Chapter 3

Alaric Thorne POV:

The following afternoon, duty forced me into a series of brief, necessary meetings. I was concluding a discussion with one of our pack Elders in the main corridor, the topic a minor border dispute with the vampire coven to the east, when I saw them.

Ryker was next on my schedule. He approached from the far end of the hall, and trailing a few respectful paces behind him was the Omega, Elara.

As he drew closer, I caught it again-the scent of chamomile. But on him, it was faint, a ghost of its true self. It was like a man wearing another's cologne, a superficial fragrance that clung to his clothes but didn't emanate from his core.

*Faint,* my wolf noted with a dissatisfied huff. *Why is it so faint?*

Ryker stopped before me, inclining his head in a show of respect. "Alpha King."

Elara halted behind him, her eyes cast down, her entire posture designed to make her invisible. She failed spectacularly.

Because as my gaze drifted past Ryker's shoulder and landed on her, the scent hit me like a physical blow. It wasn't faint. It wasn't a mere fragrance. It was a living, breathing tidal wave of pure chamomile, so potent it seemed to have a texture, a warmth that wrapped around my senses and squeezed. This was no secondhand aroma. This scent was pouring from her skin, from her blood, from the very essence of her being.

My mind went blank.

Every theory, every "logical" explanation I had constructed, shattered into a million pieces.

And my wolf, the ancient, primal Lycan soul that lived within me, let out a roar that deafened my thoughts. It was not a question. It was not a guess. It was a declaration, as old and certain as the moon itself.

*HER! THE SCENT, IT'S HERS!*

The realization struck me with the force of a lightning bolt. Shock, disbelief, and then a white-hot, all-consuming rage.

I had been a fool. Deceived not by some clever enemy, but by my own senses, my own arrogant assumptions. The scent that had called to my soul, the one I believed belonged to a mighty Alpha warrior fit to be my equal, belonged to the small, timid Omega he mistreated.

My eyes, burning with molten gold fury, snapped to Ryker. He stood there, preening in his stolen glory, wearing the faintest trace of her scent like a thief wears a stolen jewel. He was nothing but a fraud.

A wave of revulsion washed over me, so strong it was nauseating. Disgust for him, and for my own blindness. The pride of a king could not stomach such a colossal error in judgment.

Elara must have felt the intensity of my stare. She timidly lifted her head, her wide, doe-brown eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second. The storm she saw there, the raw, untamed power I was struggling to contain, made her flinch. She immediately dropped her gaze, her body trembling.

I forced myself to look away from her, to refocus on the male who stood before me. The border dispute was a distant, meaningless memory. Everything had narrowed down to this single, infuriating point.

"Gamma Blackwood," I said, my voice dropping to a low, glacial tone that promised violence.

Ryker stiffened, sensing the shift in the air. "Yes, Alpha King?"

I didn't look at him. My eyes were fixed on the cowering form behind him. I spoke each word with deliberate, chilling precision. "Control your... mate. I don't want to see her wandering the Packhouse unattended."

Both of them froze. Elara looked up, her face a canvas of confusion. Why would the great Alpha King even notice her existence, let alone speak of her with such... intensity? Ryker's expression hardened, a flicker of fear flashing in his eyes before being replaced by guarded confusion. He had no idea what he had done to offend me, but he knew he was suddenly on very dangerous ground.

I gave them no more time. I turned to the guard beside me, my voice sharp and final. "My meetings are concluded."

Then I turned and stalked away, leaving them standing in the corridor, shrouded in my cold fury and their own bewildered silence.