Page 7

Pretty cages wrapped in perfume and pearls.

I could almost hear the voices of my sisters in the lilts of their posture—soft and simpering, trained to purr when spoken to, to preen and bow and smile sweetly when offered a collar.

Taught that heat was their worth. That submission was safety.

I didn’t hate them because they were weak. I hated them because they chose it.

And then there was him.

The man standing among them, just slightly apart—an Alpha, clearly, but lower in the packs rank than Andros.

He wore deep crimson with silver accents, his coat lined in dark wolf fur, one gloved hand resting lazily on the hilt of a ceremonial dagger.

His hair was dark, swept back and tied with a strip of fine leather, but what caught my eye—what burned it into memory—was the thin, silver ring pierced through his right eyebrow.

A strange, deliberate choice. One I wouldn’t forget.

He didn’t look at me like the Omegas did. He smirked. Amused. Curious. Like he’d just spotted something weak and thought it might be fun to destroy it.

The Beta beside me chuckled, catching the edge of my scowl. “Not one for polite company, are you?”

I didn’t answer. But my fingers itched for a blade.

“I’ve never cared much for pets,” I muttered.

He laughed, deep and genuine. “Oh, he’s going to like you.”

As the great doors at the end of the hall loomed closer—carved with wolves in mid-hunt, jaws open, teeth bared—I felt the pressure in the air change.

The Alpha was near. And whatever waited behind those doors would not be kind. The doors groaned open, and the war room swallowed me whole.

Warmth wrapped around me like a false promise—thick and fragrant, heavy with the scent of firewood, cured leather, and roasted meat.

Braziers lined the walls, casting golden light over polished stone and fur-covered floors.

A map stretched across the centre table, littered with blood-red markers and metal figurines.

A fire roared behind the Alpha’s throne—because that’s what it was, no matter how much he pretended it was just a chair. And there he was.

Andros. The Alpha of the Blood Night Pack. He stood with his back to me at first, one hand resting on the edge of the war table, the other gripping a goblet. When he turned, I felt it. That same pressure.

He was tall—taller than I remembered, though I’d only seen him for a few heartbeats before he’d wrapped his hand around my throat.

Broad shoulders wrapped in dark fur, a tunic of deep crimson stretched tight over his chest, the fabric moulded to muscle built for war, not ornament.

His belt was black leather, adorned with silver buckles and a sheathed dagger that glinted like it missed blood.

Scars peeked from the edges of his collar. He didn’t hide what he was. He wore it.

And his eyes… dark blue, like storm-lit oceans and midnight skies—depthless, unreadable, watching me like I was something already half-devoured, and he hadn’t yet decided if he was done.

“Alpha,” the Beta said, bowing his head slightly. “She’s here.”

Andros didn’t speak right away. Just stared. Like he was trying to pull the truth from my marrow with sheer will.

“Sit,” he said finally, his voice a low command wrapped in velvet and blade.

A single chair waited for me, positioned directly across from him. It looked almost comfortable—carved wood, wolf pelts draped across the back, warm from the fire. I didn’t move.

“You’d rather stand?” the Beta asked, a brow raised.

“I’d rather starve,” I muttered.

Andros smirked and took a slow sip from his goblet. “That can be arranged.”

I sat. But I didn’t relax. I didn’t care that it was warm, or that food was close enough to smell. I didn’t care that the furs were soft or the air didn’t bite. Luxury was just another kind of trap. Andros set his goblet down with a quiet clink.

“Who sent you?” he asked, tone deceptively casual. “Crescent Moon? One of the southern packs? Someone playing at politics in my territory?”

“No one sent me.”

He raised a brow, leaned forward slightly. “You expect me to believe you wandered into my land by accident ?”

“I didn’t wander. I was surviving.”

He chuckled, dark and low. “You fight like a soldier. Mask your scent like a spy. And yet you expect me to believe you’re just some poor, starving bitch on the run?”

“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 fell through 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 you mark him?”

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—to mark a 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 enjoying a 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.

“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 joining mine .”

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 breathe my air. You want to stay alive, little stray? You do as I command.”