Chapter 4

Kaelen POV

Her fingers curled into the fabric of my sleepwear, and fire laced through my veins.

It was an agonizing, tearing sensation. The curse that poisoned my blood screamed in violent revulsion, a searing pain demanding I shove her away before I lost control and shattered her fragile human frame. But my Inner Wolf clawed at the forefront of my mind, roaring with a deafening, possessive fury that shook my very core.

MATE! MINE! PULL HER CLOSER! PROTECT!

I gritted my teeth, my jaw locking so hard it ached. My muscles trembled violently as I carefully, painstakingly extracted my arm from her grasp. I forced my mind away from the intoxicating, heavy wave of her wild hyacinth scent, anchoring my thoughts to the cold, hard data of the recent Rogue incursions on the northern border.

When she murmured in her sleep, shifting as if to close the distance again, I acted. I grabbed the heavy, plush duvet, rolled it into a thick cylinder, and shoved it firmly down the center of the massive mattress. An impenetrable no-man's-land. I spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, my heart hammering against my ribs, wondering if her touch was an innocent nightmare or a calculated, seductive snare.

The next morning, the answer seemed to lean toward the latter.

I stood near the doorway of the dressing room, watching as Hattie, my senior Omega servant, collected the bed linens. Hattie's professional mask slipped into a subtle, satisfied smile as she gathered the sheets. The air in the room was thick with a faint, fabricated blend of my Siberian cedar and Elara's hyacinths.

Herbs. The little Omega had crushed herbs into the sheets to fake the scent of a consummated Mating. It was a brilliant, deceptive ruse to fool the Pack and the Elders. Hattie left the room, eager to report her "findings," leaving me staring at my new Luna. She was resourceful, I had to give her that. But it only solidified my resolve to keep her at arm's length.

An hour later, the Great Hall felt like a frozen battlefield.

My father, Bruce, sat impassive at the head of the heavy oak table, but my stepmother, Lady Debbra, eyed Elara with undisguised contempt.

"Let's hope the Moon Goddess blesses this union with strong pups," Debbra said, her voice carrying clearly over the clinking of stoneware. She took a slow sip of her tea. "A Pack's future is built on the strength of its heirs' Inner Wolves, after all."

The thinly veiled insult hung in the air like poison, a direct strike at Elara's wolfless status. A low, warning growl rumbled deep in my chest, my wolf bristling at the disrespect shown to our Mate. Yet Elara merely offered a serene, unreadable smile, gracefully thanking Debbra for her "concern."

Before Debbra could push further, the heavy oak doors opened. My three adopted sons-Jaxon, Asher, and Leo-were ushered in to greet their new mother. They stood stiffly, their small faces wary and guarded.

As Jaxon stepped forward and bowed his head respectfully, Elara's gaze sharpened. She didn't look at his face; she looked at his feet.

"Lift your foot, sweetheart," she murmured gently.

He hesitated, then obeyed. I saw it then-the worn leather of his boots straining at the seams, clearly pinching his toes.

"Those can't be comfortable," Elara said, her voice devoid of pity but full of practical warmth. "I'll make you a new pair today."

A distant, private look flickered through her unwavering eyes, as if summoning a ghost from a life no one else could see. In my last life, as the Alpha King's discarded Luna, I had been a prisoner in a gilded cage, she remembered, the memory a cold, hollow ache in her chest. Endless, suffocating hours were spent locked in my chambers, with no power and no pack. To keep my hands busy and my mind from unraveling, an old housekeeper-a kind woman from the countryside-had taught me the art of leatherworking. Crafting boots, stitching tunics... it was the only skill I possessed that had felt truly real, a way to mend things in a world constantly tearing me apart. And now, that skill would serve a new purpose: mending the trust of a child.

Shame hit me like a physical blow, hot and suffocating. I, the Alpha who oversaw the welfare of the entire Blackwood Pack, had missed my own son's basic pain.

My wolf purred with deep approval at her maternal instinct, but my mind narrowed into a sharp, suspicious point. I watched her gentle hands resting near Jaxon, desperately trying to decipher if I was looking at genuine compassion, or the most flawless, manipulative performance I had ever witnessed.