Ryker Vance POV:

My thumb pressed into the fragile skin of his wrist. Underneath, his pulse was a frantic, terrified bird beating against the cage of his bones. Sparks, fierce and white-hot, still skittered up my arm from our point of contact, a sensation I had only read about in old lore. A myth made real. My wolf didn't purr now. He was silent, coiled, every instinct focused on the trembling boy in front of me. On *my mate*.

Elian tried to pull back, a weak, desperate tug that was more reflex than resistance. I didn't let him. My grip tightened, not enough to bruise, but enough to be an anchor. An absolute. The scent of rain and crushed mint filled my head, a clean, sharp fragrance layered over the sour tang of his fear.

I leaned closer, my voice a low rumble meant only for him, drowning out the stunned silence of the training ground. I had to know. I had to see the proof. "Are you feeling unwell?"

He flinched, his hazel eyes wide and swimming with confusion.

"The stomach pains," I continued, my voice dropping even lower, reciting the litany of symptoms I had ignored, the signs of his soul withering that I had once dismissed as weakness. "The ringing in your ears... Does your head still swim when you stand too fast?"

His breath hitched. It wasn't just fear in his eyes now; it was a dawning horror. The kind of horror you feel when someone speaks your most private, shameful secrets aloud. He shook his head in a jerky, frantic denial, but his body betrayed him. I could feel the tremor that ran through him, the weakness in his thin frame. He was already sick. The decay had already started.

"Ryker."

Drake's voice cut through my focus. A heavy hand landed on my shoulder. I didn't turn. My gaze was locked on Elian's, on the fragile life I had almost thrown away.

"What are you doing?" Drake's voice was tight with a mixture of confusion and public embarrassment. "Let him go. He's just an Omega."

*Just an Omega.* The words were a razor blade, scraping against the raw, protective fury that was building in my chest. In the life before, I would have agreed. I would have shoved Elian away and laughed with Drake about the boy's pathetic weakness. The memory was acid in my throat.

I didn't look at my friend. I didn't release my mate. My eyes held Elian's, a silent vow passing between us that he couldn't possibly understand yet. Addressing my Beta-in-training, my future second, I let the cold finality of my decision settle over the training ground like a winter frost.

"He's your future Luna."

The hand on my shoulder vanished as if burned. I heard Drake take a sharp, incredulous breath. Behind him, the silence of the training yard shattered. A wave of whispers erupted, spreading through the assembled trainees like fire through dry grass. I had just dropped a boulder into the placid pond of our pack's hierarchy, and the ripples were already becoming a tsunami.

Good. Let them talk. Let them stare.

Elian's face had gone completely white, his lips parted in shock. He looked from my face to the gawking crowd and back again, his panic escalating. He was a cornered animal, and I was the cause.

I had to get him out of here.

I finally released his wrist, but only to step in front of him, blocking his path, shielding him from the dozens of prying eyes. The whispers died down under the weight of my glare as I swept it across the field.

"You're coming with me," I said, my voice back to that low, private tone. "We're going to eat."

He shook his head, taking a stumbling step back. "No, I—I can't. I have duties. The cleaning rotas…"

"Your duties are canceled."

"But the Packhouse…" he stammered, his eyes darting towards the massive stone building that dominated the compound. "The main dining hall… Omegas aren't permitted. Alpha Vance would—"

His ingrained fear, the rules beaten into him since birth, were a wall between us. He saw a predator. He saw a high-ranking Alpha breaking a rule that would bring punishment down on *his* head, not mine. My expression hardened, not with anger at him, but at the system that had taught him to be so small.

My voice dropped, laced with the first thread of a command. Not a full-throated order that would break his will, but a soft, inescapable weight. "You are with me now. No one will stop you." I saw the conflict in his eyes, the instinct to obey warring with the instinct to flee. I pushed a little harder, the word a silken chain. "Stay."

It was like a switch had been flipped. The tension in his shoulders dissolved. The frantic energy bled out of him, leaving a hollowed-out exhaustion in its place. His body slumped in forced submission, his gaze dropping back to the dirt. He was no longer fighting.

I had him.

Leaving a stunned and speechless Drake in my wake, I turned towards the Packhouse. I didn't touch Elian again. I didn't have to. He followed a single step behind me, a captive shadow being led into the lion's den. Ahead of us, the massive oak doors loomed, dark and imposing.

Ryker Vance POV:

The moment we stepped into the upper-floor dining hall, a hush fell over the room. It was the middle of the midday meal, and the long, polished tables were filled with the pack's elite—high-ranking warriors, their mates, their families. Forks stopped halfway to mouths. Conversations died. Dozens of pairs of eyes, sharp and questioning, fixed on us. On me, and on the slender Omega trailing in my wake.

