Page 12

Dawn breaks over Silvercreek far too soon, sweeping away with it all my time to think and stew, painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold that seem to mock the tension gripping our territory.

The pack building's ancient windows catch the light like amber flames, casting long shadows across floors worn smooth by generations of previous Alphas’ footsteps.

I've been awake for hours, reviewing the proposed Trial of Strength layouts spread across my desk—each design more brutal than the last. I can’t bear to approve or allow any of these. But if I don’t, the Elders will.

It’s barely been thirty-six hours, but our Elders and enforcers have outdone themselves in their determination to prove Luna unworthy.

Sheer cliff faces slick with morning dew.

Rope bridges spanning ravines that would give even experienced wolves pause.

Underwater tunnels through the lake's coldest depths, where the current runs swift enough to challenge shifted wolves, let alone someone who can't take wolf form.

The final layout makes even my stomach turn—a gauntlet clearly designed to break both body and spirit.

My wolf paces restlessly in my mind, angry at these obvious attempts to sabotage his chosen mate.

The rage builds with each new detail I discover: specifications for the rope's thickness, the angle of the rock climbing section (nearly vertical), the depth of the water challenges.

I silence him with practiced control, though my fingers leave deep creases in the paper as I study the final layout.

I can't show favoritism. Can't let personal feelings interfere.

The trials are sacred tradition, meant to test and strengthen the future Alpha female.

Even if they kill her? My wolf demands, and for once, I have no answer for him.

A knock interrupts my brooding. "Enter."

Thomas steps in, looking annoyingly alert for this hour. His pressed suit and perfect posture are a stark contrast to my rumpled state—I never changed after spending the night pacing these halls, haunted by the memory of Luna's name written in silver light.

"The candidate is settled in the east wing guest quarters, so she’s close enough to us for… security," he reports, then hesitates before adding, "Settled might be a generous term. She's already tried to leave twice."

Of course, she has. "Any issues?"

"Nothing serious. She's powerful, but exhausted. Her magic sputtered out both times." Thomas shifts his weight, uncharacteristically uncertain. "Victoria wants to know when you'll brief her on the trials. Preferably before she tries to blast her way through another wall."

The candidate. Not Luna. We're all pretending last night didn't upend five years of careful distance, that the lottery's choice hasn't thrown the pack into chaos.

That my wolf isn't howling for me to claim what he considers ours.

That I didn't lie awake all night remembering how she looked in the ceremonial circle, power crackling around her like contained lightning.

"Now is fine." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "Have her brought to my office."

Thomas clears his throat. "There's... unrest in town. Some of the older families are talking about challenging the lottery's choice. Melissa's been particularly vocal."

"They can talk all they want." I shuffle the trial plans into a neat stack, more forcefully than necessary. The top page crumples under my grip. "The lottery is sacred. Its choice is final."

"Even if—"

"Final, Thomas. You know it as well as I do."

Consenting to the revival of the lottery was a choice I made with the well-being of the pack in mind. If I try to bend its rules, I risk putting everything in jeopardy.

My right-hand man nods and withdraws, but not before I catch his concerned expression. Let him worry. Let them all worry. I have enough on my plate without managing their feelings about this situation.

Minutes later, familiar footsteps approach—a rhythm I'd know anywhere, though it's been five years since I last heard it in these halls.

My wolf surges forward, recognizing Luna's scent before she even enters.

Herbs, magic, and woman, with an undertone of something defiant that makes my mouth water.

The scent grows stronger as she nears, mixed now with exhaustion and frustration my wolf picks up on easily.

She steps into my office like she's walking into battle, chin high and shoulders back.

The simple blue dress she wears hugs curves that have only grown more lush with time, the fabric sliding over her hips in ways that make my wolf desperate to touch.

Her copper hair falls loose today, wilder than the careful style she wore last night, framing her face in waves that remind me of how it looked spread across my pillows five years ago.

But it's the flash of challenge in her green eyes that truly undoes me—she might be here under pack law, but she won't make it easy for any of us.

