Seraphina POV

My knuckles turned white as I gripped the doorknob, my eye still pressed to the peephole. The Lycan from the alley stood under the flickering neon light of the motel walkway. His massive frame seemed to swallow the narrow space, his scent of ancient leather and heavy ozone seeping through the cracks of the flimsy door.

I backed away, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I looked around the tiny, mold-infested room for a weapon, my eyes landing on a rusted floor lamp.

"Seraphina," his voice bled through the thin wood. It wasn't an Alpha's Command, but a low, rumbling baritone that vibrated in my chest. "I know you're in there. I'm not here to hurt you."

I held my breath, my fingers wrapping around the cold metal pole of the lamp.

"I was wrong," he continued, the words sounding foreign on his tongue, as if he wasn't used to saying them. "The Rogue scent on you... my instincts blinded me to the truth of what happened in that alley. I apologize."

A Lycan? Apologizing to a wolfless Omega?

"My grandmother," his voice tightened, losing a fraction of its iron control. "She's refusing to eat. The Pack Healers can do nothing. Her mind is slipping, and she is convinced that you are Agnes. If she doesn't see you, she won't survive the night."

I hesitated. The memory of the frail old woman sobbing in the alley flashed in my mind. Slowly, I approached the door, leaving the chain lock engaged, and cracked it open just an inch.

His piercing blue eyes immediately locked onto mine. Up close, the sheer power radiating from him was suffocating.

"What do you want from me?" I whispered, my voice trembling.

"Let me in," he said softly. "Please."

Against my better judgment, I slid the chain free. He stepped into the cramped room, making the ceiling seem entirely too low. I immediately retreated to the far corner, putting the squeaky mattress between us.

"She thinks you're her daughter," he said, his gaze sweeping over my bruised, exhausted form. "Agnes died twenty years ago. But my grandmother's grief has fractured her reality. I need you to come live with me for one month. Pretend to be Agnes. Comfort her until she stabilizes."

I stared at him, disbelief momentarily overriding my fear. "You want me to play dress-up for a dying woman?"

"In exchange," he took a slow step forward, "I will offer you absolute protection. Kael Blackwood's blacklist won't mean a damn thing. You will be untouchable."

Anger, hot and sudden, flared in my chest. "I just escaped a Pack that used me and threw me away like garbage. I am not your mother, and I don't even know you! I won't be another family's pawn."

"I'm not asking you to be a pawn," he countered, his jaw clenching. The icy wall of his Lycan composure cracked, revealing a raw, bleeding desperation underneath. "She raised me when my mother died. She is the only family I have left. I cannot lose her."

The raw agony in his eyes struck a chord deep within my shattered soul. I knew that pain. I had lost my mother, and just days ago, I had lost my unborn pup. I knew what it was like to watch the only light in your world extinguish.

I looked at this terrifying, powerful creature, and for a fleeting second, I didn't see a monster. I saw a grieving grandson.

"One month," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Relief washed over his harsh features.

"But I have a condition," I added, lifting my chin. "When the month is over, you use your resources to give me a completely new identity. A new name, new papers. I want to disappear where the Blackwoods can never find me."

He didn't hesitate. "Done."

He closed the distance between us, stopping just short of invading my personal space, and extended a large, calloused hand.

"Declan Kane," he said, his voice a solemn vow.

I reached out, my small hand disappearing into his. The moment our skin touched, a strange, electric warmth shot up my arm, but it was entirely eclipsed by the ringing in my ears.

*Kane.*

My breath hitched, my eyes widening in absolute horror as the name echoed in my mind. In the werewolf world, there were Alphas, there were Alpha Kings, and then there was the Kane bloodline. They were ancient, unfathomably wealthy, and possessed a ruthless Lycan power that bowed to no one.

I hadn't just made a deal with a powerful stranger. I had just sold a month of my life to a King.

Kael POV

The amber liquid burned down my throat, but it did absolutely nothing to numb the agonizing void in my chest.

