Bond Of Defiance

Proud Beta

JASON

Being the beta and right-hand to the first female alpha in living memory is a duty I would choose again in a heartbeat, even if fate offered me a hundred other paths. I have never regretted it, not once.

When Hazel Lyon claimed the Silver Crest throne, the doubters circled like vultures. Elders muttered about tradition. Visiting alphas sneered openly. Some within our own borders whispered of rebellion, eager to crown the strongest male in her place. I watched them all turn their backs or bare their teeth, and I stood unmoved at her side.

She is my alpha. I respect her with every fiber of my being. I would throw myself between her and death without a second thought.

In all the histories I’ve heard recounted around campfires, no alpha, not one, matches Hazel Lyon. She is compassion and kindness when the moment calls for it, a fierce protector to the weak and the young. Yet when enemies bare their fangs, she becomes something else entirely: ruthless, precise, unrelenting.

I was not born to Silver Crest. Far from it.

Years ago, I served under Alpha Rupert Dayton of the Shadow Moon Pack. He marched a hand-picked war band, myself included, across the border with a single goal: crush the newly risen she-wolf alpha and claim her territory. It sounded like easy glory. After all, she was just a female, small, alone.

We could not have been more wrong.

Hazel was no delicate damsel awaiting rescue. She was a storm in wolf form: a massive, midnight-black beast with eyes like molten emerald and power that crackled in the air like lightning. Our defeat was absolute, humiliating, and swift. Rupert survived, but only barely, he crawled home missing an arm, his pride shredded, his days as alpha finished. The rest of us who lived through the slaughter were taken prisoner.

We endured days of interrogation and torment, not cruel for cruelty’s sake, but calculated, meant to break lies and reveal truth. Then came the choice: leave with our lives and never return, or bend the knee and join Silver Crest.

I looked at the ruin of my old life, Rupert’s disgrace, the pack that would shun the defeated, and I knelt without hesitation. I pledged allegiance on the spot and began training alongside her warriors the very next dawn.

It didn’t take her long to notice my strength. Silver Crest was besieged on all sides in those early years, rival packs testing the “weak” female alpha, rogues snapping at the borders. Trusted, capable fighters were in short supply. When her previous beta fell in battle, she needed a replacement quickly to keep the pack running smoothly.

The ceremony was hurried, almost makeshift. She chose me, one of the strongest survivors, and an outsider. Whispers followed, of course: he’ll betray her the first chance he gets; he’s not truly one of us. Hazel ignored the gossip entirely. She looked me in the eye, saw whatever truth she needed, and marked me as her beta beneath the full moon.

I have never given her, or anyone, reason to doubt that choice.

Over the years, the pack has come to treat me like blood kin, because I have earned it every single day. I admire her vision, her strength, the way she leads without cruelty yet never tolerates weakness in defense of her people.

Serving Hazel Lyon is not just my duty.

It is my honor.

The gala dragged on well past midnight, music and laughter echoing through the warm summer night as if no blood was being spilled beyond the borders. I had followed Hazel’s orders to the letter, kept the guests entertained, ensured no one wandered too close to the windows, no mishaps, no panic. Yet every beat of the drums felt like a mockery while my mind stayed fixed on the fight raging at the edges of our territory.

I pestered the mind-link for updates every few minutes. The reports that filtered back were almost insulting: Willow Moon’s warriors were weaker than our lowest-ranking omegas. Poorly trained, undisciplined, crumbling at the first real resistance. With all Benjamin’s endless boasting, I’d expected at least a challenge worthy of the night. Instead, the battle was over almost before it began, far from the packhouse, far from giving me even a taste of the action.

When Hazel finally returned, she strode through the side entrance drenched in sweat and enemy blood, moonlight glinting off the crimson streaks across her skin. Her gown was long gone, shredded the moment she shifted. She was stark naked, powerful muscle and lethal grace on full display, and seemed utterly unaware of it as she climbed the stairs to the balcony and resumed her place at the railing.

“What a disappointing letdown,” she said, voice husky from battle and laced with dry amusement. “I was looking forward to a real fight.”

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my gaze professional. She was my alpha, nothing more, but the sight of her like this was still… distracting. I quickly mind-linked Maya, one of the omega trainees, and requested a fresh dress be brought up immediately.

