Chapter 2

Aiden

"Drink it." Mark, the pack doctor who would soon resign, handed me the suppressant.

I didn't move, still trying to piece together what had happened last night.

"Alpha," Mark reminded me, his tone carefully measured, "your rut has never been this severe. If you won't take it, I'd suggest you go soak in the ice lake until nightfall."

My throat worked as I swallowed the liquid in one gulp.

The medication took effect quickly. Ansel, my wolf who had been restless all night, finally lowered himself with reluctant submission.

Mark cleared his throat hesitantly, his expression somewhat awkward.

"Please allow me to remind you, Alpha. If you experience arousal during your rut but don't release it, the consequences could be serious. If I'm not around afterward—"

"I wasn't aroused."

"Perhaps I misread the situation, Alpha. But your body seemed different from usual."

Aroused.

My jaw tightened. That word was nothing short of an insult to me.

Since I'd taken over the Iron Claw pack seven years ago, my bed had remained empty.

Not because there was a shortage of women offering themselves. Quite the opposite—alphas from weaker packs tried to seduce me with women of every description, hoping I would fall into their trap and let them carve out territory.

So from the age of seventeen, I had kept Ansel locked in an iron cage within my consciousness. Whenever he tried to raise his head, I forced him down.

Once, then again, and again. Until he learned silence.

Before last night, this method had never failed.

Last night, the first thing I noticed was her scent.

I had passed by the temple to handle a border dispute and check whether Kellen's acknowledgment ceremony was proceeding smoothly.

Then the wind shifted direction.

From the temple's direction came a heavy scent of alcohol, but beneath it lay something else entirely.

Ansel stirred restlessly, snarling. His reaction was foreign to me.

During my ruts, my body certainly experienced desire, but it was purely physiological instinct, something I could manage perfectly.

Quiet, Ansel, I commanded silently. Nothing in this world is worth losing control over.

Ansel didn't quiet. He snarled a second time, more urgently, crashing against the walls of his mental cage.

I frowned, but froze when I saw her.

She stumbled out of the temple, barefoot.

In the moonlight, her wedding dress was torn, exposing her pale shoulders, her hair disheveled and plastered to her cheeks.

A bride.

She smelled like she'd consumed a ton of alcohol, her steps unsteady as a fawn's, but her eyes told a different story.

That look—I'd only seen it on the battlefield, in the eyes of soldiers already surrounded but still refusing to surrender.

She was barely holding on.

Ansel snarled at me a third time.

"Kellen's bride?" The words escaped me before I could think better of it.

Damn it, Ansel, stop your insinuations. You know I shouldn't be speaking to any strange woman.

Especially not one who belonged to Kellen.

Yet I found myself studying her features despite my better judgment.

She smiled bitterly, and something twisted in my chest for a moment. I knew Kellen had probably done something reckless again.

But it wasn't my concern.

She belonged to him. She was Kellen's fiancée. Kellen's problem.

I turned to leave, but she collided with my chest, her limbs going soft.

Then my hands moved—not at my mind's command, but Ansel's.

Before my consciousness could form any judgment, my palm had already found her waist.

The moment I made contact with her body, every hair on my spine stood on end.

I swallowed hard, the heat below nearly impossible to suppress.

In thirty-six years, I had never known what "recognition" felt like.

I'd encountered countless women—sent by various factions, carefully selected, expertly trained.

They carried false scents, using the most precise methods to provoke my instincts.

Every time, my body remained unresponsive. I could accurately identify those manufactured signals and coldly shut the door.

But this time was different.

Almost instinctively, I swept her up into my arms.

Back at the manor, I walked into the bathroom and doused myself with ice water for two solid hours. But the erection below refused to subside.

I cursed under my breath, then sensed someone behind the door.

Moonlight poured in behind her silhouette. Her clothes were in tatters, barely covering anything; her lips were slightly swollen from the burning medicinal wine.

Anger and desire surged through me like two beasts tearing at each other inside my skull.

I was furious that she appeared at my door in such a state—it was tantamount to seduction and provocation.

But our wolves had already begun to intertwine in the air, disregarding their masters' will.

I sighed. Tonight I couldn't stop them. She had walked into this trap herself.

When I forced her lips apart, a thought suddenly struck me: this wasn't impulsive. Ansel never acted impulsively.

Every one of his reactions was instinctive, precise, pointing toward my deepest desires.

Perhaps she was my mate.

At that realization, my body jolted violently.

No matter how absurd it seemed, I might end up mating with and marking my godson's woman.

I shoved her away abruptly, then spent the entire night tormented by my rut.

The next day, news that Kellen had abandoned his fiancée Mira at the altar spread throughout the Northern Lands.

Kellen couldn't possibly be unaware of how much this would hurt Mira.

He knew. He simply didn't care.

---

"Alpha." Someone knocked at the door.

"The copy of the intercepted letter you requested this morning. Mira Vaughn wrote to Eliya, asking to meet her at the Raven Hotel."

Beta Kyle's voice remained steady.

Eliya? I raised an eyebrow.

Eliya was my stepmother, my father's last lover before he fell in battle.

Now she resided within the pack territory. She never openly opposed me, nor did she fully submit.

She moved like a ghost along the edges of power, waiting for the perfect moment to ascend.

I wasn't clear on Mira's purpose in seeking her out—probably forming an alliance.

"Keep watching," I told Kyle.

"Yes, sir."

"One more thing." Kyle's tone shifted subtly. "News from the Council of Elders."

I sighed, rubbing my temples, and gestured for him to continue.

"The Alpha of Ash Frost sent an envoy. His daughter Elena is about to celebrate her coming-of-age ceremony, and he hopes you'll attend."

The attachment included Elena's portrait—elegant, pure, impeccable.

I glanced at the portrait once, then looked away.

"Ash Frost has been seeking a marriage alliance with the Northern Lands for years. The Council also approves, saying it's an excellent opportunity to consolidate the alliance."

The Council had always been this way. Even though I had single-handedly conquered the Northern Lands, they remained cautious.

I nodded, but my gaze remained fixed on Mira's file on the desk.

According to my memory, she rarely appeared at any high-level social events. But her sister Emma had stolen every spotlight.

Perhaps she wasn't her parents' pride.

Yet after Kellen's Council investigated the Vaughn family, their recommendation had been clear: marry Mira.

I leaned back in my chair, my fingertips unconsciously tracing the edge of the paper.

The page held no portrait of her, only a few brief lines of information.

But in my mind's eye, I saw last night's scene—moonlight outlining her tempting silhouette.

She had been disheveled, her clothes torn, her lips swollen, utterly wretched. But her eyes—

Mira wouldn't be a simple woman.

Strangely, I didn't mind her probing.

I was surprised by my own thoughts.

"Kyle."

"Yes, Alpha."

"I want to know her purpose in meeting Eliya. But don't tip our hand."

"Understood."

After the door closed, I sat alone in my study, gazing out the window.

Outside, dusk was settling in. The wind of the Northern Lands swept past the manor, carrying the scent of cold fir trees.

Her scent still lingered at the tip of my nose—a mixture of rose and sandalwood, intoxicating and deadly.

Ansel rumbled low in my mind.

This time, I didn't suppress him.

I simply sat there, staring at that name in the file, seriously considering a question:

What was that woman I let go last night really after? And what was the meaning of that scent she carried?