The Alpha’s Den was suffocatingly thick with the smell of expensive cigars and heavy testosterone, yet I felt entirely hollow. Tearing the mate-bond had been like ripping out my own ribs with my bare hands. Every breath I took without Seraphina in our territory felt like inhaling shattered glass.

"To finally being rid of that wolfless parasite," Caleb, one of my highest-ranking Warriors, slurred, raising his glass.

I froze, the crystal tumbler halfway to my lips.

"Good riddance," Caleb continued, emboldened by the liquor. "A Rogue's whore. That's all she ever was. Her filthy bloodline tainted this Pack the moment she stepped foot—"

*Rip his throat out!* Fenrir, my inner wolf, roared so violently against my skull that my vision flashed red. My hand tightened around my glass. The crystal groaned, spiderweb cracks forming under my grip.

"Watch your damn mouth, Caleb," Garrick, my Beta, snapped. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble.

"Why?" Caleb scoffed. "She betrayed our Alpha. She proved she belongs in the dirt with the rest of the Rogues."

I didn't say a word. I couldn't. If I opened my mouth, Fenrir would take over and slaughter him. Instead, I downed the rest of my whiskey, the glass splintering slightly against my teeth, and reached for the bottle again.

Garrick’s hand clamped over my wrist, snatching the bottle away. "That's enough, Kael."

"Give it back," I growled, letting a fraction of my Alpha’s Command bleed into the air.

Caleb snickered. "Let the Alpha do what he wants, Garrick."

Garrick ignored him, his eyes locked onto mine, completely unfazed by my aura. He was my best friend, the only one who dared to defy me when I was spiraling. "You're done for the night. I'm taking you home."

He hauled me to my feet. The room spun, the heavy intoxication finally hitting my system. As Garrick threw my arm over his shoulder, a pathetic, broken whisper escaped my lips.

"Her scent... it's gone." I squeezed my eyes shut, the silence in my mind deafening. "The bond... it's so quiet, Garrick."

Deep down, buried beneath the betrayal and the rage, a pathetic truth festered: if she had just stayed in that hotel room, if she had just fallen to her knees and begged for my forgiveness... Fenrir would have forced me to give it to her.

The drive back to the Pack House was a blur. When Garrick and Caleb finally dragged me through the grand double doors of the foyer, Isabelle was already waiting at the bottom of the staircase.

"Goddess, how could you let your Alpha get into this state?" Isabelle scolded, her voice dripping with exaggerated concern as she rushed forward to touch my chest.

Garrick stiffened. *She's a damn vulture, Kael,* his voice echoed in my mind through our Mind-Link, laced with pure disgust.

I was too exhausted to reply.

"That's enough, Isabelle," my mother, Genevieve, said smoothly, stepping out from the parlor. "Garrick, Caleb, take him up to his suite. He needs rest."

As they dragged me up the stairs, my heightened hearing caught the faint, chilling whisper my mother directed at Isabelle: "You know what to do."

Isabelle’s heartbeat spiked with anticipation.

Minutes later, I was alone in my suite. The silence of the massive room was a physical weight. I stumbled toward the corner bar, my hands shaking as I blindly reached for a decanter.

The bedroom door clicked shut.

"Get out," I muttered, not turning around.

"You shouldn't be alone tonight, Kael," Isabelle whispered, her footsteps soft against the hardwood.

She stepped into my personal space. The cloying, artificial sweetness of her floral perfume assaulted my senses, a sickening contrast to the rain and cedar scent I was desperately craving.

"I said leave," I warned, my voice a dangerous, guttural rasp.

"Let me help you forget her," she murmured.

I turned around just as the sound of a zipper echoed in the quiet room. The silk of her dress pooled at her feet, leaving her standing before me in nothing but sheer lace.

In my mind, Fenrir didn't purr with desire. He lunged against the bars of my subconscious, his fangs bared, his roar shaking my very soul.

*Not her! Not our Mate! Filth!*