The Prince was waiting at the forest's edge when I arrived.

I recognized him immediately. Ten years had sharpened the lines of his face, added weight to his shoulders, but the way he stood—utterly still, like the forest itself held its breath around him—that hadn't changed. My pulse kicked hard against my ribs. I forced it down.

"Lilith Campbell." His voice was exactly as I remembered it. Low. Measured. The kind of voice that didn't need volume to command attention.

"Yes, Your Highness." I kept my eyes level. Not challenging. Not submissive. Neutral.

He studied me for a long moment. His gaze moved over my face, down to the grey scar on my neck, then back up. No reaction. No pity. Just assessment.

"We'll run the northern boundary," he said. "Keep pace. Don't fall behind."

I nodded.

He shifted mid-stride—a fluid, effortless transformation that left a massive charcoal-grey wolf standing where the man had been. His Beta, Dorian, shifted beside him. I stayed human. I had no choice.

They took off.

I ran.

The forest blurred around me. My lungs burned within minutes. My legs screamed. I ignored both. I'd spent three years doing near-Omega labor at Ironridge—hauling supplies, scrubbing floors, work that built endurance even if it didn't build status. I used every bit of it now.

Castiel's wolf moved like water through the trees. Effortless. Dorian kept pace beside him. I stayed ten yards back, close enough to prove I could, far enough to avoid presumption.

We covered miles. The terrain shifted—flat ground to rocky incline to creek bed. I adjusted. My breathing stayed controlled. My stride stayed steady.

Dorian glanced back once. I caught the brief flicker of surprise in his wolf's eyes before he turned forward again.

Good.

We were nearing the end of the run when it happened.

A bead of sweat rolled down my throat. It hit the pulse point where I'd applied the wolfsbane tincture that morning. The chemical heat dissolved. Just for a second. Just long enough.

Castiel stopped dead.

Not a slow halt. A full predator freeze—every muscle locked, head snapping toward the treeline, nostrils flaring. His wolf's entire body went rigid.

I stopped running. My heart slammed against my ribs.

Dorian circled back, confusion clear in his posture. Castiel didn't move. He was scanning the forest like something had just walked past that shouldn't exist. His head turned slowly, methodically, searching.

I pressed my hand against my neck. The tincture's burn was already reasserting itself. The honeysuckle scent—my real scent, the one I'd been suppressing for days—vanished back under the chemical mask.

Castiel's wolf shook himself once, hard, like throwing off water. He shifted back to human form. When he turned to look at me, his expression was unreadable.

"You kept pace," he said. His voice was rougher than it had been at the start of the run.

"Yes, Your Highness."

His eyes held mine for three seconds too long. I felt the weight of his gaze like a physical thing. Then he looked away.

"Provisional pack membership granted," he said. "Report to Beta Dorian for quarters assignment."

He walked past me without another word.

I stood there, trembling, until Dorian shifted back and cleared his throat.

"This way," he said.

I followed.

The quarters were small. Clean. A bed, a desk, a narrow window that looked out over the training grounds. Better than anything I'd had at Ironridge.

I set Waffles's carrier down and opened it. He tumbled out immediately, sniffing every corner, tail wagging.

"Stay close," I whispered.

He sat at my feet and looked up at me with absolute trust.

I pressed my fingers against the cold scar on my neck and tried to stop shaking.

The complaints started within forty-eight hours.

I was scrubbing the main hall floors when I overheard two Delta wolves talking in the corridor.

"—runt doesn't belong in the main house. Should be in the omega kennels with the other defectives."

"She's wolfless herself. What does she expect?"

I kept scrubbing. My hands didn't shake. I'd heard worse at Ironridge.

But the complaints reached Dorian by midday. I was carrying linens to the laundry when he found me.

"The Prince wants to see you," he said.

My stomach dropped. "Now?"

"Now."

I followed him to Castiel's office. The door was open. Castiel sat behind his desk, reading something on a tablet. He didn't look up when I entered.

"There's been a complaint about your pup," he said.

I kept my expression neutral. "Yes, Your Highness."

"Several pack members believe he should be moved to the omega kennels."

I said nothing. My fingers found the scar on my neck. Pressed once.

Castiel set the tablet down. He still didn't look at me. "The pup has full pack membership. He stays with you."

I blinked.

He picked the tablet back up. "That's all."

I stood there for a beat too long. He glanced up, one eyebrow raised.

"Thank you, Your Highness," I said quietly.

He nodded once and returned to his reading.

I left.

Back in my quarters, I sat on the edge of the bed. Waffles climbed into my lap immediately. I buried my fingers in his fur.

Something behind my carefully maintained distance shifted. Just a fraction. Just enough to notice.

