Seraphina Silvermoon POV:

We were shoved to the corner of the square, away from the grand platform. The murmurs of the pack followed us, a river of pity and ridicule. Elara and her friends stood a short distance away, not even bothering to hide their mocking laughter.

The elder assigned to perform the ceremony looked bored, his words rushed. He just wanted this farce to be over.

Dravon ignored them all. He turned to me, and with a gravity that seemed completely out of place in this sham of a ritual, he held out the bouquet of withered flowers—the same ones Elara had rejected.

"For you," he said simply.

I hesitated, then took them. The stems were dry and brittle, the petals like old paper. But as my fingers brushed against them, a faint, surprising warmth seeped into my skin, a gentle pulse that traveled up my arm and seemed to settle in my hip, easing the constant, dull ache of my bad leg.

I shot him a surprised look, but his expression was unreadable, his dark eyes giving nothing away.

"Hurry up," the elder grumbled. "Mark her, and then report to the Omega sector. That's where you'll be housed."

The Omega sector. The lowest of the low. The final, crushing humiliation. My body went rigid.

A large, warm hand settled on my shoulder. "It's alright," Dravon murmured, his voice a low rumble beside my ear. It had a strange, calming effect, cutting through my panic.

He leaned in. I braced myself for the sharp pain of the claiming bite. But it wasn't what I expected. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin on my neck with a surprising gentleness. There was no pain, only a sudden, intense jolt of electricity—the Sparks—that shot through my entire body. It was followed by a feeling of... completeness. A quiet, empty corner of my soul I hadn't even known was there was suddenly filled.

A soft gasp escaped my lips. I felt a wave of pure, clean energy flow into me through the mark, warm and soothing. It wasn't the all-consuming fire of a true mate bond I'd read about, but it was something powerful. Something real.

He pulled back, his face as impassive as ever.

The ceremony was over. We were ordered to leave the square. Walking past the assembled pack was like running a gauntlet of contempt.

A young warrior, one of Elara's admirers, stuck his foot out, trying to trip me.

Before I could even stumble, Dravon moved. He didn't seem to hurry, but one moment he was beside me, the next he was in front of me. The warrior's foot connected with Dravon's leg and the warrior yelped, hopping back as if he'd just kicked a stone wall. He crumpled to the ground, clutching his ankle.

Dravon didn't even look at him. He just kept walking, shielding me with his body. The snickering around us died down.

I saw Elara watching, a flicker of doubt in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by her usual scorn. "Brute strength. Nothing more."

We were led to the Omega houses, a collection of dilapidated wooden shacks that stood in stark contrast to the grand stone Packhouse where the Alpha's family lived. Our new home was the smallest, most derelict cabin of them all. Inside, there was only a rickety bed, a small table, and a single chair.

I looked down at the dead flowers in my hand, not sure what to do with them. There was no vase, nothing to put them in.

Finally, I found an old, dented tin cup. I filled it with water from the communal pump outside and carefully arranged the flowers inside, placing the makeshift vase in the center of the table. It was a silly gesture. They were just weeds. But they were the first gift I had ever received from a male. He had offered them to me with respect. They deserved the same.

I turned and found Dravon watching me, his expression unreadable. But for the first time, I thought I saw a flicker of something in his dark eyes. Something soft.

He spoke, his first words to me since we'd been bound. "Thank you."

I was so startled I almost dropped the cup. I shook my head, my cheeks growing warm. "I just... did what I thought was right."

Seraphina Silvermoon POV:

The next morning, I woke to the sound of mocking laughter outside our flimsy door. I had spent the night on the lumpy mattress while Dravon sat motionless in the single chair, seemingly lost in meditation. An awkward silence had filled the small space between us.

The door burst open without a knock. Elara stood there, flanked by her usual sycophants, her arms crossed over her chest. She was here to assign the daily Omega duties.

"Seraphina," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "You'll be on mucking duty. The livestock pens need a good cleaning."

It was the filthiest, most back-breaking job. I bit my lip and nodded, refusing to give her the satisfaction of an argument.

Her icy gaze then fell on the tin cup on our table, where the Blood Moonflowers sat. Her face twisted in disgust.

"A cripple's treasure," she sneered. "You actually kept that garbage? Those dead weeds will bring rot and mildew into your house."

Before I could react, she strode over, snatched the flowers from the cup, and stalked toward the door. The rough movement sent a shower of water and a few loose petals onto the floor.

Dravon, who had been silent in his corner, suddenly went very still. His eyes narrowed, and for a split second, an aura of such cold, lethal fury emanated from him that the air in the cabin seemed to drop twenty degrees. It was gone as quickly as it came, so fast I thought I might have imagined it.

"Throw this in the feeding trough," Elara commanded one of her followers, tossing the bouquet carelessly. "Let the grohl beasts have a little dessert."

The others howled with laughter as they took the flowers and headed for the nearby animal pen.

"No!" I cried, rushing forward, but Elara blocked my path, a malicious smirk on her face.

"What's the matter, cousin? Is it precious to you?" she taunted. "This is where it belongs. With the other refuse."

