Chapter 17 CHAPTER FIFTEEN PART ONE
ALEX
The Northern border breach should have my full attention. Instead, I'm reviewing Alora's tribute papers for the hundredth time, searching for inconsistencies I know are there.
"The Mitchell pack is small," Marcus reports, spreading maps across my war table. "Barely two hundred wolves. Unremarkable territory, no special resources." He pauses. "Yet they gave up their only daughter willingly."
I grunt, examining the signature on her transfer documents. James Mitchell's hand trembles slightly in the ink strokes. Fear or guilt?
"Pull their pack records," I order. "Birth certificates, medical files, anything mentioning Alora Mitchell."
Marcus shifts uncomfortably. "Brother, is this about the border situation or—"
"Both." I drop the papers, fixing him with a stare. "The Northern Pack doesn't raid randomly. They're searching for something. Someone."
Understanding dawns in his eyes. "You think they're after her."
"I think," I say carefully, "that a lot of wolves are interested in my little slave. And I want to know why."
A knock interrupts us. Sarah enters, eyes downcast. "My Lord, the slave Alora requests permission to speak with you."
My wolf perks up instantly. "Send her in."
But Sarah hesitates. "She says... it's about her duties tonight. She's asking to be reassigned."
Rage flares hot and immediate. "Denied. Dismissed."
Once alone, Marcus crosses his arms. "You're being irrational."
"Careful."
"I'm your Beta. It's my job to tell you uncomfortable truths." He doesn't back down. "Since she arrived, you've been different. Volatile. The pack notices."
I force myself to breathe, to think past the possessive fury clouding my judgment. He's right. I've been on edge, seconds from shifting at the slightest provocation. All because of a slip of a girl who should mean nothing to me.
Except she's my mate. And she's hiding something that could get her killed.
"The Mitchell pack," I say instead of responding to his accusation. "Send someone to investigate quietly. I want to know everything about Alora's childhood. Her parents. Why they really gave her up."
"And tonight?"
"Tonight," I bare my fangs, "she keeps her appointment. Whether she wants to or not."
Hours later, I'm in my chambers when her scent reaches me. Vanilla and jasmine, underlaid with fear and something sweeter. Her heat grows stronger daily, making my wolf pace restlessly.
The knock is soft, hesitant.
"Enter."
She slips inside, closing the door behind her. The silk robe I ordered for my personal slaves clings to curves she tries to hide, and my mouth goes dry. Her hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders, and those amber eyes—
There. That flash of crimson was so quick most would miss it.
"You requested my presence, my Lord." Her voice is steady, but I catch her rapid pulse.
"I requested many things." I lean back against my desk, watching her fight not to fidget. "Answers being one of them."
Her scent spikes with anxiety. "I don't understand."
"Don't you?" I push off the desk, stalking toward her. She holds her ground—another tell. True slaves retreat. "Let's start simple. Why did your parents give you up?"
Something flickers across her face. Pain, quickly masked. "I'm wolfless. A burden."
"Try again." I circle her slowly. "Wolfless wolves are rare but not unwanted. Most packs hide them, protect them. They certainly don't offer them as tribute to someone called the Beast."
Her hands clench in her robe. "They needed the alliance."
"The Mitchell pack already had an alliance with Silver Creek." I stop behind her, close enough to feel her heat. "Try again, little liar."
"I don't—"
My hand shoots out, tangling in her hair. Not painful, but firm. Commanding. "What did I say about lying to me?"
Her breath hitches. "Please."
"Please, what?" I pull her head back gently, exposing that delicate throat. My fangs ache to mark it. "Please stop asking questions? Please don't discover your secrets?"
"I can't." The words come out broken. "If you knew—"
"If I knew what?" I lean closer, letting my breath ghost across her skin. "What are you so afraid I'll discover?"
She trembles, but not entirely from fear. Her scent shifts, darkening with arousal despite her terror. My wolf growls in approval.
"The truth," she whispers.
I release her hair, spinning her to face me. "Then tell me. Whatever it is, I can protect you."
She laughs, sharp and bitter. "You can't protect me from what I am."
"Try me." I cup her face, forcing her to meet my eyes. "I've killed Alphas, destroyed packs, conquered territories. There's nothing I can't handle."
For a moment, I think she'll break. Those amber eyes shine with unshed tears, her walls crumbling. Then she pulls back, rebuilding her defenses.
"I'm just a slave, my Lord. Nothing more."
The lie tastes wrong. I could push harder, use my Alpha command to force the truth. But something stops me. Maybe it's the desperation in her scent. Maybe it's my wolf's reluctance to break her completely.
"You're dismissed." The words come out harsher than intended. "For now."
She flees, taking her intoxicating scent with her. I slam my fist into the wall, leaving a crater in the stone.
My phone buzzes. A message from my Northern contact:
Multiple packs searching for blood-wolf. Rare. Powerful. Reward offered.
Blood-wolf. The words trigger ancient memories from pack lore. Wolves with crimson fur, capable of healing, unnaturally strong mate bonds. Hunted to extinction centuries ago because other packs feared their power.
Or so we thought.
I pull up Alora's tribute photo, studying her amber eyes. In certain light, do they hold a hint of red?
My wolf howls in recognition. Not just mate. More. So much more.
The pieces click into place. Her careful control. The rapid healing. Her parents' fear. The Northern Pack's interest.
She's not wolfless.
She's a blood-wolf.
And if I'm right, she's the most valuable wolf alive. Hunted by every pack, desired for her power, worth more than entire territories.
Mine, my wolf snarls possessively.
But claiming her means protecting her from every Alpha in five territories. Means declaring war on anyone who comes for her.
I smile darkly. Let them come.
I pick up my phone, texting Marcus: Increase border patrols. No one enters our territory without my permission. And triple the guards around the slave quarters.
Then I add: Especially around her room.
Because now I know what she's hiding. And I'll be damned if anyone takes her from me.
My little blood-wolf thinks she can keep running, keep hiding behind her walls.
But the hunt is over.
She just doesn't know it yet.