I ignored them. Their opinions were meaningless, the buzzing of insects. My only focus was the faint tremor in Elian's hands and the hollow look in his eyes. He was starving. Not just hungry from a missed meal, but the deep, gnawing starvation of long-term deprivation. I remembered it now, from the before. The way he was always last in the Omega mess line, often left with scraps.

I led him directly to the Vance family's customary table, a large oak monstrosity near the hearth that was always left vacant unless my father or I were present. Elian froze at the sight of it, his feet rooted to the floor. It was a seat of power, a throne room in miniature, and he looked at it like it was an execution block.

A server, a young beta with nervous eyes, approached our table hesitantly. "Future Alpha," she murmured, her gaze flicking nervously to Elian. "Will you be dining?"

"We both will."

Drake appeared at my side, his face a mask of disbelief. "Ryker, what in the Goddess's name are you doing?" he whispered, his voice harsh.

I didn't answer him. I pulled a handful of my own meal credit chips from my pocket—heavy clay tokens earned through rank and duties—and pressed them into his hand. "Trade me. I need more than the standard Alpha allotment."

He stared at the chips, then back at me. "This is a warrior's ration for a week."

"Trade me," I repeated, my voice flat. He swallowed hard and handed over his own pouch without another word.

I turned back to the server. "A double portion of the roasted venison. Root vegetables. And a bowl of the bone broth. The thickest you have." I slid a small mountain of chips across the table. Her eyes widened at the payment. She scurried away toward the kitchens.

The food arrived quickly. A heavy ceramic plate piled high with steaming meat and glistening carrots, and a deep bowl of broth so rich it was almost a stew. The scent of rosemary and thyme filled the air. It was a meal fit for a warrior returning from a border skirmish. The server set it in front of Elian.

He just stared at it. His hands were clenched in his lap, trembling so hard I could see the movement from across the table. He looked from the plate to the watching faces in the room, his own face pale with terror. He was convinced this was a trap, a cruel joke for which he would be severely punished.

I leaned forward, pitching my voice into a low murmur that wouldn't carry. The command was there again, but this time it was a gentle nudge, not a shove. "Your body needs this." My wolf was restless, wanting to snarl at the onlookers, wanting to force-feed our mate to make him strong. I kept it leashed. "Eat."

He flinched, a full-body tremor, as the soft command settled over him. His eyes squeezed shut for a second. Then, slowly, with a hand that shook violently, he picked up the fork. He cut a small piece of venison, lifted it to his lips, and took the first bite.

His shoulders began to shake. A single, choked sob escaped him, so quiet I almost didn't hear it. He didn't cry, but the raw, overwhelming emotion was plain to see. He ducked his head, hiding his face as he began to eat. Ravenously. He didn't stop until the plate was clean and the broth was gone, a desperate, frantic need driving him that broke my heart all over again.

When he was finished, a bit of color had returned to his cheeks. He still wouldn't meet my eyes, but the terror had been replaced by a dazed confusion. I stood, and he immediately scrambled to his feet.

In the corridor outside the dining hall, the noise and the stares fell away. I stopped him before he could try to bolt back to the Omega quarters.

"You won't be going back there," I said. It wasn't a question. "The full moon holiday begins tomorrow. You'll be spending it with me. At one of the private pack cabins."

He went pale again. "Future Alpha, I can't. It's not… it's not appropriate. I have duties—"

"I told you, your duties are handled." I cut him off, my voice gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. "Your only duty is to get well." He opened his mouth to protest again, but the fight seemed to drain out of him before the words could form. Overwhelmed by the food, the attention, and my sheer insistence, he gave a tiny, defeated nod.

"Wait here," I told him, my hand gesturing to a stone bench against the wall. He sat without a word.

I found Drake lingering near the hall's entrance, looking like he'd seen a ghost. I strode up to him. "Which of the hunting cabins is the most secluded? The one by Black Creek or the one on the Northern Ridge?"

That was the final straw. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my bicep, and spun me to face him. His blue eyes were blazing with a frantic concern. "Are you insane?" His voice was a harsh whisper. "First the training ground, then the dining hall, now this? A private cabin? For the full moon? What is this really about, Ryker?"

I met his gaze without flinching. There was no point in hiding it, no point in delaying. Drake was my best friend, my future Beta. He needed to know the truth, the whole impossible truth, starting with the one fact that mattered above all others.

"I'm claiming my mate."

He stumbled back a step, letting go of my arm as if he'd been shocked. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. The playful, confident warrior I'd known my whole life was gone, replaced by a man staring at a reality that had just been shattered.

I left him there, frozen in the hallway, his face a mask of pure shock. Down the corridor, Elian sat on the bench, small and still, waiting for me. I walked toward him, and as I reached him, I gently placed a hand on the small of his back, a gesture of possession and protection. He flinched but allowed me to guide him down the corridor, away from the heart of the Packhouse.

The only sound was the soft scuff of our boots on the stone floor, an impossibly quiet start to a pack-shattering storm.