Chapter 3
The pack hunters look at me like I've lost my mind.
"You want the disposal pile?" Marcus, the head hunter, wipes blood from his hands onto his jeans. Behind him, the day's kill hangs from hooks—fresh venison, rabbit, wild boar. Good meat. Meat I can't afford with Justin's insulting budget.
"The Alpha wants me to honor traditional wolf ways," I say, my voice steady despite the exhaustion pulling at my bones. "What's more traditional than using every part of the hunt? No waste."
His eyes narrow, but he jerks his chin toward the back corner where they keep the roadkill and old game—the stuff destined for the compost heap. Deer struck by cars. Rabbits too long in storage. A wild turkey that's seen better days.
Perfect.
I spend six hours in the pack house kitchen, alone except for the Omega staff who give me a wide berth. The meat is... questionable. But with enough garlic, rosemary, and heavy spices, anything can smell appetizing. I roast it low and slow, letting the herbs mask the slightly off scent. By the time I'm done, the kitchen smells like a feast.
It looks like one too.
The visiting Alpha from Mountain Ridge Pack arrives with his Luna and three high-ranking wolves. Justin greets them in the formal dining room, all false smiles and political posturing. I serve the platters myself, my hands steady, my expression blank.
"This smells incredible," the visiting Luna says, cutting into the venison. "So rustic. So... authentic."
"Our Luna insisted on traditional preparation," Summer purrs from her seat at Justin's right—my seat. She's wearing another one of my dresses. "She's very dedicated to the old ways."
I stand in the corner, hands folded, and watch them eat. The visiting Alpha makes appreciative noises. His Beta asks for seconds. Justin's smile is smug, like he's somehow responsible for this success.
They're halfway through the meal when the visiting Alpha pauses, his fork suspended. "This flavor is quite... unique. What cut is this?"
"Oh, Alpha Justin gave me a very specific budget," I say, my voice soft and respectful. "Twenty silver coins. So I had to be creative." I gesture to the platters. "I used scavenged meat from the disposal pile. Roadkill, mostly. Some older game the hunters were going to compost. Very traditional. Very economical. No waste, as the Moon Goddess intended."
The silence is beautiful.
The visiting Luna's face goes green. Her mate drops his fork with a clatter. One of the delegation wolves lurches from his chair and vomits into the decorative fern.
"You fed us GARBAGE?" The visiting Alpha's roar shakes the chandelier.
Justin's face drains of color. "I—she—this wasn't—"
"We came here in GOOD FAITH," the Alpha snarls, his aura flaring hot and furious. "And you serve us ROTTING MEAT?"
"The budget was very limited," I murmur. "I did my best with what I was given."
The delegation storms out, the Luna still retching, their warriors bristling with insult. The sound of their vehicles peeling away from the pack house echoes through the suddenly silent dining room.
Justin turns to me, his eyes murderous, but before he can speak, Marcus bursts through the doors.
"Alpha. The Lycan King is at our borders."
---
I'm not allowed to greet him. Justin makes that very clear. I'm to stay in the kitchen, out of sight, while he handles the diplomatic nightmare I've created. Fine. I'm too tired to care, the morning's pill turning my limbs to lead.
But even from the kitchen, I feel it when the King arrives.
The air itself changes. Pressure builds in my chest, heavy and electric, like the moment before lightning strikes. My wolf—my silent, suppressed wolf—suddenly lifts her head for the first time in weeks.
Mate.
The word whispers through my consciousness, so faint I almost miss it.
No. That's impossible. Justin is my mate. My chosen mate. The one who wrote me those beautiful letters years ago, the ones that made me believe in love.
Except... when was the last time I actually smelled his scent and felt anything but revulsion?
I press my palm against the kitchen door, my heart hammering. Through the crack, I can see the formal dining room where they've assembled for the King's welcome dinner. Justin at the head of the table, Summer beside him, the pack's high-ranking wolves arranged in order of importance.
And at the center, radiating power that makes every wolf in the room lower their eyes: the Lycan King.
He's massive, even in human form. Dark hair, golden eyes that seem to see through walls. His aura is suffocating, ancient, absolute. This is what a true Alpha looks like. What a real leader feels like.
Justin looks like a child playing dress-up beside him.
"Luna Lila will not be joining us?" The King's voice is deep, controlled, but something in it makes my wolf whine.
"The Luna is... indisposed," Justin says smoothly. "She's been unwell."
Liar.
The King's eyes narrow slightly, but he says nothing. The dinner begins. I'm given a plate of scraps—the burnt edges of bread, the fatty cuts of meat—and told to eat in the kitchen. On the floor. Like an Omega. Like nothing.
I sink down onto the cold tile, my back against the wall, and force myself to chew the dry bread. This is my life now. This is what I've become.
Then I smell it.
Pine and winter rain. Crisp and clean and so powerful it cuts through the drug-induced fog like a blade. My wolf surges forward, stronger than she's been in months, and I know—I know—before I even look up.
The kitchen door slams open.
The Lycan King stands in the doorway, his golden eyes locked on me, and the world stops spinning.
"Mate," he breathes, and everything I thought I knew shatters like glass.
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