"You wanted to see me, Alpha? " The title drips sarcasm. "I’ve been meaning to ask, given the circumstances—are we adding imprisonment to the list of pack traditions I get to experience?"

I gesture to the chair across from my desk, keeping my expression neutral despite my wolf's demands to close the distance between us. "Sit. We need to discuss the trial protocols."

"I'd rather stand." She crosses her arms, drawing my attention to the way the fabric pulls across her chest. "The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can return to my real life.

You know, the one where I'm actually respected?

Where people don't treat me like something they scraped off their shoes? "

"Sit down, Luna." I infuse the words with Alpha command, though I know it won't affect her. It never has. Her hybrid nature makes her immune to pack hierarchy, a fact that used to drive my father crazy. "This isn't a negotiation. You know as well as I do that there’s nothing I can do about this.”

She arches one perfect eyebrow, and my wolf recognizes the danger in her expression too late. "Sit down or what? You'll make me? I seem to recall that didn't work out so well for you last time. How did your father put it? 'The mongrel bitch doesn't even have enough wolf blood to know her place.'"

The memory cuffs me across the face, a startling and vivid blow—Luna at eighteen, refusing to submit during pack training, my father ordering me to force her compliance.

I'd tried to use Alpha influence, and she'd laughed in my face before walking away.

It was the first time anyone had ever directly defied me.

I'd been equal parts furious and aroused.

Just like now.

"The first trial begins tomorrow at dawn." I keep my voice level through sheer force of will. "The Trial of Strength will test your physical capabilities and endurance. You'll need to—"

"You mean it will humiliate the half-breed who can't shift.

" Her smile holds no warmth. "Don't pretend this is anything else.

I've seen how these things work, Nic. I watched my mother go through the same humiliation when she married my father. The pack never forgave her for diluting the bloodline. But she had love to endure it for. What do I have?”

A shudder runs through me. Certainly not love. The thought makes me ache.

"The trials are tradition—" I try.

"Tradition." She laughs, bitter and sharp.

The sound makes several glass paperweights rattle on my desk as her magic responds to her emotion.

"Like the tradition of pure bloodlines? Of keeping shifters and witches separate?

Of rejecting anyone who doesn't fit your perfect pack image?" Her eyes narrow. "Or maybe like the tradition of future Alphas keeping their dirty little hybrid secrets on the side while planning to mate properly pure-blooded wolves? You know, despite it all, I’m glad that didn’t work out for you.”

The accusation stings precisely because it had once been true. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it? Tell me something, Nic." Luna moves closer, magic crackling around her like static electricity.

The air grows thick with power, making it hard to breathe.

Or maybe that's just her proximity. "If the lottery hadn't chosen me, would you have ever acknowledged what happened between us?

Or would you have just mated some properly pure-blooded wolf and pretended none of it ever happened? "

There’s something more than derision in her voice now. Vulnerability. Desperation.

"You're the one who ran," I remind her, my own anger finally slipping its leash. "Five years without a word. You didn't even say goodbye."

"Say goodbye?" The magic intensifies, making the hair on my arms stand up. "After you humiliated me in front of the entire pack? After you called me—what was it? 'A mistake that should never have happened'?"

"I didn't—"

"Because from where I'm standing," she continues as if I hadn't spoken, "you're still choosing pack politics over everything else. Still letting them set me up to fail. Still playing the perfect Alpha while everyone else pays the price for your cowardice."

"Watch your tongue,” I snap despite myself. “I am still your Alpha, even if you left.”

Her eyes flash but she bites her tongue, maybe sensing the danger, maybe sensing something else.

“The trials aren't designed to make you fail,” I continue. Even as I say it, I know it's a lie. The course layout on my desk proves otherwise.

"No?” She scoffs. “I'm not stupid, Nic. You and I both know this pack will design trials to beat me into the ground.

They want me out of the way so you can mate with a real wolf, someone worthy.

This will be exactly what it looks like—another way to prove the hybrid isn't good enough.

