The eastern border had been quiet—too quiet. The scouts reported no signs of rogues, no trace of Cassian’s hand. Just shadows where there should have been movement, silence where there should have been scent. It was a feint. A distraction. And I’d walked into it.
Because while my wolves patrolled the ridges, while my enforcers scanned the treelines, I’d been in the sacred baths—half-naked, half-lost, my hands on Blair’s skin, my cock pressed against her ass, my control hanging by a thread.
I should have known.
Cassian wasn’t a warrior. He was a manipulator. A liar. A man who struck where you were weakest—not with claws, but with words. With doubt. With the one thing I couldn’t protect Blair from.
Herself.
And now, as I stood at the edge of the Moon Festival grounds, the bonfires casting long shadows over the stone courtyard, the air thick with the scent of roasting meat and wolf musk, I felt it—the shift. Not in the wind. Not in the magic.
In her.
Blair stood beside me, wrapped in a dark wolf-fur cloak, her hair loose, her dark eyes scanning the crowd. The mark on her neck glowed faintly, pulsing with the rhythm of the bond. She was healed. Stronger. But something in her had changed since the baths. A distance. A hesitation. As if she’d seen too much. Felt too deeply. And now, she was pulling back.
“You’re tense,” she said, not looking at me.
“I’m alert,” I corrected, my gaze sweeping the gathering. Wolves moved through the courtyard in pairs and packs, their eyes sharp, their steps careful. This wasn’t just a celebration. It was a ritual. A claiming. And every unmated female in the Northern Packs was here, dressed in their finest, their scents sharp with invitation.
And they were all watching her.
Not with hatred.
With curiosity. With challenge.
Because Blair wasn’t just a human. A witch. A half-breed.
She was mine.
And that made her a threat.
“They’re testing you,” I said, stepping closer, my hand resting on the small of her back. “The unmated females. They want to see if you’ll flinch. If you’ll doubt. If you’ll run.”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just turned to me, her dark eyes blazing. “I don’t run.”
“No,” I said, my voice low. “But you hesitate.”
Her breath caught.
And before she could respond, the drums began.
Deep. Rhythmic. Primal.
The crowd parted as the unmated females stepped forward—ten of them, dressed in ceremonial leathers, their hair braided with silver thread, their scents sharp with challenge. They moved in a slow, deliberate circle around the central fire, their eyes locked on me, on Blair, on the space between us.
This was the Claiming Dance.
An ancient ritual. A test.
The Alpha was to choose. To claim. To bind.
And if he refused?
The pack would see it as weakness.
And Blair—
She’d see it as rejection.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said, her voice tight. “You’ve already claimed me. In the Blood Cells. In the audience chamber. In the baths—”
“They don’t know that,” I said. “And right now, they don’t care. This isn’t about us. It’s about the pack. About loyalty. About strength.”
“And if I walk away?” she asked.
“Then they’ll think you’re afraid,” I said. “And fear is the one thing this pack won’t tolerate.”
She didn’t argue. Just stepped back, her chin high, her spine straight. “Then do it. But don’t pretend it means nothing.”
My chest tightened.
Because it meant everything.
The drums grew louder, faster. The circle tightened. The females moved closer, their scents wrapping around me—jasmine, pine, blood-orange—thick, intoxicating. Their eyes burned with challenge. With hunger. With the promise of what I could have.
And then—
I stepped forward.
The crowd fell silent.
The fire crackled.
And I began the dance.
Not as a man.
Not as an Alpha.
As a predator.
My movements were slow at first—deliberate, controlled. A step forward. A turn. A low growl in my chest. My eyes scanned the circle, not with desire, but with assessment. With dominance. I was not choosing. I was testing.
And then—
I shifted.
Not into full wolf. Not yet.
Just enough to let the beast rise—golden eyes blazing, fangs bared, claws extending. The air around me crackled. The females stepped back, their breaths shallow, their scents spiking with fear.
Good.
Fear was control.
Fear was power.
But then—
One of them stepped forward.
A young wolf, her hair black as night, her eyes fierce. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just dropped to her knees and offered her neck.
A challenge.
A plea.
And the pack held its breath.
Because if I accepted—
Blair would leave.
And if I refused—
They would see me as weak.
I stepped toward her, my claws gliding over her throat, my fangs inches from her pulse. She trembled—not from fear, but from need. From desire. From the hope that I would choose her. That I would make her mine.
And for a heartbeat—
I almost did.
Because it would be so easy.
So simple.
One bite. One claim. And the pack would be satisfied. The ritual complete. The balance restored.
But then—
I heard it.
A breath.
Sharp. Shallow.
From the edge of the circle.
Blair.
She wasn’t looking at the wolf. Wasn’t looking at the fire.
She was looking at me.
And in her eyes—
Not anger.
Not jealousy.
Hurt.
Because she thought I would choose another.
That I would betray her.
That I would prove every fear she’d ever had true.
And in that moment—
I knew.
I couldn’t do it.
Not for the pack.
Not for tradition.
Not for power.
Because she wasn’t just my mate.
She was my truth.
So I stepped back.
The wolf gasped, her eyes wide with shock.
The crowd murmured.
And then—
I turned.
Not to the fire.
Not to the pack.
To her.
I crossed the courtyard in three strides, the bond humming between us, hot, heavy, alive. The pack watched, silent, still. Blair didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at me, her chest rising and falling fast, her fingers clenched at her sides.
And then—
I dropped to one knee.
The gasp that tore through the courtyard was louder than the fire. The wolves stepped back, their eyes wide, their breaths shallow. Blair froze, her hand flying to her mouth.
Because this—
This was not part of the ritual.
