In the world of werewolves, a deposed Alpha never survives long under a new regime. If they do, it’s only to endure humiliation.

Archer Medina, the ruthless Alpha of the Red Fang Pack, seemed determined to make Paul Shaw suffer. He forced Paul, broken and disheveled, to serve drinks to the guests at the banquet. Paul’s once-proud aura was now a shadow of its former self, his head bowed, his movements slow and deliberate as he moved among the tables.

The room was tense, the air thick with discomfort. Most of the wolves exchanged uneasy glances, but Makai Murphy, the Gamma, seemed unbothered. He even went out of his way to make things harder for Paul, spilling his drink multiple times, forcing Paul to crawl under the table to retrieve the fallen glass. It was a humiliating display, one that made my stomach twist.

Behind me, a pup from the pack whispered to his mother, his voice innocent and confused.

"Mom, why is Alpha Archer being so mean to him?"

His mother quickly shushed him, her voice low but sharp. "Quiet, little one. He’s a traitor. He deserves it."

Weston Rice, sitting nearby, turned to the pup with a calm, almost gentle expression.

"Paul Shaw once betrayed our pack," he explained, his tone measured but firm. "When Archer was just a Beta, Paul’s actions led to the death of someone very dear to him. Archer is making him pay for that now."

The pup tilted his head, still not fully understanding. "But if Archer cared about that person so much, why didn’t he protect them?"

Weston hesitated, caught off guard by the child’s simple logic.

Our seats were tucked in the back, near the draped curtains that separated the banquet hall from the rest of the packhouse. The atmosphere was more relaxed here, the wolves less formal as the night wore on. The pup slipped away from his mother and trotted over to me, his big, curious eyes fixed on mine.

"Are you Weston’s mate?" he asked, his voice loud enough to carry.

Weston’s face flushed, and he stammered, "No, she’s not—but I’d never let anything like that happen to her."

The pup’s question struck a chord. Even a child could see the hypocrisy in Archer’s actions. I reached out and gently brushed the pup’s soft cheek, offering him a small smile.

"You’re a clever one," I said, my voice warm.

He held up a stubborn, unopened water chestnut, his little fingers struggling to peel it. I took it from him and used a small silver knife from the table to cut off the ends, then gently pried it open to reveal the white flesh inside.

The pup’s face lit up as he took it from me. "You’re so good at this! My mom says only wolves from the southern packs know how to peel these. Are you from the south?"

I froze. Adele Dean’s family had always been part of the Blue Moon Pack in the north. I’d never even been to the southern territories. Weston, who knew my history, was watching me closely now, his brow furrowed in suspicion.

The room had grown quiet, the pup’s voice cutting through the noise. All eyes turned toward us, curious, probing. Even from his seat at the head of the table, Archer’s gaze felt heavy on me, his scent—sharp and commanding—filling the air.

I forced myself to stay calm, setting the knife down with a steady hand. "When I was young, my family was poor," I explained, my voice even. "Our neighbor traded southern goods, and I used to help peel these for extra money."

It was a plausible story, and the wolves around me seemed to accept it, their interest waning as they returned to their drinks and conversations. Weston reached over and squeezed my hand, his voice soft. "You’ll never have to struggle like that again."

I nodded, though my heart was racing. I’d just narrowly avoided disaster.

But then Paul Shaw approached our table, his movements slow and deliberate, a bottle of strong liquor in his hand. My stomach dropped. I couldn’t drink that—not without breaking out in a rash that would give me away instantly.

As he poured the drink, I caught a glimpse of his eyes—haunted, resigned, but still holding a spark of defiance. I clenched my fists under the table, my wolf stirring uneasily in the back of my mind. This wasn’t over. Not yet.

The clink of chains echoed softly in the grand hall.

Beneath a tangle of unkempt hair, a pair of sharp, cold eyes met mine. Paul Shaw stood before me, his gaze piercing, as he extended a glass of wine toward me. The room was watching, and the weight of their stares pressed heavily on my shoulders. To accept or refuse—that was the question.

"Adele?" Weston’s voice cut through the tension, laced with confusion.

I snapped out of my thoughts, realizing I’d hesitated too long. Eyes from every corner of the room were now fixed on me. I opened my mouth to decline, citing my inability to handle alcohol, but Paul didn’t wait. He stepped forward, his broad sleeve brushing against my hand as he pressed the glass into my palm. A cold, quick touch.

My brow furrowed, and then I froze.

A small pill had been slipped into my hand.

Paul withdrew as if nothing had happened, turning away without a word. He knew. The fact that I couldn’t drink wine without a reaction was something only those from my past—and him—were aware of. My heart pounded as I raised the glass to my lips, pretending to sip while discreetly swallowing the familiar red pill. Gradually, the heat creeping over my skin subsided, and the faint rash on my hand faded.

The hall remained alive with music and laughter, the chatter of the pack filling the air. Paul’s thin figure disappeared into the dimming light at the edge of the room, unnoticed by anyone else. I stared after him, my thoughts a tangled mess, before forcing my attention back to the golden cup in my hand.

"Adele, it’s time." Weston’s voice broke through my reverie. "Alpha Archer and Luna Luciana are about to announce our mate bond."

I nodded, swallowing the storm of emotions rising in my chest. Together, we stepped forward and knelt before the Alpha and Luna.

Archer Medina’s voice carried across the room, smooth and commanding, as he declared our mate bond. He spoke as if it were a trivial matter, his tone softened by the wine he’d been drinking. His gaze flicked to the other members of the pack, a lazy smile playing on his lips. "Anyone else here who’s found their mate? I’ll pair you off while I’m at it."

