Alex ran a hand through his messy blue-black hair as he leaned against his oak desk. The Shadow Fangs mansion sprawled behind him, a mix of dark stone and timber, perched on a cliff above dense forests. Moonlight traced the turrets and balconies, casting long shadows across the courtyards below. Guards patrolled, servants moved silently, and faint wolf howls stirred in the night—a rhythm he knew by heart.
Raphael entered briskly, hands full of papers. "Alex, the alliance council—"
"I'm unavailable," Alex interrupted, amber eyes fixed on the horizon. "Tell them I have urgent pack matters to attend to."
Raphael smirked. "You say that every time."
Alex's jaw tightened. "I'll handle it when I'm ready. For now, focus on the pack."
And that was the truth. Shadow Fangs Pack was his life. Every hallway, every room, every patrol route ran under his scrutiny. He knew who could be trusted, who needed reminding, and who was expendable.
Alex got up from his chair and headed towards the door leading outside of his office. He needed a break from his mundane routine and tasks. Raphael proceeded to follow him through the door. Raphael had crimson red hair that passed his ears and a straight face that only knew duty. He was muscular, fit, and polished. He made an oath to Alpha Alex long ago to stick by his side and help manage the Shadow Fangs Pack. But he could see that his dear friend was suffering in isolation and too proud to show it. Raphael was not unfamiliar to loneliness and longing. He believed in the magic of mate bonds even though they both still hadn't found their mates. Raphael frequently told himself that the Moon Goddess always has a plan for everything like memorizing a religion. Alpha Alex would always roll his eyes at anything related to fate.
Alex walked through the mansion: grand atrium, marble floors, vaulted ceilings. Servants and guards acknowledged him with nods. The cook, the armorer, the healer—he knew their strengths, their habits, their schedules. Raphael followed silently, a shadow at his side.
"Your wolf's restless," Raphael said.
Alex didn't respond immediately. He observed the pack courtyard from a balcony: wolves sparring, training, moving with purpose. They respected him, depended on him—but no one truly saw him. That part of him remained shut off, untouched.
He sighed, rubbing his temple. "I'll handle it," he muttered more to himself than to Raphael.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a careful rhythm: reviewing security reports, checking patrol schedules, and speaking with key members of the pack. Every corner of the mansion reflected centuries of tradition and precision, designed to protect the pack and maintain order.
Yet, despite the control, despite the power, a gnawing emptiness lingered. Leadership, strategy, vigilance—they filled his days, but connection, desire, love… those had long been set aside.
His wolf stirred beneath the surface, sensing tension, subtle scents, patterns in the pack's behavior. Alex closed his eyes for a fraction of a moment, calming it, reminding himself that he commanded the pack, not the other way around.
Still, he couldn't ignore it entirely—the faintest pull at the edge of his senses. A disturbance in the forest, a hint of something wild, alive, and magnetic. His wolf twitched, aware, curious. Alex didn't know what it was. Not yet. But he would notice soon enough.