Chapter 8
1578 Words
Prince Cain
The Middle Moon Pack smelled like frost and tension.
Even cloaked in snow and evergreen, I could scent the rot beneath the surface — barely contained aggression, the unnatural hush of Omegas, and the overbearing dominance layered over every interaction. Alpha Karl ran this territory like a war camp, not a home.
Perfect cover for what we suspected.
I stepped down from the black SUV, boots crunching against gravel, and scanned the clearing. The packhouse loomed ahead, all sharp angles and towering walls, a fortress more than a residence. A pair of warriors stood stiffly by the steps, posture screaming suspicion despite the forced smiles.
I tugged my charcoal coat tighter against the wind and offered a nod. “Alpha Cain of Emerald Crest,” I said smoothly. “Here for the Winter Ball.”
They exchanged glances. One of them — older, graying at the temples — stepped forward.
“We weren’t expecting another noble this early.”
I smiled. Easy. Disarming. “I like to arrive before the wine gets stale.”
That earned a chuckle. Doors opened. I stepped inside.
The bracelet around my wrist thrummed with quiet magic.
The witch who forged it had warned me: it wouldn’t just dull my royal scent — it would veil my Alpha energy just enough to pass as minor nobility. Still dominant. Still dangerous. But not royal.
Just how I needed to appear.
“Alpha Cain of the Emerald Crest Pack,” I introduced myself again, this time to the Beta who intercepted me in the corridor leading to the central wing of the packhouse.
"Beta Terrance," the man said with no emotion. Sharp eyes. Stiff jaw. Old soldier energy. He scanned me with the kind of scrutiny that told me he didn’t believe in coincidence.
“Pacific Northwest?” he asked.
I nodded. “Near the coast. We keep to ourselves.”
He didn’t press. Smart man. Too smart to insult a visiting Alpha. Instead, he surprised me.
“My Alpha likes to welcome distinguished guests personally. There’s a private dinner this evening. You’ll attend.”
It wasn’t a question. And I knew better than to decline.
“Of course,” I said smoothly. “I’d be honored.”
Inside, the walls of the Alpha’s house pulsed with a forced warmth. Lavish but cold. A home dressed up to look like a palace.
Karl greeted me with a wolf's grin. Tall, muscled, and coiled with barely masked dominance, he reminded me of the kind of Alpha who took more than he gave. Jen, his mate, lingered beside him like a shadow, eyes sharp and silent.
"Alpha Cain of the Emerald Crest Pack," Karl said, offering a firm handshake. "Pacific Northwest, isn’t it?"
"Yes. Mostly rain and forests."
"Small pack?" Karl asked, motioning me into the dining room. "I don’t believe I’ve heard much about it."
"Very small. We tend to keep to ourselves."
"Hmph. Curious timing, though. Arriving just before the Winter Ball."
I gave him a slow smile. "Looking for a mate. Isn’t that what the Winter Ball is for?"
He barked a short laugh and poured himself a glass of dark wine. "And you came all this way for that?"
"I heard the women here were remarkable."
Karl’s eyes narrowed slightly, flicking toward Terrance. I felt his scrutiny. He was testing me, probing for weaknesses in my story.
"You travel alone?" he asked.
"For now," I replied. "My Beta is en route."
He nodded slowly. "You’ll forgive my caution. We’ve had whispers lately. Nasty ones. About corruption, abuse. Even the word 'investigation' has come up."
"Have they?" I said lightly, watching him watch me. "Sounds like the sort of problem packs with something to hide would worry about."
That made Karl pause.
Terrance cleared his throat. "We’re happy to have your presence at the ball. Your pack’s... discretion will surely be appreciated."
I inclined my head, noting the look exchanged between Alpha and Beta. Fear? Uncertainty? Or guilt?
Dinner was held in a cavernous hall decorated with dark wood, silver wolves carved into the pillars. Candlelight glinted off polished plates and the too-sharp smiles of the pack’s ruling elite.
