior brother and sister like that?!"

Edwin stepped between us, his expression the picture of composed reason. "Lynara, don't be rash."

"The Dawnveil Pack was always a small, unremarkable pack. Master spent his entire life trying to make it flourish and never could. What chance would we have?"

"Besides, all of us have received our Celestial Rank now. Isn't that a glory the pack can be proud of?"

He reached out and took hold of my arm.

"Come now, be good. I'll take you to see the Supreme Alpha. I'll make sure you get a fine rank..."

But before the last word left his mouth, my short blade was already buried in his chest.

Edwin never even had time to react. He crumpled to the ground, eyes wide and glassy, dead before he hit the stone. The scent of damp parchment and tarnished copper flooded the air, sharp and sudden, the way a wolf's scent always surges at the moment of death.

Every Sovereign Guard in the vicinity went rigid with shock. Weapons sang free of their sheaths, all pointed at me.

Rosalind stumbled back two steps, her face white. "Lynara, what kind of cursed thing are you holding?!"

She asked because Edwin had already received his Celestial Rank. The power of his Wolf Core shielded his body.

An ordinary weapon couldn't have come within a foot of him.

So in her mind, my blade had to be something unholy.

I raised the short blade, letting the light catch its edge. My voice was flat and cold. "Cursed? No wolf of the Abyss is worthy of wielding this."

"But you'll find out what it is soon enough."

I crouched beside Edwin's body and used the blade to carve out his heart.

"Since our dear First Beta had no heart to speak of, his heart's blood might as well serve a better purpose. A blood offering for my spirit wolf."

"Lynara, you vicious monster!"

Rosalind's eyes went red with rage. She called on her wolf's power and lunged at me.

But at the critical moment, a Sovereign Guard beside her seized her arm and hauled her back, his hand trembling as he pointed at the spectral shape coalescing above Edwin's corpse. A translucent wolf, black as the space between stars, lapping at the blood with a tongue made of violet fire.

"Lady Rosalind, look. Your junior sister's spirit wolf... something's wrong with it. It's drinking the blood on its own."

Rosalind didn't care. She scoffed. "Cursed relics never play by the rules. What's so strange about that?"

The soldier shook his head frantically. "No, you don't understand. You've only just ascended to Celestial Rank."

"In all the millennia since creation, there has only ever been one spirit wolf that craves the heart's blood of powerful wolves..."

Rosalind blinked, clueless. "What spirit wolf?"

The soldier's lips trembled around two words: "Soulreaper."

Rosalind's jaw dropped. The color drained from her face.

But before she could gather her wits, a voice split the air from the void above, heavy with authority that needed no anger to terrify. An Alpha aura descended with it, thick and suffocating, pressing against every wolf present like a hand on the back of the neck.

"Silence!"

"I destroyed that Primordial She-Wolf with my own hands. Soulreaper was shattered by my power. It no longer exists."

"You will not spread such baseless fear!"

I knew that voice. I knew it the way you know the sound of your own heartbeat. Fenris Voss. My enemy for as long as I had drawn breath.

And the one who had wounded me deepest of all.

My wolf, buried deep where I kept her still and silent, stirred at the sound. Not with fear. With something older than fear. Something that had no name except the taste of ash on the back of my tongue.

He was right about one thing. I was the Primordial She-Wolf he claimed to have destroyed.

I was also the only other true Primordial Alpha who had escaped the Abyssal Wilds alongside him, the only one who had survived the cataclysm.

The year the Wilds were annihilated, the two of us had nowhere left to go. We set aside our enmity out of necessity, clinging to each other to survive.

For thousands of years after that, Fenris treated me well.

Primordial wolves are born cold-blooded. He was the one who taught me how to cry and how to laugh.

Under his guidance, I slowly learned to live in the world beyond the Wilds.

So when he told me he wanted to take me to the Sovereign Grounds, that he would look after me for the rest of my life, I agreed without a second thought.

Three thousand years as mates. Every one of them devoted. Every one of them tender.

Until Fenris met a mortal woman, and everything veered off course.

That woman was Elara, the one he now called his mate.

Elara was flesh and bone, purely human. She could not set foot in the Sovereign Grounds. The only way was to replace the mortal essence inside her body with a Wolf Core and Abyssal power, or with the strength of a Primordial bloodline.

Fenris searched every corner of the Sovereign Grounds and found no justification to take what he needed from anyone else.