I shoved it back down.

Mara Ellis made her move at the morning pack run.

I'd been at Silverfang for five days. I kept my head down, performed my duties, spoke only when spoken to. Exactly as Sebastian had instructed. But Mara had been watching me since the moment I arrived.

She was beautiful—tall, blonde, with the kind of confidence that came from never being told no. And she'd clearly decided I was a problem.

The pack assembled at dawn. Fifty wolves, ranked by status. I took my place near the back with the other low-ranking transfers.

Mara appeared beside me.

"You're in the wrong position," she said loudly. Loud enough for the wolves around us to hear.

I looked at her. Said nothing.

"Wolfless transfers run with the omegas," she continued. "Not the main pack."

Several heads turned.

I held her gaze. "Beta Dorian assigned me here."

"Beta Dorian made a mistake." Mara stepped closer. "A dead-bond scar and no wolf? You belong in the omega dormitories. Not the Prince's wing."

The air went very quiet.

I counted to three in my head. Then I smiled. It wasn't a warm smile.

"If you have a concern about my placement," I said evenly, "take it up with the Prince."

Mara's eyes narrowed.

The run started before she could respond.

I ran two positions ahead of her the entire way.

When we returned, Castiel was standing at the edge of the training grounds. Watching. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes found mine across the crowd.

I looked away first.

That night, lying in bed with Waffles curled against my side, I pressed my fingers against the cold scar on my neck and thought about the way Castiel had frozen in the forest. The way he'd scanned the trees like he was searching for something that shouldn't exist.

The way his voice had roughened when he'd granted me pack membership.

I closed my eyes and reminded myself why I was here. What Sebastian expected. What I needed to do.

But my heart was beating too fast, and the suppressant tincture burned in my throat, and I couldn't stop thinking about honeysuckle and smoke.

The questions started on the seventh night.

I was restocking supplies in the pack house kitchen when Castiel appeared in the doorway. No warning. No sound. Just suddenly there, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.

"Where did you grow up?" he asked.

I set down the box of dried herbs I'd been organizing. Turned to face him. "Brooklyn area, Your Highness. Small pack territory."

"Pack name?"

"Moonveil." The truth. Wrapped carefully. "It dissolved years ago."

He studied me. "Family?"

"My mother died when I was young." Also true. I didn't mention the silver-laced wolfsbane or the Luna title she'd carried. "My father remarried. I left after that."

Castiel's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted. "Your wolf's name?"

My throat tightened. I pressed my fingers briefly against the cold scar on my neck. "I don't have a wolf, Your Highness."

"That's not what I asked."

The silence stretched. I counted three heartbeats before I answered. "She never woke. So she never had a name."

He held my gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded once and left.

I stood there in the empty kitchen, hands shaking, and wondered why an Alpha—a Lycan Prince—was asking questions he had no reason to care about.

The common room incident happened three nights later.

I'd been avoiding the main gathering spaces. Easier that way. Less risk of Mara's hostility or the other unmated she-wolves' cold stares. But Dorian found me in the library and insisted I join the evening pack gathering. "Prince's orders," he said. "All pack members attend."

So I went.

The common room was warm. Crowded. Wolves sprawled on couches and floor cushions, talking and laughing. I took a seat near the back, close to the door. Waffles curled at my feet immediately.

Castiel sat in an armchair near the fireplace. He wasn't participating in the conversation, just listening with that characteristic stillness. But his eyes tracked the room constantly.

Dorian was telling a story about a rogue encounter gone wrong—something involving a tree, a miscalculation, and his Beta dignity landing face-first in a creek. The delivery was deadpan. The punchline landed perfectly.

I laughed.

Not a polite chuckle. A real laugh—surprised, unguarded, the kind that escaped before I could catch it. The sound felt foreign in my own throat.

The suppressant thinned.

I felt it happen. The chemical burn at my pulse points fading for just a breath. Just long enough for my real scent—honeysuckle and smoke—to slip through the mask.

Castiel went completely still.

His head turned toward me with predator precision. His nostrils flared. Every line of his body went rigid, like he'd been struck. His eyes locked on mine across the room.

I stopped breathing.

The tincture's heat surged back. The scent vanished. But Castiel didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stared at me with an expression I couldn't read—something between recognition and fury and desperate confusion.

Then he stood abruptly. "Excuse me," he said. His voice was rough.

He walked out.

The room went quiet for a beat. Then the conversation resumed. But Dorian's eyes followed his Prince's exit, and when he looked back at me, his expression was entirely new. Assessing. Careful.

I pressed my hand against my neck and felt the cold scar burning.

Castiel didn't return for an hour.