Hazel leaned forward, hands braced on the cool stone railing, surveying the thinning crowd below with sharp, predatory eyes.

“I take it the evening didn’t live up to your expectations,” I managed, taking a deliberate step back.

The dress arrived moments later. I accepted it from Maya with a grateful nod and held it out respectfully. Hazel glanced at the fabric, then at me, a faint chuckle escaping her lips as realization dawned.

“I keep forgetting,” she said, amusement warming her tone. “Give me a minute.”

Relief flooded me. Nudity meant nothing to most wolves, shifting demanded it, but when the alpha addressed her pack, especially the males, a little coverage went a long way. Not every wolf possessed my self-control, and no one was foolish enough to test hers.

She slipped into the deep red dress with casual efficiency. When she turned back, the fabric clung to her like a second skin, raven-black hair tumbling down her back in a wild cascade. In the moonlight she looked lethal and breathtaking, every inch the untouchable queen. For one dangerous second, an unbidden image flashed through my mind: her in my arms, beneath me, all that power yielding just once.

I shook my head sharply to banish it.

When I looked up again, she was snarling softly, a low warning, with clear message: I know exactly what you were thinking. Take it further and you’re dead.

The lust evaporated instantly, leaving only chilled respect.

I cleared my throat. “So…?”

She waved a dismissive hand and leaned against the railing again.

“There are traitors among us,” she said quietly. “Some of Benjamin’s allies were here tonight, mingling at the gala. They planned to start the real fight from inside while we were drawn to the border.”

The words landed like a punch. A few guests had seemed restless earlier, but nothing overt, no cause for alarm.

“Then it’s a good thing I stayed behind to keep an eye on them,” I said after a beat.

She nodded, approval flickering in her eyes. “They assumed we’d empty the packhouse to defend the perimeter together, leave the heart of Silver Crest unprotected.”

I marveled, not for the first time, at the depth of her foresight. She saw moves three steps ahead while the rest of us were still studying the board.

Benjamin’s grand invasion had been nothing but a feint, and thanks to her, it had failed before it ever truly began.

“I will find the traitors…” I began, heat rising in my chest.

Hazel cut me short with a raised hand, her eyes gleaming with that particular mischievous spark that always made my skin crawl. “Why the rush, Jason? Don’t be hasty. I need them to do something for me first.”

The words landed softly, almost playfully, but the promise beneath them was ice-cold. Whoever had been selling Silver Crest secrets was already dead, they just hadn’t realized it yet. I suppressed a shudder. After all these years, you’d think people would have learned: crossing Hazel Lyon never ended well.

By four a.m the hall was empty, everyone had either gone back home or retired to the guest quarters to sleep off the night’s revelry. A handful of newly mated pairs requested formal permission to leave while some needed to be welcomed into the pack, paperwork I handled with quiet efficiency while Hazel oversaw the border cleanup. By midday, everything was sorted, the alpha needed some rest and I took command in her absence, eyes on every shadow, wondering when the next blade would fall.

HAZEL

I had showered the blood and sweat of battle away, pulled on loose linen trousers and a soft shirt, and retreated to my office to skim the latest reports. Two sleepless nights and a midnight war had carved exhaustion deep into my bones, but duty came first. I managed only a few pages before my head dipped, chin touching chest, and the world slipped away.

I didn’t know how long I was out, minutes, maybe an hour, before Jason’s urgent voice sliced through the mind-link and yanked me awake.

“Alpha, you need to see this.”

I was on my feet in an instant, reports forgotten, every sense snapping alert. Fatigue vanished beneath a surge of adrenaline as I strode through the corridors to meet him and the small cluster of warriors waiting near the eastern lawn.

But it wasn’t the sight that stopped me in my tracks. It was the new, unfamiliar and utterly intoxicating scent.

Wet earth after summer rain, crushed lemon grass warmed by sunlight, wild and clean and alive. It threaded through the familiar smells of my pack like a ribbon of silver, pulling me forward without conscious thought. The closer I drew, the stronger it became, wrapping around me until my wolf stirred with a low, insistent growl of recognition.

My heart slammed once, hard, against my ribs.

No, it couldn't be, not after all these years of nothing. Yet the pull was undeniable, ancient, and growing with every step.