Chapter 1 THE WHITE PIT
The air, even beneath the library’s high dome, was heavy and dense. It wasn't the predominant smell of dust or old paper; it was solely the scent of Dorian Volcan: Oak, frosted rosemary, and fuel mixed with earth.
This scent was a composition of power, control, and ruthlessness, reflecting the authority of the High Alpha of the Free Pack. And for me, Serra, the fake Beta, it was the smell of death.
In the dim corridor of the third floor, every beat of the pulse in my neck threatened to shatter the library’s silence. My hand reached into the depths of the shelves, finding the worn spine of the forbidden book. The Law of the Shadow Age. Even touching it risked exposing my entire role.
In that moment, the marble floor behind me thundered like a drum. A slow, measured, and deliberate sound.
Dorian.
I quickly backed away. I adjusted the wire frames of my glasses, which threatened to fall off my fingers. I fixed the Beta mask onto my face—that practiced blend of astonishment and fear I’d rehearsed for months.
"What does a Beta search for this deep, Serra?" His voice wasn't an interrogation; it was simply a statement of fact.
"Alpha!" I stammered, using every ounce of focus to make my voice quiver. "I-I lost a text. The classification of a century-old treaty... Your..."
Dorian did not interrupt. He simply took one step, pinning me between the shelf and the wall. His shadow completely consumed me, cutting me off from all light. Now, there was only him.
"The smell of your lie is sharper than the smell of your fear, Serra," he murmured.
His hand reached out for my chin. His grip was firm; not the controlling strength of an Alpha forcing obedience, but simply a hand checking a fact.
"Your body is afraid," he said, his voice low. "But the sound of your mind... it defies me. That contradiction interests me."
I did not break eye contact. This was a tremendous risk. A true Beta wouldn't maintain a gaze. My Red Alpha lineage forbade me to flee.
"I am just an assistant, Alpha," I whispered, fighting to control the true rapid pace of my heartbeat. "I am just... you are too dominant. That scent..."
Dorian lowered his gaze to my neck, to the frantic pulse point. His nostrils flared slightly. This was the most critical moment.
"The scent," he repeated, his voice now a dangerous whisper. "Yes. Your scent. It should possess the softness of a simple Beta. But yours has a salty and metallic undertone. I can’t recall the last time I smelled that on a member of my pack."
Damn it. The scent of my own blood. Red Alpha blood was a dense mix of iron and salt.
"I have allergies," I said, adding a final, desperate lie.
Dorian tilted his head slightly. The molten lava in his eyes seemed amused. "Allergies. Interesting. Do allergies force one to cut in front of an Alpha in the library and lie?"
His hand suddenly seized my wrist. He ran his thumb over the fragile veins on the inside of my wrist. It was not a gesture of passion, but purely an act of setting a boundary. I see you. I am hunting you.
"Let's go," he said. He had made his decision. "You will find these texts. Next to me."
Just as he was about to turn, a rustling sound came not from the door, but from a glass window high up in the library's upper level. It sounded like a swift animal, but it was too silent.
Dorian’s entire body instantly went rigid, like a drawn bow. He let go of my arm. The hunter’s look on his face instantly transformed into one of pure danger.
"Do not move. Do not breathe." His command imprinted itself onto every cell in my body.
He launched himself toward the end of the corridor at lightning speed. I returned to my role as the obedient assistant. But as he ran, my eyes involuntarily fixed on his shoulders.
There was a fine, gray layer of dust on his shoulders.
Unbelievable.
I quickly stooped down and looked at the book I had been about to pull out. The Law of the Shadow Age. The edges of the book's cover were lined with centuries of gray dust.
Dorian had been reading this book. And that changed everything. Because The Law of the Shadow Age was not just a book of magic; it was a manuscript detailing how Werewolves could seal their greatest powers.
Which meant... this powerful High Alpha, contrary to my assumptions, was not weak at all, but was intentionally restraining his own power.
Serra stopped trembling. Her glasses were merely a prop now. She felt the hilt of the concealed knife resting against the skin beneath her sweater.
"Two masks," I whispered. "Two lies."
Serra pulled the book down from the shelf. She opened the cover. On the first page, written in blood-red letters, was a single, ancient sentence:
"When power is constrained, the curse is unleashed."
And Serra smiled. Because that rustling sound from the library ceiling... it did not belong to an enemy attacking Dorian.
It was a signal from my secret Beta assistant, whom I had set in motion, indicating the beginning of Phase Two of our plan. I found Dorian's weakness. Now, the time had come to force him to unleash his curse.
Serra walked toward the direction Dorian had run, a thin, cold smile on her lips. The role was over. The war was beginning.