The First Warrior Wolf

_Alex POV_ Malva pudding and butterscotch. The scent hit me a full hour into Misty Moon territory, carried on the cold dawn wind through the pines, and my wolf Alaric went feral in my head. _‘MATE! MATE! IT’S OUR MATE!!’_ I pressed my forearm against my mouth to stifle the growl. Seven years of training, seven years of discipline, and one breath of her and I was a snarling pup again. I’d been on foot for a week, moving in stealth toward Misty Moon. No marked trails. No calls to the borders. Boots silent on frozen earth, cloak pulled low, scent-masking cream caked under my collar. The King granted me leave after my last mission as his spy — I’d uncovered a hidden cell in the far southeast planning to overthrow him. An attack was coming. And my pack sat right on the middle southeast border. We’d be the first line of defence. The first to bleed. That’s why he sent me home. _Fix the pack. Secure the border. Find the traitor._ That was the plan. That was _supposed_ to be the plan. But none of that mattered now. Because I hadn’t passed a single border patrol in thirty minutes. Not one. The silence was wrong. Unnatural. The village ahead looked closed up. Shutters drawn. No smoke from chimneys. No children’s laughter. Just wind through bare branches and the crunch of frost under my boots. _Something is wrong,_ I told Alaric. We were on high alert now, every muscle coiled, every sense stretched thin. I crouched low behind the stone wall at the edge of the square. Closing my eyes, I pressed my palm to the frozen ground and let Alaric push forward. His senses flooded me, sharper than mine. Heartbeats. Dozens of them. All in one place.. Not a raid. Not a slaughter. Something else. I moved through the quiet streets on silent feet, trying to soak up the feeling of home. The stone walls. The old pine trees my mother planted. The gate with the carved wolf my father and I fixed together when I was fifteen. That’s when the scent got stronger — malva pudding and butterscotch, so intoxicating it nearly took my knees out. Sweet. Warm. Home. _‘I know that scent but I don’t remember from where,’_ I told Alaric. He didn’t care. He was screaming _MATE_ so loud I could barely think straight. I followed it on instinct, through the main gates, down the empty passage, my boots muffled on the stone. I paused before the main double doors to the great pack hall. Iron. Cold under my palm. Carved with wolves chasing the moon. I heard it then. Music. Low. A single violin. Hesitant. And voices. Murmured. Tense. I shoved the doors open. Light spilled out in a warm flood. White flowers. White candles. Rows of wolves in their finest clothes, all standing, all facing the altar at the far end. And there he was. My brother. Lysander. Tall. Broad. Standing straight in a black tux, jaw set like stone. His hand was in hers. Hers. The woman the scent was pouring off of. She stood there in white lace, veil hiding her face, bouquet trembling in her hands. But I didn’t need to see her face. I _knew_. Without thinking, I growled the word that shattered the silence. _“MATE!!”_ The whole hall went silent. A hundred pairs of eyes snapped to me. The violinist’s bow slipped. The candles flickered. Lysander stepped slightly in front of her, shielding her from me with his body. Protective. Alpha. Possessive. Then it hit me — nobody knew who I was. Hood pulled low. Scent-masking cream masking my wolf. I looked like an intruder. A threat. I threw back my hood. Let my face come into the light. “Surprise!” The word came out rough, almost a laugh, but my eyes never left my mate. “Mom, Dad, I’m home.” My mother was the first to move. She broke through the crowd and ran up the aisle, arms open, tears already in her eyes. I caught her and held her tight, breathing in her scent of pine and tea. Seven years. Seven years since I’d felt this. My father met me at the end of the aisle. Firm hug. Hand on my shoulder. “Welcome home, son.” His voice was steady, but his eyes were wet. I looked at my brother. He hadn’t moved. Still standing between me and _her_. Chest out. Arm draped possessively over my mate’s shoulders. And she… she kept her eyes downcast. Shoulders trembling. Pathetic. That was the word that came to mind. Just like high school. The quiet girl who followed me around and never spoke. The omega everyone picked on. The one I never noticed. And yet _Alaric_ was losing his mind over her. I glanced around the beautifully decorated hall. The white roses. The silk ribbons. The pastor standing at the altar with his book open. A sense of dread hit me like ice water down my spine. “Whose wedding did I just crash?” I asked. I already knew the answer. My voice was too calm. Too dangerous. “Mine,” Lysander said. Chest out. Protective arm tightening around her shoulders. “Mine.” She didn’t look up. Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe. The air in the room turned sharp. My jaw clenched until it ached. _My_ mate. Standing at _his_ altar. “Actually, that is not true!” The voice cut through the tension like a blade. All heads turned to the front row on the left. Culim. Pack lawyer. Allison’s stepfather. Tall. Thin. Puffed up like he’d just won a war. He stepped forward and bowed his head low to my father before he spoke, voice smooth as oil. “If you remember correctly, Alpha, since Allison is my only child and I am her guardian, I took special care to ensure she gets treated with respect.” His eyes flicked to me, assessing, then back to Dad. “I set up her marriage contract which states that she is marrying the _next Alpha_ of the Misty Moon Pack.” He let that hang in the air, letting the whispers start. “This means that because Alex has returned — right on time, might I add — Alpha Lysander stood as a placeholder. My daughter Allison is not married to Alpha Lysander.” He paused, letting the silence stretch. “She is indeed married to Alpha Alex. And seeing that he has just called her his mate…” Culim smiled, all teeth. “This is perfect.” By the time he ended his little speech everyone was whispering. The hall buzzed like a kicked hive. My mate had not only paled, she was shaking. Not the quiet tremble of an omega. The tremble of someone who wanted to run but had nowhere to go. “This is insane!” Lysander snapped, pulling Allison back another step, hiding her completely behind his broad frame, making me growl unconsciously. “Why is this so hard to understand?” Culim asked, shoving the rolled parchment contract in Lysander’s direction. The seal was broken. The ink was fresh. “It’s all here. Signed. Witnessed. Legally binding.” Before Lysander could rip the paper in half, my father raised his hand. The entire room went silent. “We will discuss this matter in my office,” Alpha Manuel said, voice calm but absolute, carrying through the hall without effort. “Till we return, everyone please eat and enjoy the snacks that have been put out for you.” He turned and walked down the aisle toward the side corridor that led to his office. My mother wrapped her arm around mine and pulled me to follow. Her fingers trembled against my sleeve. She was scared for me. For all of us. Culim followed behind us. He’d managed to wrench my mate from my brother’s side, and now she walked quietly at his side, eyes cast down and a blank expression on her face. Like a mask. My brother brought up the rear with the pack Beta James at his shoulder, jaw locked so tight I could see the muscle ticking. Inside, I could feel Alaric pacing. Restless. Anxious. _‘We must have our mate, no matter what. She must be ours. Now. Before someone else touches what is ours.’_ And for the first time in seven years, I didn’t argue with him. Because looking at her — even with her head down, even with fear rolling off her in waves, even with the way she flinched when Culim’s grip tightened — I knew he was right. She was mine. And I’d spent seven years away from her. That ends now.