The room erupted in polite laughter, but Makai’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Weston. "Not all of us are as fortunate as Weston. He’s got everything handed to him—even his mate. Must be nice to have your life all figured out."

Weston’s reply was calm, his tone steady. "I’m grateful for Alpha Archer’s generosity. My life is in his hands."

Makai’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Still, it’s strange. You’ve always been so loyal, but for something as important as your mark ceremony, you’re insisting on holding it in the southern territory. That’s not your homeland, and it’s not Adele’s either. What’s so special about that place that you’d risk disrespecting our Alpha and Luna?"

The room fell silent, and Luciana Ellis, the former Luna, spoke up. "The southern territory is beautiful, but a mark ceremony is a sacred event. It’s only fitting to hold it here, where the pack can witness it properly."

Weston hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "Of course, Luna. We’ll hold it here."

My stomach sank, but I kept my expression neutral, bowing my head in submission. Inside, I couldn’t help but feel irritated at Makai. Why did he have to stir up trouble?

Luciana continued, her voice warm as she praised me. "I’ve always felt a connection with Adele. It’s like she’s the daughter I never had. I’d love for her to stay with me for a while before the ceremony."

Archer chuckled, his voice low and amused. "Is she really that special, Mother? Let me take a closer look."

He leaned forward, his presence overwhelming as he gestured for me to approach. The sound of his voice sent a shiver down my spine, and I stepped forward, my heart racing as I prepared to face his scrutiny.

The Alpha’s command cannot be defied.

Weston stood below, his eyes nervously fixed on me.

Oddly, I wasn’t as anxious as I expected to be. Instead, I felt a strange detachment, as if I were walking into a scene I didn’t belong to.

I’d walked toward Archer Medina countless times before—from the southern territories to the northern borders, from the mark ceremony to the marking night.

I’d also walked away from him—from the northern borders back to the heart of the Red Fang Pack territory, from the packhouse to the Alpha’s private chambers.

But never like this. A few steps up the marble staircase, two strangers who had once been so close, now separated by betrayal and fate.

It was a pack gathering, so Archer wasn’t dressed in his full Alpha regalia. Instead, he wore a simple black suit, the silver cufflinks glinting faintly under the chandelier light. His presence, though understated, was as commanding as ever.

I kept my gaze lowered, my hands clasped in front of me, letting him assess me as he pleased.

His eyes swept over me briefly, like he was evaluating a stray dog, before he tossed a silver necklace at me.

“A gift,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

I accepted it with both hands, slipping it into my pocket without a second glance. It stayed there until the gathering ended, untouched and forgotten.

The night deepened, and the festivities wound down. Luciana, the former Luna, insisted I stay in the packhouse for the night, and Weston volunteered to escort me.

The halls were long and dimly lit, the moonlight streaming through the windows, casting a pale glow on Weston’s face. He looked... happy.

“Adele,” he said, his voice soft but brimming with excitement, “you’re my good luck charm. The Alpha has never shown me this much favor before. He personally approved our mate bond, and even Luciana seems to like you.”

He only called Archer “Alpha” in public. Without blood ties and lacking the prowess of the other pack members, Weston often found himself on the outskirts of Archer’s inner circle.

When we reached the guest room, Weston’s cheeks were still flushed from the wine and the thrill of the evening. His eyes, bright and earnest, held no trace of deceit.

“You mentioned you had a brother who disappeared in the south. When we get there, I’ll help you find him. I’ll treat you so well, Adele. I’ll make sure he knows you’re in good hands.”

He said that would make him feel like he finally had a family.

I thought of Paul Shaw, my brother, who had abandoned his position in the Blue Moon Pack and turned rogue, fighting against the very system that had betrayed us. He’d once risked everything to save me, dragging my “lifeless” body back to safety.

I awkwardly rubbed the back of my neck, unsure how to respond.

Fortunately, Weston was too drunk to press me for promises. He waved his hand dismissively and turned to leave.

He stumbled slightly, bumping into a low-hanging branch of the wisteria that framed the courtyard. I blinked in surprise as he turned back to me, grinning sheepishly, a faint red mark on his cheek.

He walked backward, his gaze fixed on me, still smiling.

“It’s... it’s fine. Doesn’t hurt. Get some rest, Adele. Tomorrow, I’ll go to the tailor and pick out the perfect dress for our ceremony. You love flowers, right? I’ll have them embroider every kind of bloom onto it!”

Pack ceremonies had their own strict traditions, and there was no room for extravagant designs.

I smiled softly, watching him leave with his light, almost giddy steps. I didn’t bother correcting him.

After all, this was all just a fleeting dream. Why ruin his temporary joy?

I turned away, dismissing the pack members who lingered nearby, and pushed open the door to the guest room. Exhaustion weighed on me as I pulled off my heels, tossed the silver necklace onto the dresser, and shrugged out of my jacket. Everything about the opulence of the packhouse felt suffocating.

I reached for the zipper of my dress, heading toward the bathroom, when I froze.

My eyes flicked to the wall, where the flickering candlelight cast two shadows—one slender, one broader—both motionless, as if they’d been standing there for some time.

I spun around.

A man leaned casually against the window frame, the moonlight illuminating half his face, making his expression unreadable. His voice, rough and laced with malice, was one I’d once feared but now found oddly calm, like the slow, deliberate hiss of a snake emerging from the shadows.

“Adele,” he said, his tone mocking, “how do you like the face I gave you? Does it suit you well?”