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“Fine,” he said, turning from me, his voice sliding back into command. “If you’re just a harmless, packless stray... then you’ll have no issue joiningmine.”

I froze. The room felt smaller. Hotter.

“No,” I said, voice sharp.

He turned back, one brow lifting. “No?”

“You can’t force me into a pack.”

“I can do whatever I want,” he said softly. “You’re in my territory. You breathemyair. You want to stay alive, little stray? You do as I command.”

CHAPTER 7

Andros

“No,” she said. Again.

The word cut through the room like a blade. Sharp. Final. I stared at her. She stood there, bound and bruised, with defiance carved into every line of her body like it was armour. She didn’t tremble. She didn’t flinch. She looked me in the eye and refused me.

“I don’t want your pack,” she said. “Or any pack. Not now. Not ever.”

My jaw locked.

She didn’t understand what she was rejecting. She didn’t know what it meant to stand in my territory, speak my language, breathe the air I allowed her to breathe—and throw it back in my face.

“Garrick,” I said, my voice low and razor-edged.

He looked at me, wary. “Andros—”

“Out.”

A long pause. Then a quiet nod. “As you wish, Alpha.” The door clicked shut behind him. The fire crackled. She was still watching me—jaw tight, shoulders squared, a wild thing too proud to cower.

“You hide behind lies,” I said, stepping closer. “You wear a mask and bury your scent like you’re ashamed of what you are. You pretend to be one of them.” I sneered. “A mother. A peasant. A ghost. A …human?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Because I don’t want to be whatyouare.”

That did it. I was on her in a breath. Not to hurt—yet. Just to know. I grabbed her, slammed her back against the war table. Her hands shot out, bracing against the edge, but she didn’t cry out. Just glared, breath ragged, like she’d fight me even with her last shred of strength.

And gods help me—my wolflikedthat.

I leaned in, lips near her throat. I could feel the heat of her pulse. Hear the way her breath faltered, even if she didn’t want me to.

But then—something shifted. Not her. Her scent. Rot. Not decay—but something unnatural. Twisted. Muted. My wolf growled, uneasy. The power beneath her skin wasn’t just hidden. It was chained.

What the fuck…I leaned closer, inhaling deep. And I felt it. Magic. Old. Foul. Wrong.

“Something’s off,” I growled, more to myself than her. Her body tensed beneath my hands. I reached for the collar of her dress.

“No!” she snapped, but I didn’t stop.

I ripped it. The sound of tearing fabric echoed through the war room, followed by the sudden stillness that only truth can bring.

And then—I saw them. Dark runes. Carved into her back with cruel, precise hands. Ancient symbols woven into scarred flesh like ink branded in blood. The language wasn’t human. It wasn’t even entirely wolf. It was older.

My breath caught.I stepped back, stunned by what I saw and the rage that followed it. Not at her.At whoever did this to her.

“Dark magic,” I murmured.