Boots bite into the pile of the bearskin rug. One step, a turn, five steps to the window. The wolf inside claws at my ribs, demanding someone's throat. The whispers behind my back during morning training still itch under my skin like a swarm of carrion flies. "The weak link." "The Omega dragging the Alpha to the bottom." "A pack without fangs."
The heavy oak door creaks. The scent of wet fur and expensive tobacco. Damian.
"The northern borders are reinforced, Cale. The Silverclaws have gone to ground, but their scouts—"
"Who opened their mouth first?"
Damian freezes on the threshold. His face is a mask of flawless composure. He slowly closes the door, his eyes never leaving mine.
"You mean the reports? Selena believes we need to—"
"To hell with Selena. And her calculations. They're laughing in the barracks, Damian. My name is being dragged through the mud because of a girl who can't climb the stairs without pissing herself in terror. Who started the rumor that my bond makes me vulnerable?"
Damian takes a step forward. His movements are fluid, far too elegant for a warrior. He places the reports on the desk, his fingers barely grazing the surface.
"Young wolves always test their teeth when they see a shadow of doubt. It's nature. It's foolish to look for a conspiracy where there is simply... an excess of hormones and a lack of discipline."
"Are you defending them? Or yourself?"
"I am defending stability." Damian tilts his head slightly. "Your bond with Alina is a fact. The fact that she is weak is also a fact. But your rage only feeds these rumors. If an Alpha paces his chambers because of a few phrases tossed around in the forge, then the Alpha is losing his grip."
A growl escapes before I can clench my jaw. The wolf rears up. There is something... sticky in Damian's scent. Too sweet. A cloying note of rot beneath the layer of musk.
"You were in the east wing yesterday. Why?"
"Checking the posts. As always."
"Liar."
Damian doesn't flinch. He relaxes his shoulders, projecting total openness, but his fingers tighten into a fist for a split second.
"Cale, your suspicion borders on paranoia. You look for traitors in every corner while the real enemy waits outside the walls. The Silverclaws don't need spies if their leader destroys himself from within."
"They know my every move. They know when I head into the woods; they know when Alina loses consciousness. Someone is leaking information. Someone sitting at my table."
"You are great, Cale. Your strength is undeniable." Damian takes another step, his voice becoming low, enveloping. "Why wallow in this filth? You are the Alpha. A single glance from you makes them tremble. Will you really allow a girl to blind you?"
My temples begin to pulse. A sharp, dragging pain. The bond.
A flash of fear. Alina's icy, paralyzing terror pierces my spine. She is somewhere out there, in her kennel, curled into a ball. Her panic floods my nostrils with the scent of wild herbs and sweat.
"Cale?" Damian narrows his eyes. "You've gone pale. Is it her again?"
"Shut up."
"This will be your undoing. This thread isn't a gift; it's a noose. It's draining you. Look at yourself: you've stopped thinking about strategy; you only think about how to still her trembling."
I seize him by the collar of his doublet, slamming him into the wall. The reports scatter across the floor like white wings.
"You're overstepping, counselor. Increase surveillance on Selena. And on everyone who entered the infirmary in the last three days. If I find even a trace of your scent where it shouldn't be..."
"You will find only loyalty." Damian smiles, but his eyes remain cold as lake ice. "My devotion belongs to the pack. And to you. As long as you remain the one who leads us to victory."
I shove him away. The scent of rot in his aura becomes unbearable, but another wave of pain through the bond douses my anger, replacing it with a dull, possessive hunger.
"Get out."
Damian bows. Slowly, with a faint hint of defiance. He leaves, trailing a cloying aroma that I want to scrape off the walls along with the plaster.
I slam my fist against the stonework. The blood on my knuckles brings a moment's relief.
"Guards!"
The door swings open immediately.
"Bring Alina. Now."
I don't wait for an answer. I sit in the armchair by the fireplace, watching the logs burn down. The fire licks the embers, turning them to gray ash. The wind howls outside the window, echoing the wolf that no longer wants Damian's blood. It needs something else. It needs a confirmation of power.
She is brought in ten minutes later.
She freezes at the threshold. Her gray dress hangs on her like a sack, her hair is tangled, and her face is paler than chalk. She doesn't raise her eyes. Her shoulders are hunched so tight it's as if she's waiting for the lash of a whip.
"Closer."
She takes two hesitant steps. The floor beneath her bare feet must feel like ice. Her scent—frightened wild mint—begins to fill the room, pushing out Damian's stench.
"I said—closer."
Alina comes right up to me. I feel the heat radiating from her body despite her trembling. I stand, looming over her. She barely reaches my shoulder. Fragile. Brittle. My curse.
I grab her chin, jerking her head up. Her eyes are wide, her pupils drowning the iris. There is nothing in them but submission. Pure, paralyzing horror.
"Did you speak to anyone from the pack today?"
She shakes her head, trying to pull away from my grip.
"Speak!"
"No..." her voice is hoarse, cracked. "Only the guards... and the servant who brought food."
"Liar. Your fear stinks up the entire citadel. What do you think about when you look at them? About how they'll tear your throat out when I'm not around?"
"I don't think of anything... Please..."
"You're thinking of escape. You think that if I grow weak, you can leave."
I shove her against the wall. The stone chills her back while my body presses into her, stealing her breath. I see the vein pulsing in her neck. Right where her skin still bears the faint trace of my previous mark. She looks pathetic. Like an old brand on livestock that has begun to fade.
"You are mine." I whisper it against her very lips, feeling the wolf inside go quiet, coiling for the spring. "Every cell of your body. Every breath. If there are traitors in this pack, I will burn them out. But you... you will feel my every doubt on your own skin."
"It hurts... Cale, let go..."
"It will hurt exactly as much as I want it to."
I tear the collar of her dress, baring her shoulder and collarbone. She screams, closing her eyes. Her pulse thrashes under my palm like a trapped bird. Logic screams that I should return to the maps, to Damian's reports, to analyzing his strange behavior. But the bond drags me down into the primal darkness.
I sink my teeth into her neck.
The taste of iron on my tongue is sharp and hot. Alina arches in my arms, a ragged gasp breaking from her throat. The pain through the bond strikes my nerves, but it isn't the kind of pain that hinders. It's a narcotic. It soothes the wolf. It drowns out the whispers in the barracks.
I drink her scream, biting deeper, renewing the brand, hammering my will into her flesh. Blood flows down my jaw, dripping onto her collarbones.
When I pull away, she slides down the wall, drained of strength. A jagged, crimson mark blooms on her neck—fresh evidence of my power.
"You will stay here. Until dawn." I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. "If I hear a single sound, or if your fear starts interfering with my thoughts again... I will put the next mark on your face."
She nods, choking on tears, pressing her palm to the wound.
I return to the desk. Now the room smells only of my Omega and my strength. The suspicions regarding Damian seem distant, blurred. The peace bought with her blood envelops my mind like a thick cocoon.
I open the reports. Now, I am ready to listen to the silence.