The pack was alive with motion.
From the moment the sun crested the treeline, the entire territory buzzed with activity. Wolves moving with purpose, voices calling instructions, the scent of fresh wood, food, and anticipation heavy in the air. Every member had been assigned a task. Warriors reinforced patrol routes. Omegas prepared long banquet tables in the central clearing. Healers checked supplies, knowing crowds always brought accidents, excitement, and emotions that ran too high.
The Alpha King was coming.
And with his arrival came spectacle.
Whispers traveled faster than the wind itself. Some said he was young for his title, others claimed his power rivaled legends. But the rumor that truly ignited the pack—the one that made hearts race and hopeful glances linger—was that the Alpha King was searching for his mate. A welcome celebration had been declared, not just a formal reception, but a full gathering where every eligible wolf would be present. Music, food, dancing. A night meant to impress a king… and perhaps fate itself.
Excitement pulsed through the pack like electricity, but Diana felt none of it. She moved quietly along the outer training grounds, far from the decorated clearing, her focus entirely elsewhere. Small laughter echoed around her—high-pitched, unguarded, innocent. A group of pups chased one another through the grass, tumbling and shifting clumsily, their joy unburdened by politics, titles, or bloodshed.
Diana knelt beside them, adjusting a scraped knee with careful hands, her movements gentle despite the power coiled beneath her skin.
“Slow down,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady. “You can’t outrun the wind if you don’t watch where you’re stepping.”
The pups giggled, nodding solemnly as if she had imparted ancient wisdom, before racing off once more.
This—this was where she chose to be.
Not among the whispered fantasies of mates and kings, not under lanterns and banners meant to dazzle. She stayed with the smallest, the most vulnerable. With those who reminded her of what had been lost… and what was still worth protecting.
It had been only a few months since her parents were murdered by rogues. The pack had mourned. Ceremonies were held. Words were spoken. Promises were made. And then life, as it always did, moved on.
Some wondered why Diana stayed. Why hadn’t she left for another pack, or gone rogue herself, seeking distance from memories that clawed at her chest every night?
Others whispered that the pack itself was cursed, that tragedy followed her steps.
They didn’t understand.
Diana stayed because she knew the truth didn’t add up. Her parents were loyal to the bone. Her father was a warrior who had served this pack since before she was born. Her mother serves in the pack kitchen. The following orders were in their blood. When the Luna’s command rang through the territory that night—to retreat to the bunker—they would have obeyed without hesitation. They trusted their leaders. They trusted the system. They trusted the pack with their lives.
With or without a rogue attack, they would have gone. And yet… they never made it.
That knowledge burned in her like a slow, relentless fire.
Someone had failed them.
Someone had lied.
And Diana would not leave until she knew exactly who.
She rose to her feet, eyes sweeping the territory with quiet intensity. The pack looked peaceful on the surface, wrapped in celebration and expectation, but beneath it all, something felt wrong. Threads didn’t align. Stories changed depending on who told them. Gaps remained where truth should have lived.
Artemis stirred within her. Her wolf’s presence was a low growl beneath Diana’s skin, controlled but lethal.
'We will uncover it,' Artemis promised, her voice cold and sharp as steel. 'Every secret. Every betrayal.'
Diana’s jaw tightened.
'And when we do,' she whispered back, more vow than threat.
Artemis’ answer was merciless.'They will learn what happens to those who betray us.'
The wind carried the distant sound of laughter from the clearing, the pack celebrating a king’s arrival, dreaming of destiny and mates.
Diana turned away from it all, eyes dark with purpose.
Let them prepare their banners and songs.
She was preparing for something far more final.
——
“Looking for my mate?”
Talon’s voice was low, edged with disbelief as he turned sharply toward his beta. His deep blue eyes narrowed, “Really, Enzo? That is the reason you provided?”
Enzo didn’t flinch. He had learned long ago that Talon’s temper burned hottest when he is silent. Instead, the beta folded his arms across his chest, posture calm, almost infuriatingly so.
“Talon,” Enzo said evenly, “this is the fourth pack we’ve visited. Fourth. And you’re still acting surprised by the story I tell their Alphas.” He tilted his head slightly. “What would you rather I say? That you’re traveling pack to pack to inspect their defenses because rogue attacks are increasing? That you’re quietly assessing who might be weak… or worse, compromised?”
Talon’s jaw clenched.
“That would be better,” he snapped, looking at the car window. His body is screaming for him to stand and move to lessen the stress it’s feeling. If he could just snap the neck of his beta. “Better than parading me as some lovesick Alpha King hunting for a mate I never asked for.”
“I am not ready for a Luna,” Talon continued, voice dropping, deadly serious now. “Not when my enemies are still hiding behind smiles and titles. Not when traitors wear familiar scents.” His gaze darkened. “I will not bind my soul to someone just to put a target on her back.”
“And that,” Enzo sighed, running a hand through his hair, “is exactly why I cannot tell pack leaders the truth.”
Talon turned, eyes flicking back to him. “You said it yourself, your enemies are hiding behind their masks. We don’t know who’s allied with them. If even a whisper reaches the wrong ears that you’re investigating rogue attacks or searching for internal betrayal, they’ll vanish. Go quiet. Dig deeper underground where we’ll never find them.”
Enzo moved closer, lowering his voice. “This story—this ridiculous, inconvenient rumor about you looking for a mate, it keeps everyone relaxed. Curious. Distracted.” A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “And distracted enemies make mistakes.”
