The scent of blood still clung to the stone in the lower corridors—faint, metallic, buried beneath layers of pine oil and ash, but I could smell it. Not just Elder Torin’s. Not just the ritual magic from last night. There was something else. Something older. Darker.
I knelt beside the drain where the healer had found traces of altered Ashen magic, my fingers brushing the cold stone. The runes had been scraped away, but not cleanly. A novice wouldn’t have left a residue. This was deliberate. A message. A trail.
And it led north.
“You’re wasting your time,” Varn said from the doorway, arms crossed, his grizzled face unreadable. “The imposter’s gone. The Alpha’s mate is safe. The bond is proven. That’s all that matters.”
I didn’t look up. “Then why leave a trace?”
“To unsettle us. To make us doubt.”
“Or to lead us.” I stood, wiping my hands on my trousers. “Someone wanted us to find that blood. Someone wanted us to know the magic was altered. Not just to frame her—but to *expose* the frame.”
Varn’s eyes narrowed. “You’re suggesting the imposter wants to be caught.”
“No.” I turned to face him, the torchlight casting long shadows across the hall. “I’m suggesting he’s not working alone. And he’s not just targeting the Alpha. He’s targeting the *bond*.”
Varn didn’t answer. Just watched me, his breath slow, his pulse steady. He didn’t like me. Never had. A half-blood, raised in the human world, brought back as a pup with no pack scent, no loyalty—just survival instincts and a tongue too sharp for my rank. But he couldn’t deny I was useful. And right now, I was the only one who’d noticed the truth.
The bond wasn’t just a threat to tradition.
It was a threat to *someone’s* power.
And they were watching. Waiting. Testing.
“The Alpha wants you in his chambers,” Varn said after a long silence. “Now.”
I nodded and followed, boots echoing on the stone. The fortress was quiet—too quiet. The pack had seen too much last night. The ritual. The near-consummation. The way Kaelen had roared at them, his body shielding hers, his voice promising death to anyone who dared touch her. They’d seen the bond flare—golden, undeniable, *true*.
And they were afraid.
Not of her.
Of *him*.
Because the Alpha they knew—the cold, ruthless tyrant who ruled with silence and fury—was gone. In his place was a man who’d chosen a witch over his council, who’d let her see him broken, who’d nearly taken her in front of the entire pack.
He was no longer just their Alpha.
He was her mate.
And that made him weak.
—
Kaelen stood at the window, his back to the door, his silhouette sharp against the gray morning light. Morgana sat on the edge of the bed, her boots laced, her knives secured at her thighs. She looked like she was ready to run. Or fight. Or both.
“You wanted to see me, Alpha?” I said, closing the door behind me.
He didn’t turn. “You were in the lower corridors.”
“Tracing the blood residue.”
“And?”
“It wasn’t just Ashen magic. It was *Crimson*.”
Morgana’s head snapped up. “Vampires?”
I nodded. “The altered sigils—they carry the signature of the Crimson Court. Blood mimicry. They can replicate scent, voice, even magic. With enough blood, they can wear a man’s face like a mask.”
Kaelen finally turned, his eyes sharp. “And how would they get my blood?”
“The night you were captured,” Morgana said, her voice low. “The imposter—he had you. He could’ve taken it then.”
Kaelen went still. “He drew blood. Said he needed it for the spell.”
“And now he’s using it,” I said. “To impersonate you. To destabilize the pack. To break the bond.”
“But why?” Morgana asked. “What does the Crimson Court gain from this?”
“Control,” I said. “The Northern Wilds are a buffer between their territory and the Fae. If the Blackthorn falls into chaos, the Court moves in. They’ve been trying for decades.”
“And the bond?” Kaelen asked.
“A threat.” I met his gaze. “Fated mates are rare. Uncontrollable. They unite packs. Strengthen magic. The Court sees them as a danger. Especially one like yours—witch and wolf. Hybrid. Powerful.”
Morgana’s fingers curled into her palms. “They’re afraid of us.”
“They should be,” Kaelen said, his voice a growl.
I didn’t argue. Just stepped forward. “There’s a Crimson outpost in Oslo. Neutral ground, but they’ve been smuggling hybrid blood for months. If the imposter is Court-trained, that’s where he’d go to renew the mimicry spell. Blood needs to be refreshed every few weeks, or the illusion breaks.”
Kaelen studied me. “You’re suggesting we go after him.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m suggesting *I* go. Alone. You can’t leave the fortress. Not now. The pack is already questioning your judgment. If you vanish, they’ll assume the bond has blinded you.”
“And you?” Morgana asked. “Why should we trust you?”
I didn’t flinch. Just met her gaze. “Because I’m the only one who’s seen the truth.”
She didn’t answer. Just looked at Kaelen.
He was silent for a long moment. Then: “Take two guards. No more. Move fast. No contact. Report back within three days.”
“And if I find him?”
“Don’t engage.” His voice was lethal. “Just confirm it’s him. And bring me proof.”
I nodded. “I’ll leave at dusk.”
—
The journey to Oslo was a blur of snow and silence.
We moved fast, sticking to the mountain passes, avoiding the main roads. The guards—Jarek and Tove—were loyal, but wary. They didn’t speak much. Just followed, their eyes sharp, their claws half-extended. They didn’t trust me. Didn’t trust the mission. Didn’t trust the bond.
But they trusted the Alpha.
And that was enough.
By the second night, we reached the edge of the city—tall, narrow buildings huddled against the fjord, lights flickering in the windows, the scent of salt and diesel thick in the air. The Crimson outpost was hidden beneath an old textile factory, accessible only through a blood-sealed door in the basement. Human guards, paid to look away. Vampires who didn’t need to feed—just to *collect*.