This was not tradition.
This was surrender.
“You said not to pretend it meant nothing,” I said, my voice rough, raw. “So I won’t.”
I reached for her hand, pulling it to my lips. Her fingers trembled. Her scent—storm and iron—wrapped around me, thick, intoxicating.
“I don’t want another,” I said. “I don’t want tradition. I don’t want power.” I pressed my forehead to her knuckles. “I want you. Not because of the bond. Not because of the Contract. Not because of magic.”
I looked up at her, my golden eyes burning. “I want you because you’re the only one who’s ever looked at me and seen the man, not the Alpha. The only one who’s ever made me feel like I’m worth saving. The only one who’s ever made me want to be better.”
Tears burned her eyes.
Not from pain.
From the unbearable weight of being seen.
“So if you’ll have me,” I said, my voice breaking, “I’m yours. Not as your Alpha. Not as your jailer. As your partner. As your equal. As your mate.”
And then—
I bit her.
Not hard.
Not deep.
Just enough.
A gentle nip at the base of her thumb, where her pulse hammered. Blood welled, hot and rich. The bond screamed, a pulse of heat, of magic, of something deeper.
And the pack—
They roared.
Not in anger.
Not in protest.
In triumph.
The unmated females stepped back, their heads bowed, their scents fading. The elders nodded, their eyes sharp with approval. The young wolves howled, their voices rising into the night.
And Blair—
She didn’t speak.
Just dropped to her knees in front of me, her hands framing my face, her dark eyes searching mine.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered. “You don’t have to choose me in front of them. You could’ve—”
“I didn’t choose you for them,” I said, my voice rough. “I chose you for me. Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t need you. Tired of pretending I don’t want you. Tired of pretending I don’t love you.”
Her breath caught.
And then—
She kissed me.
Not soft. Not gentle.
Violent.
Her hands fisted in my hair, yanking my head down. Her mouth crashed onto mine, hot, demanding, possessive. A growl rumbled in my chest, vibrating through my bones. The bond pulsed—hot, heavy, alive—a pulse of heat, of magic, of something deeper.
And the world—
It stopped.
The fire died. The drums fell silent. The pack vanished.
There was only her.
Her taste. Her scent. Her body pressed into mine.
And then—
A sound.
Not from the crowd.
Not from the fire.
From the shadows.
Low. Familiar.
Mira.
She stepped into the firelight, dressed in a gown of deep crimson, her hair cascading over one shoulder, her smile sweet. But her eyes—cold as winter—locked onto Blair.
And in her hand—
A vial.
Dark liquid swirled inside, pulsing with something foul.
“How… romantic,” she said, her voice melodic. “The Alpha, on his knees. The challenger, in his arms. How poetic.”
Blair pulled back, her lips swollen, her chest rising and falling fast. “You don’t belong here.”
“Oh, but I do,” Mira said, stepping closer. “Because I have something you need.” She held up the vial. “This is fae venom. Stronger than wolfbane. Stronger than silver. One drop, and the bond between you shatters. One sip, and the claiming is undone.”
My spine went rigid.
Blair stepped in front of me, her back straight, her chin high. “You think I’d let you poison him?”
“Not him,” Mira said, smiling. “You.”
My breath stopped.
“You see,” she said, “Kaelen may have chosen you. But the bond? The claiming? The magic?” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s not real. It’s not love. It’s curse. And I’m here to break it.”
Blair didn’t flinch. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” Mira said. “Then why does he still wear my scent? Why does he still carry my mark?”
And then—
She tore open her gown.
At the curve of her neck—
A bite.
Fresh. Deep. Real.
Gasps tore through the courtyard.
Blair turned to me, her eyes wide. “Is that—”
“No,” I said, standing, pulling her behind me. “It’s not mine. I’ve never touched you,” I said to Mira, my voice a low growl. “And if you wear that mark again, I’ll tear it from your skin myself.”
She smiled. “Then explain it. Explain why your scent is on my skin. Why your fangs left this mark. Why you were in my bed just last night.”
“Lies,” I said. “Glamour. You’ve been trying to steal him since the moment we arrived. You can’t have him, so you forge a bond that doesn’t exist?”
“Prove it’s fake,” Mira said, smiling. “Go ahead. Use your truth magic. But be careful—what if the pack sees something else? What if they see you in his bed? What if they see the bond isn’t just political, but personal?”
My blood turned to ice.
She wasn’t just attacking Blair.
She was attacking us.
And she was winning.
Blair stepped forward, her voice steady. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to poison the truth. You don’t get to twist love into something ugly.”
“And yet,” Mira said, “here we are.”
And then—
She raised the vial.
“One drop,” she said. “And the bond is broken. One sip, and you’re free.”
Blair didn’t hesitate.
She lunged.
Not for the vial.
For her.
Her hand closed around Mira’s wrist, twisting hard. The vial shattered, dark liquid splashing onto the stone, sizzling like acid.
And then—
Blair slammed her into the ground.
“You don’t get to touch him,” she hissed, her voice low, dangerous. “You don’t get to lie about him. You don’t get to use him.”
Mira gasped, her eyes wide with shock.
And then—
She smiled.
“You’re weak,” she said. “You let love make you weak. And that’s why you’ll lose.”
Blair didn’t answer.
Just stood, pulling me with her.
And as we walked away, the pack roaring behind us, the bond humming between us—
I knew.
The real battle wasn’t against Cassian.
It wasn’t against the Council.
It wasn’t even against Mira.
It was against this.
Against the truth.
Against the desire.
Against the love I was trying so hard to deny.
And I wasn’t sure I could win.
Because the worst part?
I didn’t want to.