To give you an excuse to reject me all over again. "

She turns toward the door, but I'm around the desk before she takes two steps. "Where are you going?"

"Home. To my shop. To my life." Luna tries to sidestep me, but I block her path. This close, I can see the gold flecks in her green eyes, count the freckles scattered across her nose. "Get out of my way."

"You know I can't do that." My voice drops lower, rougher.

Having her this close is dangerous—I can smell the faint traces of heat mixed with her anger, see how her pulse jumps in her throat.

"The lottery chose you. Running means classification as a rogue. We’d be obligated to hunt you down and drag you back. "

"Then classify me." Luna tilts her chin up defiantly. "Better than being your puppet mate, paraded around while everyone whispers about the hybrid mistake. Better than watching you pretend our past never happened while you go through the motions of tradition."

She tries to push past me. Without thinking, I catch her arms, using my body to back her against my desk. The contact sends electricity shooting through me. Her magic surges in response, making the air thick with power and possibility. Papers scatter. A paperweight rolls off the desk and shatters.

Our eyes meet. Luna doesn’t look terrified, not like I expected her to. There’s something sharp and hot in her eyes, in the strange look on her face, as she fights to loosen my hold on her.

"Let me go." The words come out breathless.

"No." We're chest to chest now, her curves pressed against me in ways that make my wolf crazy. Her scent surrounds me. I could drown in it, in the heat of her, the sheer presence of her this close. "You're not running again."

"Why?" Her eyes flash. "Because it would embarrass you? Ruin your perfect Alpha image? Gods forbid anyone remember how the mighty Dominic Blackwood once slummed it with a hybrid."

"Because you belong here." The words escape before I can stop them.

Luna’s breath catches. For a moment, we're frozen in that position—her trapped between my body and the desk, my hands on her arms, faces inches apart.

I can feel every curve, every soft place I used to worship.

My wolf strains against my control, desperate to close that final distance and claim what he considers ours.

Luna's tongue darts out to wet her lips, and my control nearly snaps. "I don't belong anywhere near you."

But her scent tells a different story—desire mingles with the anger now, making my head spin.

One small movement and I could taste her again, remind her how perfectly we fit together.

My wolf howls agreement, urging me to take what's ours.

To hell with tradition, with pack politics, with everything except the feel of her against me.

The office door bursts open.

"Alpha, we have—oh." Thomas stops short, taking in our compromising position.

Luna shoves me back, magic crackling in a wave that sends every loose paper in the office swirling through the air. I let her go, though every instinct screams to pull her closer.

"Report." My voice comes out more growl than word.

Thomas clears his throat, pointedly not looking at the chaos of flying papers. "Strange wolves at the northern border. Recent tracks, unknown scents. The patrol wants you to see something. James says it's urgent."

Luna straightens her dress, cheeks flushed. "Sounds like Alpha business. I'll just—"

"You'll stay here." I inject steel into my tone. "In the pack house. Under guard. Until the trials are complete."

"I'm not your prisoner."

"No." I meet her eyes, letting her see a flash of my wolf. "You're my future mate. And until the trials are complete, you're my responsibility. Whether either of us likes it or not."

She opens her mouth to argue, but Thomas interrupts again.

"Alpha, the patrol is waiting. And..." He hesitates. "The scents match the ones from the recent attacks."

I tear my gaze from Luna. "Have James coordinate additional security for the pack house. No one in or out without my direct approval. Post guards at every entrance."

"You can't keep me here forever," Luna says as I reach the door. "I won't be your prisoner just because some magical lottery decided to make both our lives hell."

I pause, letting myself look at her one final time. She's beautiful in her fury, magic still crackling around her like lightning. Papers continue to swirl through the air, caught in the current of her power. My wolf whines at having to leave her.

"Watch me."

I stride out before I can give in to the urge to kiss the defiance from her lips. But even as I follow Thomas toward the northern border, her scent clings to my clothes—lavender and sage and woman, mixed with the sharp tang of mutual frustration.

The trials haven't even begun, and already I'm losing control. Gods help us all.