Page 9

Andros

The fire crackled low, spitting embers like sparks of old fury. Shadows moved across the stone walls, long and jagged, like claws raking through the dark. I sat in silence, the weight of her still clinging to me, her scent—faint and buried—like a bruise in the air.

She shouldn’t have mattered. And yet I could still feel the shape of her in my arms. My goblet sat untouched. I wasn’t thirsty. I was starving—but not for wine.

For answers. For control. For her.

My wolf hadn’t stopped pacing, a restless pressure clawing beneath my ribs since I left her locked away. Not because she was beautiful. Not because she was defiant.

Because she was wrong . Broken in a way that was intentional. Carved into silence. Unnatural. The runes weren’t just blasphemy. They were a curse—a crime against our kind..

The door creaked open behind me. Garrick entered with his usual lack of ceremony. The scent of frost and stone followed him in. He stayed quiet, waiting for me to break the silence.

“Did she fight?” I asked, voice like a blade left too long in the cold.

He moved to the table, poured himself a drink before answering. “No. Not this time.”

I glanced at him.

“She looked scared,” he added.

I leaned back in the chair, the firelight dancing across my hands.

“She should be.” He smirked, but didn’t comment. He knew better than to mistake my words for mercy.“She say anything?”

Garrick shook his head. “Not a word. But… I asked here where she came from. Was not expecting an answer, but she told me.”

He crossed to the massive map on the wall, the one where every inch of this territory was marked in red and ash. He pointed low, far south—beyond any borders that mattered, beyond where most wolves dared to go.

“She came from here.” The land he tapped wasn’t even named. Dense. Untamed. Old. “She was fifteen when she left. Walked nearly two thousand miles to get here.”

I didn’t move. But the words struck something deep.Two thousand miles. Alone. Carrying those runes. My wolf stopped pacing.It lifted its head.

Listened.

“She was running from something,” I muttered, eyes fixed on the flames.

Garrick grinned, slow and amused. “Or maybe…” he said, sipping his drink, “she was running toward something.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t look at him. But something in me went still .

My wolf shifted again—not in rage this time.

Not in 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 know what you need.”

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, of emptiness .

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.

Her scent clashed with the one still burned into me from hours ago—salt and ash and blood and wildness. Her scent made my wolf growl, low and dissatisfied, like biting into meat gone cold and stale.

Tanya arched beneath me, lips brushing my throat. “Let me remind you who you belong to, Alpha…”

My hand caught her wrist. Hard. Her eyes opened wide as I pulled back. My gaze bored into hers, cold and sharp as a blade.

“You don’t get to remind me of anything,” I said, voice dark with finality.

She froze.

I rose slowly from the bed, tightening the belt she’d tried to undo, ignoring the confusion—and wounded pride—in her expression.

She was beautiful. Trained. Obedient. Desired. And she no longer stirred a single thing in me. Because my wolf had already chosen something else.

Something feral . Something forbidden . Something that smelled like rebellion and ruin. And she was locked upstairs, trembling under the weight of the very nature she’d tried to kill.

I kicked Tanya out with nothing more than a look and a word that was barely a growl. She tried to linger, draping herself in the doorway with that desperate smile Omegas wear when they know they’re losing their grip—but I didn’t touch her again. Didn’t even look twice.

When the door slammed shut behind her, the silence that followed was unbearable. I didn’t sleep.

The fire burned down to embers. Shadows stretched across the stone walls like claws. I paced the length of my chamber like a beast in a cage, muscles twitching with need.

My wolf gnawed at me from the inside out. I could still feel the warmth of her skin, those cursed runes like chains burned into my memory. And worse—when I closed my eyes, I imagined her without them.

I left my chamber before dawn, half-wild with thoughts I didn’t want to name. Snow had started to fall by the time I reached the training grounds. The courtyard was still, the sky bruised with early light. The air was sharp, biting at the lungs, perfect for war.

Steel clanged in the distance—some of the younger wolves were already sparring. They stopped when they saw me. One look sent them scattering, giving me the ring without a word.

I drew my blade—black steel, forged in fire and violence—and took my place in the centre of the yard.

That’s when Garrick stepped in, shirtless, steam rising from his skin like smoke off a fresh kill. He wore that damned grin he always had when he thought he might land a hit.