I watched in horror as my gift, Dravon's gift, was tossed into a stone trough filled with muddy water and half-eaten slop. A few of the sheep-like grohl beasts ambled over and sniffed at the flowers curiously before losing interest.

Tears of humiliation burned my eyes. It wasn't about the flowers themselves. It was about the respect they represented. It was the only thing he had brought with him, and she had trampled it into the mud.

Elara savored my expression for a moment longer, then turned and swept away, her posse trailing behind her. The small crowd of watching Omegas dispersed, shaking their heads at the sad little drama.

Dravon said nothing. He just watched me, his face a stone mask.

I took a shaky breath, wiped my eyes, and did something that surprised even myself. I limped over to the filthy feeding trough. Ignoring the stench and the grime, I reached into the slop and began picking the flowers out, one by one.

My actions were a quiet rebellion. They were a statement.

I used the sleeve of my clean tunic to wipe the mud from the petals. Then, under Dravon's watchful gaze, I did something more. I lifted a single, mud-stained petal to my lips, and I ate it.

It was a declaration to Elara, to the whole world. *What you cast aside as worthless, I will hold as treasure.*

A powerful, shocking warmth exploded in my stomach, a hundred times stronger than the faint pulse I’d felt yesterday. It rushed through my veins, and when it reached my damaged leg, the chronic ache was replaced by a pleasant, tingling numbness.

I saw Dravon's eyes widen, his pupils dilating in the dim morning light. He hadn't expected this.

The Omegas who had lingered to watch were now staring at me as if I'd lost my mind. Their whispers turned to open, jeering laughter. The cripple was so desperate, she was eating garbage from an animal trough.

I ignored them. I ate another petal, and then another, until they were all gone.

The laughter grew louder, but it didn't matter. Dravon walked over to me. He took off his own worn outer tunic and draped it over my shoulders, which had begun to tremble not from cold, but from the force of my defiance.

He leaned in close, his voice a low, private rumble meant only for me. "Well done."

Seraphina Silvermoon POV:

A few days later, our Alpha was hosting an important guest: Alaric Stonefang, the formidable Alpha of the neighboring Stonefang Clan. He was a mountain of a man, known for his brute strength and harsh rule. Elara, dressed in a stunning gown, was practically draped over his arm, trying to charm him, no doubt to erase the embarrassment of her rogue mate.

Alaric, however, seemed distracted. His responses were polite but brief. He kept scanning our territory, his nostrils flaring, as if searching for something.

As my grandfather led him on a tour of the pack lands, Alaric suddenly stopped dead. His head snapped up, his nose twitching. He had scented something.

Ignoring my grandfather's confused questions, the massive Alpha changed course, striding away from the pristine training grounds and heading directly for the Omega sector. A crowd of confused pack members, including Elara and my grandfather, hurried to follow.

His path was unerring. He was heading straight for the livestock pens. Straight for the feeding trough.

Elara’s face paled. She thought he was deliberately trying to humiliate her by seeking out the filthiest part of our territory.

Alaric reached the stone trough and crouched. His movements were controlled, precise—a predator examining a scent trail, not a madman groping in muck. He ran his fingers along the stone, stopped at a seam in the masonry, and worked something free with his thumbnail.

His fingers stopped. He’d found something in a crack in the stone—a tiny, smeared remnant of a reddish petal mixed with dirt.

His breath hitched. His eyes, which had been sharp and intelligent, now widened with a look of pure, unadulterated shock. And then, joy.

In front of the entire Silver Ridge Pack, the mighty Alpha Alaric Stonefang did the unthinkable. He carefully scraped the muddy residue from the crack onto his fingertip. Then, he brought his finger to his lips and, with an expression of reverent concentration, he tasted it.

A shudder ran through his massive frame. A look of pure ecstasy washed over his face, as if he had just tasted the nectar of the gods.

We were all frozen. Stunned into absolute silence. Had a visiting Alpha just eaten mud from our animal feeder?

Dravon and I had been assigned to repair a nearby fence, and we witnessed the entire scene. I clapped a hand over my mouth, my mind reeling.

Beside me, Dravon leaned against a fence post, his arms crossed. A small, cold smile touched the corner of his lips. The show was starting.

Alaric shot to his feet, his dignity completely forgotten. He grabbed my grandfather by the front of his ceremonial robes, his eyes wild. "What was this?" he demanded, his voice a hoarse, trembling growl. "Where did you get this?!"

My grandfather stammered, terrified. "I-I don't know! It's just... feed slop!"

A horrible, dawning realization was spreading across Elara’s face. Her mind was clearly replaying the moment she’d thrown Dravon’s "withered weeds" into that very trough. *No,* her expression screamed. *It can't be.*

Alaric, looking like a madman, plunged his hands into the trough, frantically sifting through the muck, searching for more. He found nothing.

He whirled around, his bloodshot eyes scanning the crowd of stunned faces. His gaze swept past Elara, past my grandfather, past the other warriors.

Then, his eyes locked onto me.

He strode forward, his gaze intense. He could smell it. The faint, pure, energetic residue of the flowers. It was strongest on me.