We waited until midnight.
The snow had stopped. The air was still. I sent Jarek and Tove to flank the entrance while I approached the door. The blood seal was simple—human blood, smeared across the iron. I didn’t need to break it. Just to *read* it.
I pressed my palm to the metal, letting my senses stretch, my wolf straining beneath my skin. The blood was fresh—less than a day old. Male. Human. But beneath it—fainter, older—was something else.
Werewolf.
And not just any werewolf.
*Alpha*.
My breath caught.
It was Kaelen’s blood.
And it had been used recently.
I stepped back, signaling to the others. We retreated to a nearby warehouse, the wind howling through the broken windows, the floor littered with rusted machinery. I lit a small fire in a metal drum, the flames casting long shadows.
“Well?” Jarek asked, his voice low.
“It’s him,” I said. “The imposter. He’s been here. Used Kaelen’s blood to renew the mimicry spell.”
“How do you know?” Tove asked.
“The blood seal. It’s layered. Human on top. Alpha beneath.” I looked at them. “And the scent—pine, iron, wild. It’s *his*.”
Jarek swore. “Then he’s still here.”
“No.” I shook my head. “The blood is less than a day old. He came, renewed the spell, and left. But he’ll be back. The mimicry doesn’t last. He’ll need fresh blood in two weeks.”
“Then we wait,” Jarek said.
“No.” I stood, brushing snow from my coat. “We report back. The Alpha needs to know.”
“And the mate?” Tove asked. “What about her?”
I didn’t answer. Just stared into the fire, the flames reflecting in my eyes.
Because I’d seen something else at the door.
Not just the blood.
A scent.
Faint, but unmistakable.
Witch.
And not just any witch.
One who’d touched the seal recently.
One who’d been *waiting*.
And it wasn’t Morgana.
—
We returned at dawn.
The fortress was alive with tension—wolves moving in tight groups, whispers curling through the corridors, the scent of fear thick in the air. I went straight to the Alpha’s chambers, knocking once before entering.
Kaelen was at the desk, maps spread before him, his jaw tight. Morgana stood by the window, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
“You’re back,” he said, not looking up.
“I found it,” I said. “The outpost. The blood seal. It’s him. He used your blood to renew the mimicry spell.”
He finally looked at me. “And?”
“He’ll be back. In two weeks. To renew it again.”
“Then we’ll be waiting.”
“No.” I stepped forward. “You can’t go. The pack is already unstable. If you leave, they’ll assume the bond has blinded you. They’ll challenge you.”
“Then I’ll crush them.”
“And what about her?” I asked, nodding at Morgana. “Who protects her while you’re gone?”
He didn’t answer.
Because he knew.
No one would.
“I’ll go,” I said. “Alone. I’ll watch the outpost. When he returns, I’ll follow him. Find out who he is. Who he’s working with.”
“And if he’s not alone?” Morgana asked.
“Then I’ll die trying.”
She studied me. “Why do you care?”
“Because someone has to.” I met her gaze. “You think the pack accepts you? They don’t. They tolerate you. Because of the bond. Because of him. But if he falls, you fall with him.”
She didn’t flinch. Just looked at Kaelen. “He’s right.”
Kaelen exhaled, slow, controlled. “Then go. But no heroics. No engagement. Just watch. Report back.”
“And the scent?” I asked.
He stilled. “What scent?”
“At the door. Beneath the blood. A witch. One who’d been waiting.”
Morgana’s breath caught. “Elira?”
I didn’t answer. Just watched them, the firelight flickering across their faces.
Because I’d seen the truth.
The imposter wasn’t working alone.
And the witch who’d touched that seal?
She wasn’t here to help.
She was here to finish what she started.
—
Later, as I prepared to leave, I stood at the edge of the eastern tower, the wind howling, the stars burning cold and bright. The fortress slept below, but I couldn’t. Not yet.
“You’re not just going to watch, are you?”
I didn’t turn. Knew it was her before she spoke.
“You should be resting,” I said.
“So should you.” Morgana stepped beside me, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes on the horizon. “You’re going to confront him.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m going to *follow* him. Learn who he is. Who he’s working with.”
“And if he sees you?”
“Then I’ll make sure he remembers me.”
She was silent for a long moment. Then: “Why are you doing this?”
“Because someone has to.”
“Not just for him. For *me*.”
I turned, meeting her gaze. “I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”
Her breath caught.
“He fights it,” I said. “But it’s there. In his eyes. In the way he moves when you’re near. The bond’s not just claiming you, Morgana. It’s *awakening* him.”
And then I said the words I’d been holding back:
“She’s not afraid you’ll take him from her.
She’s afraid you’ll make him *human*.”
She didn’t answer. Just looked at me, her eyes searching mine, her breath fogging in the cold air.
And in that moment, I saw it—the flicker of fear. Not of the imposter. Not of the Court.
Of *feeling*.
“You’re afraid too,” she whispered.
“Of what?”
“Of being alone.”
My chest tightened.
Because she was right.
I was half-human. Half-wolf. Not fully one. Not fully the other. A ghost in both worlds. And now, watching them—watching the bond, the fire, the way they *chose* each other—I saw what I’d never have.
Not just love.
Belonging.
“Go back inside,” I said, my voice rough. “He needs you.”
She didn’t move. Just reached out, her hand brushing mine—brief, warm, *real*.
And then she was gone.
I stood there, the wind howling, the stars watching.
And I made my choice.
I wouldn’t just follow the imposter.
I’d end him.
For the Alpha.
For the mate.
For the bond.
And for the one thing I’d never admit I wanted.
Family.