Alpha Elias stood rigid, his handsome face a mask of calculated fury.
His sister, Seraphina, had publicly dismantled the Pack's greatest lie in one sentence.
He could not, in front of his loyal warriors, contradict his own blood or execute the hero who saved her.
"Seraphina is safe. That is all that matters," Elias declared, his voice dangerously smooth.
He addressed Kael directly, his eyes burning gold. "For the life debt you created tonight, Rogue, the Bloodmoon Pack offers you clemency. You may leave our borders now."
The tension in the air was so thick it could be tasted.
Kael didn't move. He knew the cost of Elias's "clemency."
"Go!" Elias roared, unleashing a fraction of his Alpha power, meant to drive the Rogue away.
"We will settle the matter of Beta Torin's wounds at a later date, Kael.
But for now, you are free of the Pack. Do not return."
Kael felt a flicker of cynical triumph, mixed with profound, soul-deep exhaustion.
He turned and walked away, not running, but moving with the deliberate pace of a creature too tired to care.
He left Seraphina standing there the only person in years who had spoken a truth about him.
Kael used the cover of the city's pre-dawn bustle, leaping into a tight alleyway where the lingering scent of his Lycan blood would be masked by garbage and exhaust fumes. He had been "freed,"
but he knew it was a lie.
He stopped, pressing his back against the cold brick.
He didn't check for pursuit; he didn't need to. He knew Elias's methods.
The clemency was a public performance, and right now, a specialized assassination team likely led by Torin, seeking vengeance was already moving through the city's hidden tunnels to execute him silently.
He could escape them
His skills were unmatched.
But the emptiness in his chest was a more immediate, crushing pain.
Why can no one simply believe the truth?
He had risked his life, not for glory, not for money, but for a single moment of righteous action.
Yet, the Pack his Pack chose to cling to the comfortable, convenient lie of the
Alpha Slayer.
It broke him.
He had hoped, stupidly, that Seraphina's truth would free him from the shadow.
It only proved the shadow was what everyone preferred.
and violent, one he usually kept locked away behind walls of self-preservation
A dozen years ago, the scent of fresh blood and burning pine filled the Alpha's den. Kael, barely a young adult, found Alpha crumpled at the foot of the throne, a silver blade plunged into his heart.
Kael's own ceremonial knife, one he had lost days earlier, was clutched in the Alpha's hand.
Kael froze, staring at the knife—his knife. Then, the Pack guards burst in. Kael's claws were extended from a recent shift, his Lycan blood was screaming, and he was the only live wolf standing over the body of the Alpha. He didn't pause to explain. He just ran.
He hadn't stopped to ask why his knife was there.
Back then, the grief and terror had been overwhelming.
He was a teenager with a high-profile target on his back, and running was the only option.
Now, years later, the silence of the alley forced the question out: Who put that knife in Elias's father's hand? And why?
The death of Alpha valerius had directly benefited only one person Elias, who inherited the Alpha title young and unopposed.
But Elias was just a pawn.
Kael knew the true threat lay in the background, in the hands of the unseen puppeteers who had engineered a convenient Rogue to take the blame.
The Syndicate? The Witches? Beta Torin, looking to rise?
Kael pulled out a hidden tracking device he had salvaged from the power plant a small, magnetized silver wafer.
He was done running from shadows.
He would let Elias's assassins chase the Alpha-Slayer, but Kael himself would be hunting the person who killed Alpha valerius , exposed the Pack, and ruined his life.
He dropped onto the outer roof, light as snow, and scaled the wall of the manor until he reached the second-story windows.
The Alpha's Den the inner chamber where valerius was murdered was now Elias's private office.
It had been renovated but Kael knew the bones of the house.
He slipped through a ventilation duct near the old chimney line, landing silently on the plush carpet of the current Alpha's office. The room was the same, yet different.
The heavy throne had been replaced by a modern executive desk, and the scent of valerius iron-will and pine had been replaced by Elias's cold authority and expensive leather.
Kael went straight to the center of the room, to the spot where valerius had fallen. Twelve years of renovations, polish, and new wood flooring lay on top of the original crime scene, but Kael wasn't looking for bloodstains. He was looking for ghosts.
He closed his eyes, drawing in the deepest scent he could manage. He pushed aside the scent of Elias, the guards, and the new wood. He searched for the faint, impossible-to-scrub signature of that night
And then, he found it. A fourth, completely foreign scent that didn't belong to the Alpha, himself, or the guards. It was faint, almost completely masked by cleaning agents, but unmistakable.
It was the scent of Cinderwood and Ash.
This scent is of Druids but they have had no known rivalry with the Bloodmoon Pack. This suggested they were hired.
Kael realized the truth of the situation was far larger than Pack politics.
His life had been ruined by an external, hidden war.
A sudden, sharp metallic scent cut through the air, overriding the Cinderwood.
Silver and Lycan Musk.
Torin and the assassination team had arrived.
His time was up.
He pulled himself back into the ventilation shaft, the dust of the old manor coating his skin.
He was no longer just running.
He was hunting a ghost hired by a secret enemy.