Zane's hazel eyes searched my face, looking for the lie, the subtle curl of the lip or the mocking glint that would betray the act. But there was nothing to find. All he saw was the pale, clammy sheen of my skin and the genuine desperation in my eyes.

A voice whispered in his mind, the voice of his own wary wolf. *She's acting. Just like she used to.*

I flinched under his intense scrutiny, but the gnawing emptiness in my stomach was a more powerful motivator than fear. "I'm just... I'm really hungry," I repeated, my voice barely a whisper.

He was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, a muscle in his jaw twitched. "Follow me," he said, his tone flat and cold. He turned and walked out, not waiting to see if I obeyed.

I scrambled to follow, my bare feet padding silently on the cold stone floors. It was my first time out of that bedroom, and the Packhouse felt vast and intimidating. The hallways were dimly lit, the walls adorned with wolfish tapestries and snarling, carved gargoyles that seemed to watch me with malevolent eyes.

Zane kept a careful distance ahead of me, as if I were carrying a disease he was afraid to catch.

He led me to a massive, cavernous kitchen. It should have been bustling with activity, but it was eerily quiet. A few sacks of grain and some wilted-looking vegetables sat on a counter, but the room was mostly bare.

Zane opened a wooden cupboard and pulled out a piece of bread so hard and stale it looked like a rock. He held it out to me. "This is all there is," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion.

I took it without a word of complaint. My stomach clenched in anticipation. I didn't care that it was stale. I didn't care that it was probably meant for the lowest-ranking pack members. I brought it to my lips and bit into it, the hard crust scraping the roof of my mouth. I devoured it in three huge, desperate bites, nearly choking in my haste.

I could feel Zane's eyes on me. I looked up and saw the deep confusion etched on his face. The Luna he knew, the one who would send back a perfectly cooked steak because it was two degrees over her preferred temperature, was gone. In her place was a starving creature who ate stale bread like it was a feast. This single act contradicted everything he knew about me.

The bread settled the worst of the hunger, but it was a temporary fix. My eyes scanned the kitchen, and my gaze landed on a heavy, locked door to what looked like a cold storage room. I could feel a faint hum of energy from it, a whisper of power. I knew, with the certainty of the Luna instincts that were slowly bleeding into my own, that the good food was in there.

As Luna, I had access to everything.

I walked to the door, Zane tensing immediately. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his hand moving instinctively towards the knife at his belt.

I ignored him and placed my palm flat against the lock. It wasn't a keyhole, but a smooth, silver plate. Under my touch, it glowed with a soft blue light and clicked open.

A wave of cold, meat-scented air washed over us.

Hanging inside was a side of fresh venison, glistening and dark. It was an Alpha-grade offering, the prime cut from the day's hunt. The original Elara's law was clear: all such offerings were for her and her alone.

I saw Zane's throat work as he swallowed hard. His eyes were fixed on the meat, a primal hunger flickering in their depths. They hadn't seen a cut like this in a long, long time.

It was heavier than I expected. I struggled, my weak arms trembling as I wrestled the venison from its hook and dragged it onto a large wooden butcher's block. I found a heavy cleaver nearby and, with some effort, managed to chop the massive piece of meat in two. One piece was slightly, but noticeably, larger than the other.

I slid the larger half across the block towards Zane.

He stared at it, then at me, his face a mask of pure disbelief.

"This is for you," I said, my voice soft but clear. "And your brothers. Thank you for the bread."

Zane was frozen, completely still. This was impossible. This broke every rule of his world. The Elara he knew would let food rot before she shared it. She used food as a weapon, a tool of control, bestowing and withholding it to manipulate and punish. For her to give away the Alpha's portion? It was unthinkable.

His first, immediate thought was a shield against the confusion. *It's poisoned.*

I saw the suspicion flash in his eyes. I saw his mind working, trying to find the angle, the trick. So I did the only thing I could think of to prove it wasn't a trap.

I picked up my smaller portion of the raw venison, tore off a strip with my teeth, and began to chew. The taste was coppery and wild, a shock to my modern palate, but a deep, primal part of me-the wolf-recognized it as sustenance.

I swallowed the bloody mouthful and looked him straight in the eye. "It's not poisoned."

He stared at me, at the smear of blood on my chin, at the clear, unwavering honesty in my eyes. For the first time, I saw a flicker of something other than hate or suspicion in his gaze. It was profound, earth-shattering confusion.

In my mind, the panel shimmered.

**Zane Blackwood:** Affinity: -380 (Deep-Seated Distrust)

He didn't take the meat. He didn't refuse it. He just stared at me, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

"What do you *want*, Elara?"

Chapter 4

You might like