Page 22

I didn’t respond. I didn’t look at him. But something in me wentstill. My wolf shifted again—not in rage this time. Notin hunger. But in recognition. I crushed the thought before it formed. Didn't matter where she came from. Didn't matter what she was running from—or to. I would unmake whatever lies she had built around herself.

Even if I had to tear them out one by one. Even if it broke her. Especially if it did.

Garrick lingered longer than usual. He only did that when something unsettled him. But I didn’t press—he knew I’d extract the truth when I was ready. We spoke of patrols, of border reports, of Crescent loyalists still hiding in the shadows. I let my mouth move while my thoughts circled back to her like blood circling a drain.

Two thousand miles.

Fifteen.

Dark magic carved in ski.

No one runs that far unless they’re being hunted—or unless they carry something worth hiding.

When Garrick finally left, I didn’t go to the cells. Didn’t pace the halls. I walked to my chamber in silence, steps echoing across stone polished by war and blood.

The door was ajar.I smelled her before I saw her.

Tanya.

She was draped across one of the fur-lined chairs like she belonged there, like she’d never left. The firelight kissed the edges of her skin—honey-gold, smooth, unmarked by battle or consequence. Her dress clung to her body like silk poured over a statue, deep red, chosen for how it complemented her eyes. Eyes that were always too dark, too polished. Too perfect.

She held a goblet in one hand, swirling the wine lazily, her fingers long and delicate. Her hair was braided with silver threads, shining like moonlight in the dark. Every part of her was carefully arranged, every movement calculated. Beautiful. Exactly the kind of Omega packs worshipped.

She looked up at me, smile soft, voice velvet. “You look tired, Alpha.”

I didn’t answer. I walked past her and poured my own wine.

“Rumours travel fast,” she said after a moment, rising slowly, her steps quiet but practised. She moved like a dancer, like a predator dressed in perfume. “There’s talk of a stray. A female wolf dragged in from the snow. Violent. Filthy. Unclaimed.”

I sipped the wine, not looking at her. “Is that why you are here?”

“Concerned,” she said sweetly. “Naturally.”

I turned to face her. She stepped closer, close enough for her scent to press against me. Sweet. Subtle. Designed to comfort. To tempt.

“And curious,” she added.

“About the stray?” I asked, allowing my mouth to curve in a slow, dangerous smile. “Or about whether she’ll take your place in my bed?”

Tanya’s smile didn’t falter. But her fingers tightened just slightly around her goblet.

“I don’t mind a little competition,” she purred, voice as smooth as the wine in her goblet. “I just want to know what kind of beast earns a room in your keep rather than a collar in your cells.”

Her words dripped with poison-laced sweetness, but there was steel behind them. She stepped in closer, her body a slow, practised sin. Her hand trailed along my chest, fingers light, eyes lifted beneath dark lashes. She played her role flawlessly—an Omega bred for pleasure, trained to please. She knew how to tilt her head just so, how to breathe in a way that made the air thicken.

“I could make you forget her,” she whispered, the tip of her finger brushing the edge of my jaw. “Whatever she is... I knowwhatyouneed.”

She pressed against me. Her body soft, supple, every inch a promise. And for a moment—just a fleeting breath of old hunger—I let myself lean in.

I grabbed her. Hard.

My hand tangled in her hair as I pulled her head back, exposing her throat. Her lips parted in anticipation, breath catching. I kissed her—rough, possessive, claiming. Not gentle. Not sweet. I kissed her the way she expected from me. The way I’d done a hundred times before—on restless, blood-soaked nights when I needed to forget the weight of war, of power, ofemptiness.

She moaned into my mouth, melting beneath me. I dragged her to the bed. The furs shifted beneath us as I pinned her there, her dress already slipping from her shoulder, skin flushed, scent rising. Her hands moved to undo my belt, desperate and eager.

But then —It hit me.

Her scent. It was too sweet. Too polished. Too perfect. Fake. My wolf recoiled. Not with disgust—but with rejection. This wasn’t what I wanted. Not anymore.