Chapter 6
The Alpha’s command cannot be defied.
Weston stood below, his eyes nervously fixed on me.
Oddly, I wasn’t as anxious as I expected to be. Instead, I felt a strange detachment, as if I were walking into a scene I didn’t belong to.
I’d walked toward Archer Medina countless times before—from the southern territories to the northern borders, from the mark ceremony to the marking night.
I’d also walked away from him—from the northern borders back to the heart of the Red Fang Pack territory, from the packhouse to the Alpha’s private chambers.
But never like this. A few steps up the marble staircase, two strangers who had once been so close, now separated by betrayal and fate.
It was a pack gathering, so Archer wasn’t dressed in his full Alpha regalia. Instead, he wore a simple black suit, the silver cufflinks glinting faintly under the chandelier light. His presence, though understated, was as commanding as ever.
I kept my gaze lowered, my hands clasped in front of me, letting him assess me as he pleased.
His eyes swept over me briefly, like he was evaluating a stray dog, before he tossed a silver necklace at me.
“A gift,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
I accepted it with both hands, slipping it into my pocket without a second glance. It stayed there until the gathering ended, untouched and forgotten.
The night deepened, and the festivities wound down. Luciana, the former Luna, insisted I stay in the packhouse for the night, and Weston volunteered to escort me.
The halls were long and dimly lit, the moonlight streaming through the windows, casting a pale glow on Weston’s face. He looked... happy.
“Adele,” he said, his voice soft but brimming with excitement, “you’re my good luck charm. The Alpha has never shown me this much favor before. He personally approved our mate bond, and even Luciana seems to like you.”
He only called Archer “Alpha” in public. Without blood ties and lacking the prowess of the other pack members, Weston often found himself on the outskirts of Archer’s inner circle.
When we reached the guest room, Weston’s cheeks were still flushed from the wine and the thrill of the evening. His eyes, bright and earnest, held no trace of deceit.
“You mentioned you had a brother who disappeared in the south. When we get there, I’ll help you find him. I’ll treat you so well, Adele. I’ll make sure he knows you’re in good hands.”
He said that would make him feel like he finally had a family.
I thought of Paul Shaw, my brother, who had abandoned his position in the Blue Moon Pack and turned rogue, fighting against the very system that had betrayed us. He’d once risked everything to save me, dragging my “lifeless” body back to safety.
I awkwardly rubbed the back of my neck, unsure how to respond.
Fortunately, Weston was too drunk to press me for promises. He waved his hand dismissively and turned to leave.
He stumbled slightly, bumping into a low-hanging branch of the wisteria that framed the courtyard. I blinked in surprise as he turned back to me, grinning sheepishly, a faint red mark on his cheek.
He walked backward, his gaze fixed on me, still smiling.
“It’s... it’s fine. Doesn’t hurt. Get some rest, Adele. Tomorrow, I’ll go to the tailor and pick out the perfect dress for our ceremony. You love flowers, right? I’ll have them embroider every kind of bloom onto it!”
Pack ceremonies had their own strict traditions, and there was no room for extravagant designs.
I smiled softly, watching him leave with his light, almost giddy steps. I didn’t bother correcting him.
After all, this was all just a fleeting dream. Why ruin his temporary joy?
I turned away, dismissing the pack members who lingered nearby, and pushed open the door to the guest room. Exhaustion weighed on me as I pulled off my heels, tossed the silver necklace onto the dresser, and shrugged out of my jacket. Everything about the opulence of the packhouse felt suffocating.
I reached for the zipper of my dress, heading toward the bathroom, when I froze.
My eyes flicked to the wall, where the flickering candlelight cast two shadows—one slender, one broader—both motionless, as if they’d been standing there for some time.
I spun around.
A man leaned casually against the window frame, the moonlight illuminating half his face, making his expression unreadable. His voice, rough and laced with malice, was one I’d once feared but now found oddly calm, like the slow, deliberate hiss of a snake emerging from the shadows.
“Adele,” he said, his tone mocking, “how do you like the face I gave you? Does it suit you well?”
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