“I figured you'd still be buried between thighs this morning,” he said, circling me slowly.

I said nothing. Let my silence speak for me. Let my rage speak for me. We lunged at the same time.

The crack of our blades colliding echoed like thunder. Sparks flew as steel screamed against steel. I moved faster. Hit harder. I wasn’t sparring—I was purging.

He grunted, staggered, blocked just in time as I drove him backward, each strike more vicious than the last. My blade skimmed his ribs, drawing blood. He laughed.

“Still thinking about her?” he said, breathless. “I would be.”

I snarled and slammed into him, shoulder to chest, knocking him into the snow. He rolled, sprang back up, and came at me harder.

“She’s got your wolf twitching, doesn’t she?” His blade met mine with a jarring clang. “No surprise. She’s wild. Untouched. Broken in all the right places.”

I caught his wrist and twisted—hard. He hissed and dropped his weapon. I swept his legs out and drove him to the ground with my knee at his throat.

“I should kill you for speaking about her like that,” I growled.

But I didn’t. Because he wasn’t wrong. And that infuriated me more than anything.

He coughed, breath fogging in the morning air, grinning even with blood on his lip. “Three years,” he said hoarsely. “Three fucking years we hunted Crescent Moon. Burned their dens. Crushed their warriors. Slaughtered their heirs.”

I stood, my breath hard and fast. The sword in my grip trembled with how tightly I held it.

“You found the last one yourself,” Garrick said, dragging himself upright. “Didn’t even blink when you cut off his head. But now? You don’t even celebrate. You don’t drink. You don’t fuck. You don’t breathe. You just watch her.”

“Because she is dangerous.” I turned away from him, blood roaring in my ears.

The fire of victory meant nothing. The taste of revenge, the triumph of blood spilled across old lands—it had dulled to ash the moment I touched her.

I turned back to Garrick with murder in my breath and steel in my hands. Our swords met again with a snarl of metal, and I pressed him hard—faster, more brutal, every strike meant to punish, not train.

He grunted as he blocked, then shouted, “Is that all it is?” Another blow. He barely deflected. “You keep her close because she’s dangerous?”

I lunged, our blades locking, faces inches apart.

“I keep her close,” I hissed, “because I need to know what kind of blasphemy she carries in that cursed body.”

My balance spiled. I shoved him back, my eyes dark with something far deeper than anger.

“That process she’s bound to—those runes, that filthy magic—it silences a wolf .

Binds it. Chains it.” I spit on the snow.

“Do you understand what that means, Garrick? If it can be done to her, it can be done to any of us. A leash for our kind. A way to kill the wolf without shedding a drop of blood.”

He circled me slowly, blade lowered now, watching with narrowed eyes.

“And the worst part?” I laughed bitterly. “She did it to herself. Not for survival. Not to infiltrate. But out of defiance.” Another swing. He caught it, barely, the impact shuddering through both our arms.

“Why?” I growled, voice barely human. “Because she hates us? Because she couldn’t stand the fate that was handed to her?” I stepped in, voice dropping to something low and furious. “Or because she looked at the gift of her blood and spat on it, just to say no to what she was born to be?”

Garrick stopped cold. His brows furrowed. He took a slow breath.

“She’s… an Omega?” he asked.

There it was. The silence that followed wasn't just quiet. It was revelation. The kind of quiet that came before a storm levelled a kingdom.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t have to.

He saw the answer in my face, in my clenched jaw, in the pulse of rage flickering just under my skin. And then his expression shifted—slowly, like he was putting all the pieces together.

“That’s why you can’t stop thinking about her.” His voice dropped. “That’s why you’re watching her like she’s already yours. You don’t want to study her. You want her. You want to see what she looks like when she breaks. You want to be the one who undoes her.”

The words cut deep. Too deep.

My fist slammed into his jaw with a sickening crack, sending him spinning, blood arcing through the air. He hit the ground with a grunt, half-stunned, pain flickering across his features.

He looked up at me, breathing hard, the weight of truth between us like a blade to the throat. I turned and walked away, snow crunching under my boots, fury pulsing through every vein like wildfire.

Let the pack whisper. Let them wonder. I owed them no explanations.