Alpha Karl sat at the head of the table — thick-necked, thick-skulled, radiating menace from behind a polished veneer. His wife, Jen, all elegance and ice, perched at his side. Across from them, Terrance and his mate Katherine. Loyal, tense. She barely spoke. I took the seat beside Karl, my position announced silently: a potential ally. A possible suitor. A pawn in a game they didn’t know I’d come to flip. Then I saw her.
Gwen
I didn’t want to come.
But my father had insisted—pressured, really—and I was tired of fighting every hour of every day. So I wore the blue dress my mother picked out and stepped into the Alpha’s house like it didn’t feel like a trap.
It took me a while to notice the reason for our formal dinner.
Alpha Cain from some distant mountain pack, broad-shouldered and watchful, his green eyes sharp as a blade.
He stood as we entered, polite and composed, but something flickered across his face the moment our eyes met. A subtle shift. A breath.
My heart stuttered.
Not recognition exactly, but something… familiar. Like a song I’d forgotten the words to.
“Alpha Cain,” my father said, nudging me forward. “This is my daughter, Gwen.”
He bowed slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I nodded, unable to look away.
But my wolf, Akira, stirred with interest. He smells like pine. Like rain. Like something forgotten and real.
Dinner was an exercise in discomfort. Justin kept trying to catch my eye across the table. My mother smiled like everything was fine. Karl’s presence filled the room like smoke.
But Alpha Cain—he watched. Quiet. Attentive.
He didn’t leer like the others. He didn’t dominate the space with loud words. He simply watched.
The conversation flowed around us — Karl boasting, my mother laughing too softly, Justin brushing his leg against mine like he still had the right.
I didn’t say a word. And for a fleeting second, I felt like I could breathe again.
Cain
Gwen’s hair was a mess of red curls barely tamed by a braid, her expression carefully neutral. But I caught the edge of discomfort in the way her fingers twisted around her water glass. Sharp eyes dulled by something deeper. Her smile never touched her eyes, and I could feel the pulse of something buried inside her—pain, perhaps. Or rebellion.The whole table strained with tension beneath the surface.
Despite the convesation swirling around me, my eyes kept drifting back to Gwen.
Achilles growled softly in my head. Ours. Even now, she feels it.
She didn’t look at me. Not yet. But when she finally did, her gaze snared mine like a hook in the ribs.
She blinked. Frowned. Looked away too quickly.
She felt it too.
The bond shimmered, just out of reach. My wolf stirred with a hum of certainty. She was mine.
But not yet. Not safely.
I kept my expression neutral. Politely interested. But inside, I made a promise to myself.
I would uncover the truth behind this pack.
And I would not let them break her.
Dinner had ended, but the taste of it lingered on my tongue — not the food, which had been rich and over-seasoned, but the atmosphere.
Something sour and coiled hung beneath every pleasantry.
I walked the dim corridor alone, the clicking of my boots echoing over polished floors. Middle Moon Pack knew how to present power — stone pillars, ancestral paintings, thick rugs that smelled of old wealth and older blood — but under the surface? There was something rotten. I could feel it in my teeth.
I paused before the guest suite Terrance had offered me. A servant had already lit the fire in the hearth. I stepped inside, shrugged off my jacket, and let the door shut with a soft click behind me.
Achilles stirred immediately.
She’s suffering.
You saw it too.
I sank into the chair by the fire and exhaled slowly. I didn’t want to admit how much I had seen. Gwen had sat at that table like a prisoner in her own packhouse, her back straight but her eyes dulled like something had been carefully burned out of her.
And the way she flinched when Justin touched her—like it was a wound she didn’t want anyone to see.
“Tell me I imagined that,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “Tell me she hasn’t already been hurt.”
You know better, Achilles growled. Someone put an Alphan order on her, And she’s choking on it.
I had sensed that too. Barely-there threads of Alpha commands wrapped tightly around her — not from her father, but from the boy beside her. And Karl. Old ones. Layered.
A leash disguised as tradition.
I stood and walked to the window, pushing it open. Cold air rushed in, laced with pine and the distant scent of wolves.
Her scent had drifted across the dinner table like a whisper — wild, sweet, the barest trace of sandalwood and crushed raspberries. My wolf had known her before I did. His need for her hummed under my skin, restless and protective and possessive.
And I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
Not yet.
- Writer
