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.

Seraphina Silvermoon POV:

Alaric Stonefang’s burning gaze was fixed on me. I instinctively took a step back, right into the solid wall of Dravon’s chest as he moved to stand behind me.

The Stonefang Alpha barely glanced at Dravon, dismissing his suppressed aura as insignificant. His focus was entirely on me.

"Alpha Stonefang, what is the meaning of this?" my grandfather finally managed to ask, his voice shaky.

Alaric let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. He looked at the members of my pack as if they were the stupidest creatures he had ever seen. "That was a Blood Moonflower! One single petal can help a warrior break through a plateau, can add ten years to an elder's life! And you," he roared, pointing a trembling finger at the trough, "you fed it to your livestock!"

A collective gasp went through the crowd. *Blood Moonflower.* The name was from legends, from children's stories. I saw my grandmother Moira sway on her feet, her face ashen.

Elara’s face was no longer pale; it was the color of death. The priceless, mythical treasure she had thrown away in a fit of pique... it was real.

"I've been tracking a surge of power for days," Alaric continued, his voice filled with a mix of fury and awe. "I was hoping to find the powerful stranger who brought it into these lands. They say only the Shadow Lord of the Moonstone Vale has the right to possess such a thing." He scanned the crowd again, then shook his head in disappointment. "Clearly, the great one was merely passing through and dropped his prize, and you fools stumbled upon it."

No one, not a single person, made the connection between the mythical "Shadow Lord" and the quiet, unassuming rogue standing behind me. The pack’s conclusion was immediate and unanimous: Dravon had gotten lucky. He’d found a priceless treasure in the woods like a simpleton finding a gold nugget.

And I had eaten it.

The way they looked at me changed. The pity and scorn were gone, replaced by something far uglier. Naked, ravenous greed.

Grandmother Moira was the first to speak, her voice sharp and commanding. "Seraphina! You will surrender that flower! It is pack property!"

"That's right!" Elara chimed in, her voice shrill with desperation. "We need to get it out of her! Use a purging tonic, now! We can't let its power be wasted on a cripple!"

A low growl rumbled through the crowd as several warriors started to close in, their eyes fixed on me like I was a piece of meat.

Dravon stepped in front of me. He didn't raise his voice, he didn't shift. He just stood there, and an invisible wall of pressure slammed into the advancing wolves, stopping them dead in their tracks.

"She is my mate," he said, his voice deadly quiet. "Touch her, and you die."

His aura was still faint, but the sheer, raw menace in his voice made the air crackle.

Alaric watched the scene with detached interest. He didn't care about our pack's internal squabbles. He just wanted more flowers. "Boy," he said to Dravon. "I don't care about your mating games. Have her tell me where she found the flower. I will give you riches beyond your wildest dreams."

Dravon didn't even honor him with a look. His eyes were on me. "Let's go."

He placed a hand on the small of my back and guided me away. We walked through a sea of hateful, greedy, and envious glares, but no one dared to make a move.

Back in the suffocating confines of our tiny shack, I was still shaking. "It... it was a sacred artifact?" I whispered, looking down at my hands, then at my leg. The tingling sensation was stronger now, a constant, pleasant hum.

Dravon closed the flimsy door, shutting out the prying eyes. "It was," he confirmed, his voice calm. "And now, it is a part of you. No one can take it away."

I looked at him, truly looked at him, for the first time. Gratitude, fear, and a burning curiosity warred within me. Who was this man?