Elara POV
The word *claim* hung in the freezing air, heavy and dangerous.
My hand was still hovering inches from Kaelen's chest. His ice-blue eyes darkened, a storm of predatory instinct and Alpha pride swirling within them. The suffocating heat radiating from his massive frame felt less like a rescue and more like a trap closing around me.
"You saved your Alpha," Kaelen rumbled, his voice a low, vibrating purr that made the hairs on my arms stand up. He stepped closer, forcing me to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. "Name your reward, *wolfless*."
He was waiting for it. I could see it in the arrogant set of his jaw. He expected a plea for a warm bed in the Pack house, a title, or a desperate grab for his personal protection. He wanted me to beg for a place beneath him.
I didn't hesitate. My family was starving, and this was my only leverage.
"A full sack of flour, a side of cured meat, and a sturdy iron shovel," I said clearly, my voice cutting through the howling wind.
Silence slammed down over the ruins.
The terrifying heat radiating from Kaelen vanished, instantly replaced by a murderous, glacial chill. His jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might shatter. To an Alpha, my pragmatic, dirt-level request wasn't just unexpected-it was an insult. I had treated the great Alpha Kaelen Blackwood like a common quartermaster.
Before the lethal fury in his eyes could translate into violence, Alistair stepped in. The Beta leaned close to Kaelen's ear, murmuring something too low for me to catch.
I braced myself for the worst, but then I saw it-the exact moment Kaelen's rigid posture relaxed. The killing intent melted away. When he looked back at me, the anger was gone, replaced by a dark, amused smirk and a possessive gleam that terrified me even more.
"Clever," Kaelen murmured, his tone dripping with a sudden, bizarre approval. He looked at me not as a nuisance, but as a fascinating, cunning puzzle he was eager to solve. "You'll get your supplies. But in return, you will use that... intellect of yours to inspect every structure in this outpost."
I nodded instantly. I didn't care about his weird mood swings. I just wanted the food.
An hour later, I pushed through the ragged pelts covering the entrance to our Dugout Shelter. The heavy sack of flour and the slab of cured meat hit the dirt floor with a dull thud.
The silence in our cramped den was deafening.
Mason immediately shifted his massive bulk to block the entrance, a low warning growl rumbling in his chest to ward off any starving eavesdroppers. Catherine fell to her knees. Her trembling fingers traced the white canvas of the flour sack as tears carved clean tracks through the dirt on her cheeks. Finn just stared, his mouth hanging open.
I didn't waste time. I thrust the new iron shovel into our meager fire until the metal hissed. Slicing the cured meat with my pocket knife, I dropped the thick strips onto the makeshift griddle.
The fat rendered instantly, popping and sizzling. The rich, intoxicating smell of grease, salt, and woodsmoke filled the damp earth of our shelter. It was the scent of life.
In the corner, a shadow shifted. Arthur, who had been staring blankly at the dirt wall for weeks, slowly turned his head. His hollow eyes locked onto the sizzling meat. The sheer power of that aroma was pulling my father back from the edge of the abyss.
We tore into the hot, grease-soaked flatbread and charred meat like feral animals. Nobody spoke. We just ate until our stomachs ached in the best way possible. For the first time since our exile, a soft, breathless laugh escaped Catherine's lips, and Finn actually smiled.
Sitting in the warm glow of the fire, surrounded by my family, I knew I had made the right choice. Let the Alpha play his arrogant mind games; I had kept my family alive for another day.
But as the salty meat settled in my stomach, a new, pressing reality clawed at my throat. We had food, but our water skins were completely empty. To survive tomorrow, someone would have to brave the deadly, treacherous ice of Frostbite Creek.