The message arrived the next morning.

I found it in our dead-drop location—a hollow in the oak tree at the eastern boundary. The encoded note was brief. Sebastian's handwriting.

*Progress noted. Continue current trajectory. Remember your obligations. The runt looks healthy. Let's keep it that way.*

I read it twice. Then I burned it.

Back in my quarters, I sat on the floor with Waffles in my lap. He whined softly and pressed his nose against my hand. I stared at the ceiling and counted the cracks in the plaster.

Sebastian thought I was doing this for him. Thought every moment I spent near Castiel was a sacrifice I made out of lingering devotion. The delusion was almost funny.

Except it wasn't.

Because I was running out of time to decide how much longer I could keep lying. To Castiel. To Dorian. To myself.

Waffles licked my wrist. I buried my fingers in his fur and didn't let myself cry.

The Pack Banquet was announced three days later.

A formal event honoring Silverfang's new territorial alliance with the Northridge Pack. Alphas from six neighboring territories would attend. Protocol required every pack member's presence—even the low-ranking transfers who would serve rather than sit.

I was assigned to beverage service. Fine. I could handle that.

What I couldn't handle was Sebastian walking through the door.

He arrived late. Fashionably so. Emilia on his arm in a silver dress that caught every light in the hall. He smiled. Nodded to the Alphas he recognized. Played the gracious guest.

No one had invited him.

But refusing entry to a neighboring Alpha—even an unwelcome one—would have been a political insult Castiel couldn't afford. So Sebastian was allowed in.

I was refilling a Luna's wine glass when I saw him.

The rejection mark went ice-cold.

Then it started throbbing. Not the dull ache I'd learned to ignore. Sharp. Vicious. Like someone pressing a blade against my throat from the inside.

I set the wine bottle down carefully. Forced my hands steady.

Sebastian was introducing Emilia to a cluster of Alphas near the center of the hall. "My chosen Luna," he said. Loud enough to carry. "The Moon Goddess's gift."

Emilia smiled. Leaned into him.

The mark throbbed harder.

I couldn't breathe.

The hall was too warm. Too crowded. Sebastian's scent—pine and dominance and three years of my life wasted—filled my lungs. Emilia's laugh echoed. The mark pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat, each throb stealing more air.

I turned and walked toward the door. Controlled. Steady. I made it to the courtyard before my vision tunneled.

The stone bench caught me before my knees gave out. I sat down hard. Pressed both hands against the mark. It was cold and burning at the same time, the contradictory sensations making my stomach lurch.

I couldn't get air. My chest was too tight. The world was narrowing to a pinpoint.

Panic attack. I knew what it was. That didn't make it stop.

I forced myself to count. One. Two. Three. Tried to match my breathing to the numbers. Failed.

Footsteps.

I looked up.

Castiel stood three feet away, his expression unreadable in the moonlight.

"Breathe," he said quietly.

I shook my head. Couldn't.

He moved closer. Knelt in front of me. "Lilith. Look at me."

I met his eyes.

"Match my breathing," he said. He inhaled slowly. Held it. Exhaled.

I tried. Failed. Tried again.

He kept breathing. Steady. Patient. Not touching me. Not fixing me. Just... there.

Slowly, my lungs remembered how to work.

The panic receded. Not gone. Just far enough back that I could think.

Castiel stayed kneeling. "What happened?"

I couldn't tell him. Couldn't explain that the man inside had formally rejected me in front of his entire pack and then sent me here to destroy the one person I'd wanted for a decade. Couldn't say any of it.

"I'm fine," I whispered.

His jaw tightened. "You're not."

"I will be."

He studied me for a long moment. Then he stood and offered his hand.

I looked at it. At him.

"Come on," he said. "You're not going back in there tonight."

I took his hand.

He pulled me to my feet and led me away from the banquet hall, away from Sebastian's scent and Emilia's smile and the cold, throbbing scar that wouldn't let me forget.

And I followed him, because I didn't know what else to do.

The panic was a living thing. It clawed up my throat, squeezed my lungs, turned the courtyard into a spinning blur of stone and moonlight. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The rejection mark throbbed in time with my racing heart—cold fire spreading down my neck, into my chest.

Sebastian's voice drifted through the open doors. Introducing Emilia. Again. Louder this time. Making sure everyone heard.

My fingers found the scar. Pressed hard. The grey skin was ice-cold under my touch.

And then something inside me—some desperate, drowning part I didn't know existed—reached.

I felt it happen. A thread of consciousness extending through empty space, searching for an anchor that shouldn't be there. The sensation was foreign. Wrong. I'd never had a mate bond. Never had a wolf strong enough to form one. But my body didn't care about logic. It just reached.