Talon exhaled sharply through his nose, turning away again.
“So what?” he muttered. “I grin, endure hopeful stares, endure offers of daughters and cousins and perfectly groomed wolves… and pray I don’t find my mate?”
“Pretty much.” Enzo shrugged, then with a glance sharp enough to sting, he added, “Unless you want to explain to the Goddess herself why you rejected destiny.”
A low, amused growl rolled through Talon’s mind.
'I want a mate.' Fenrir’s voice was deep, confident, filled with hunger and certainty. 'I want her now.'
Talon stiffened.
'My mate will be strong,' Fenrir continued insistently. 'Strong like us. We can protect her. We don’t need to wait. No enemy will touch what belongs to us.'
Talon closed his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose as if that might silence the wolf.
'This again,' he muttered aloud.
Fenrir pushed closer, his presence heavy and dominant. 'You fear what hasn’t happened. I say fate chose wisely. Let me find her.'
'No,' Talon replied firmly, opening his eyes. 'You think with instinct. I think with consequence.'
'You think too much,' Fenrir shot back.
Talon gave a short, humorless huff and shook his head. Arguing with his wolf was pointless. Fenrir didn’t understand politics, or traitors hiding behind loyalty oaths, or the cost of loving someone in a world sharpened by war. Fenrir only understood bond, strength, and the pull of destiny.
Talon understood risk.
Let them believe the lie.
He would bear it.
Until the day every enemy was unmasked… and only then would he allow destiny to claim what was his.
However, Fenrir's calm did not last long.
'What is wrong with you?' Talon growled under his breath, pressing his palm flat against his chest as another sharp wave rippled through him.
Fenrir snarled in response—violent, restless, pacing like a caged beast.
The entire ride had been unbearable.
At first, Talon had brushed it off as impatience. Fenrir had never enjoyed traveling far from their own territory, especially not with unfinished business left behind. But mile after mile, the unease had only worsened. It crawled beneath Talon’s skin, coiling tighter the closer they drew to their destination.
Now, with the dense treeline marking the border of Crimson Fang territory looming ahead, Fenrir was no longer just restless. He was frantic. He clawed at Talon’s insides, scraping against his ribs, demanding release. Heat flooded Talon’s veins, his heartbeat thundering so hard it rattled his bones. He shifted in his seat, jaw clenched, forcing himself to breathe through it.
'Stand down,' Talon ordered inwardly.
Fenrir ignored him.
From the front seat, the driver—one of their trusted warriors cast a quick glance at the rearview mirror, clearly sensing the spike in Talon’s aura but wisely saying nothing.
Enzo, seated beside Talon in the back, turned toward him, his sharp eyes taking in every tense line of his posture.
“What’s wrong, Talon?” he asked, voice casual but alert. “You’ve been wound tight since we crossed the river.”
“It’s Fenrir,” Talon exhaled slowly, fingers curling into fists on his thighs. “He hasn’t stopped pacing since we left. But now…” He paused as another surge rolled through him, his teeth grinding together. “Now it feels like he’s tearing at my insides. Like he wants out. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
Enzo’s eyes widened—just for a heartbeat. Then a slow, teasing smile curved his lips. Talon caught it immediately.
“What?” he snapped. “What’s that look for?”
“Nothing,” Enzo replied easily, leaning back against the seat, arms folding behind his head. “Just thinking maybe Fenrir can sense something you haven’t yet.”
Talon narrowed his eyes. “Sense what?”
Enzo shrugged, infuriatingly calm. “If I told you, it would ruin the moment.”
“Don’t start,” Talon muttered. But he knew Enzo too well to miss it.
Enzo wasn’t just his beta. He was his best friend—the one who had stood beside him since they were barely old enough to shift, the one who could read Fenrir’s moods almost as easily as Talon could. Along with his Gamma, Galvin, they had grown up together, trained together, bled together. If Enzo was holding something back, it wasn’t a coincidence.
It was an intention.
Before Talon could push further, the air shifted. It was subtle but unmistakable. The land itself seemed to inhale as they crossed fully into Crimson Fang territory. Power hummed beneath the ground, ancient and heavy, and Fenrir surged violently in response.
Talon’s breath hitched.
'Now,' Fenrir snarled. 'Let me out.'
Talon pressed his forearm against his thigh, grounding himself as the pack house came into view ahead—massive, commanding, lights glowing warmly against the darkening sky.
“In a few minutes,” the driver said quietly, breaking the silence. “We’ll be at the pack house.”
Talon straightened slowly, forcing his shoulders back, locking his expression into calm control. Alpha composure slid into place like armor.
Whatever Fenrir was sensing. Whatever awaited him here would have to wait.
But Fenrir didn’t settle. He prowled, eager and feral, as if something in Crimson Fang was already calling his name.
And for the first time since leaving home, Talon wondered if this visit was never meant to be simple at all.
The moment Talon opened the car door and stepped onto Crimson Fang soil, the world shifted.
The air hit him first. It wasn’t just scent—it was presence. Thick, intoxicating, threaded with something that made his chest tighten and his pulse stutter. His wolf surged so violently that Talon staggered half a step before catching himself, fingers curling into the doorframe as Fenrir roared to life inside him.
'MATE!'
Fenrir’s howl exploded through Talon’s mind, wild and unrestrained, echoing like thunder in his skull.
Aksara