Page 17

“Believe what you want,” I said, voice flat. “But no one owns me.”

The Beta, still standing behind me, folded his arms and said nothing—but I felt his eyes, sharp and measuring, like he was waiting for me to slip up. Andros stood fully now, circling the table slowly, predator in no rush.

“No one owns you,” he echoed, his gaze never leaving mine. “So you’re what then? A ghost? A myth? Some little wolf who fellthrough the cracks?”

“I’m a woman who wants to be left alone.”

“Ah,” he said, and that cruel smile returned. “Then you chose the wrong fucking territory.”

Andros’s gaze sharpened as he circled the table, each step slow and deliberate, like he was stalking prey too weak to run but still too stubborn to kneel.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, his voice still calm, but there was something darker curling beneath it. “You reek of lies. You mask your scent, hide your wolf, bury yourself in a human village with a human child.” He stopped across from me, eyes gleaming like twin blades. “You expect me to believe that’s coincidence?”

I didn’t answer.

“You’re a spy.”He leaned in, hands braced on the table.

I laughed. It was bitter, short, empty. “That’s ridiculous.”

His hand slammed down, palm striking the war table with a crack loud enough to echo. The figurines rattled, a goblet tipped and spilled, red wine bleeding like blood across the map between us.

I flinched—but didn’t look away.

“You think I won’t break you?” he snarled, voice stripped of civility. “I will string you from the dungeon wall and rip your secrets out strip by strip if I have to. I will know who sent you, and why you’re here.”

My pulse pounded, but I held his gaze. “No one sent me.”

A beat of silence. The tension in the room snapped taut like a wire pulled too tight.

“Andros,” the Beta said, stepping forward at last, his voice even. “You’re letting your blood boil before the pot’s even warm.”

Andros’s jaw clenched. The muscles in his neck flexed as he looked away, exhaling like it hurt. Then, he turned back to me—cold again. Calculated.

“Fine,” he said, voice like smoke curling through a battlefield. “Tell me this, then.” He tilted his head slightly, studying me. “You claim that human boy like your own. You fought for him. Protected him like he’s your blood. So why didn’t youmarkhim?”

I blinked. The question was quiet, but I felt the weight of it settle like a stone in my chest.

“Isn’t that what wolves do?” he pressed. “Mark what’s theirs. Especially when it’s weak. Especially when it’s human.”

“Because he isn’t mine to claim.” I let a slow breath pass through my lips, controlled.

The room fell into silence. Andros studied me. For a moment, I said nothing. Because I knew what it meant—tomarka human. In the wolf world, it was a claim. A brand. A declaration of protection and ownership. It tied the human to the wolf in every way—spirit, scent, status. It made them part of your territory, your bloodline, your will. It meant the pack would defend them, but it also meant the wolf was exposed. Vulnerable. Traced.

That’s why rogues never did it. That’s why I never did. Andros watched me, his dark blue eyes too sharp, too knowing.

“Or maybe,” he said slowly, “you didn’t mark him because you couldn’t. Because doing so would tie you to a name. A scent. A trail. And spies don’t leave trails, do they?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Struck a nerve?” He stopped right in front of me, towering, cold and quiet.

“I don’t mean harm to anyone,” I said, quieter now, but no less firm. “I’m not a threat to your pack.”

From behind him, the Beta snorted.

“Tell that to the men you sent limping to the infirmary,” he said, arms crossed, leaning against the wall like he was enjoyinga play. “They’d argue otherwise.” His grin widened. “One even said you tried to rip his face off.”

A reluctant smile pulled at Andros’s mouth. The first sign of anything human. I hated how much I noticed it. He stepped back, straightened his coat, and nodded once.