And found him.

The connection snapped taut like a rope pulled between two points. Raw. Unfiltered. Every ounce of my terror flooded through it in a single, uncontrolled wave.

I gasped. The link cut off as suddenly as it had formed, but the damage was done.

Inside the banquet hall, I knew—somehow I knew—that Castiel had felt it.

Footsteps behind me. Not Castiel's. Wrong rhythm. Wrong weight.

"Lilith." Sebastian's voice. Smooth. Concerned. Performative. "You need to pull yourself together."

I didn't turn around. Couldn't.

"This is embarrassing," he continued, moving closer. "If you can't handle being in the same room as me and Emilia, how do you expect to complete your task? The Prince will think you're unstable."

I pressed harder against the scar. My vision was still tunneling.

"I gave you a purpose," Sebastian said quietly. "Don't waste it by falling apart at a formal event. Control yourself."

The courtyard door opened.

I felt Castiel before I saw him. The temperature dropped. The air went still.

Sebastian turned. "Your Highness. I apologize for the disruption. Lilith is—"

"Leave." Castiel's voice was flat. Final.

Sebastian blinked. "I was just—"

"Leave my territory."

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. I looked up through blurred vision. Castiel stood in the doorway, utterly motionless. His expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes made my breath catch.

Sebastian's jaw tightened. "With respect, Your Highness, she's a transfer from my former pack. I'm simply—"

"She's under Silverfang protection now." Castiel stepped into the courtyard. "Which means she's under my protection. And you're standing too close."

Sebastian's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "She's just an Omega playing dress-up, Your Highness. Nothing to concern a Prince."

The air pressure changed.

I felt it before I understood it. A crushing wave of dominance that made my knees buckle even though I was already sitting. Ancient. Absolute. The kind of power that didn't ask for submission—it demanded it on a cellular level.

Castiel's aura.

Sebastian's wolf reacted before his mind could catch up. His knees bent. His head dropped. A low whine escaped his throat—involuntary, humiliating. He caught himself halfway to the ground, fighting his own instincts, but the damage was done.

His wolf had submitted to a superior authority.

Castiel didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stood there radiating power until Sebastian straightened with visible effort, his face pale.

"Leave," Castiel repeated. "Now."

Sebastian left.

The aura withdrew. I sucked in air like I'd been drowning.

Castiel crossed the courtyard in three strides. He knelt in front of me—the same position he'd taken during my last panic attack. But this time he didn't wait. He lifted me from the bench, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back.

I should have protested. Should have said I could walk. But I couldn't make my mouth form words.

He carried me through a side entrance I'd never noticed, down a corridor I'd never walked. Dorian appeared from somewhere, his expression carefully blank.

"She's under my personal protection," Castiel said without stopping. "Effective immediately. Make the announcement."

Dorian nodded once. "Yes, Your Highness."

We climbed stairs. Turned down another hallway. Castiel shouldered open a door and carried me into a room that was clearly his—dark wood furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows, the scent of cedar and night air.

He set me down on a leather couch. Stepped back. Put three feet of space between us.

"Breathe," he said.

I tried. My lungs cooperated better this time.

He watched me for a long moment. Then he turned and poured water from a pitcher on the side table. Brought it to me. Waited while I drank.

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

I set the glass down with shaking hands. "Panic attack."

"I know what it was." His voice was patient. Controlled. "I'm asking what triggered it."

I couldn't tell him. Couldn't explain that Sebastian's presence made the rejection mark burn, that Emilia's smile felt like a knife, that I'd been sent here to destroy him and instead I was falling apart in his private quarters.

"I'm fine," I whispered.

His jaw tightened. "You reached through a bond that doesn't exist yet. You flooded my mind with your terror in the middle of a conversation with the Northridge Alpha. You are not fine."

My head snapped up. "What?"

"The mind-link." He held my gaze. "You initiated it. Without a completed bond. Without a mark. That shouldn't be possible."

I pressed my fingers against the cold scar on my neck. Said nothing.

Castiel studied me for a long moment. Then he moved to the door. "You'll stay here tonight. In the guest room. Dorian will bring your things."

"Your Highness, I can't—"

"You can. You will." He paused in the doorway. "Sebastian Meyer is no longer welcome in Silverfang territory. If he returns, I'll consider it an act of aggression."

He left before I could respond.

I sat alone in the Lycan Prince's private quarters, trembling, and tried to understand what had just happened.

The mind-link. The aura. The way Castiel had carried me like I weighed nothing and mattered everything.

I closed my eyes and felt the suppressant tincture burning in my veins, fighting to keep my real scent buried.

It was getting harder.