The tavern bustles with afternoon activity, workers seeking refuge from their daily struggles in cheap ale and hushed conversations. I nurse my own drink slowly, letting my carefully crafted disguise do its work. Gone are the fine clothes and regal bearing of an Alpha King. Instead, I wear the simple garments of a traveling merchant, complete with the slight border accent I’ve perfected over centuries.

Through our mate bonds, I feel Lara’s presence flickering at the edges of my awareness—now here, now gone, like trying to catch starlight in cupped hands. She’s getting better at controlling the silver power, but maintaining it for long periods clearly drains her. I catch occasional pulses of exhaustion before she masks those too.

“Another round for my friends!” I call out cheerfully, gesturing to include the nearby tables. The tired faces brighten as fresh drinks arrive. Nothing loosens tongues quite like free ale and a sympathetic ear.

“Too kind,” an older wolf says, raising his glass. The thick calluses on his hands mark him as a craftsman. “Not many showing such generosity these days.”

“Times are hard everywhere,” I agree, letting concern color my tone. “Though I must say, I’m surprised to see Starfang territory struggling so. I’d heard such good things about your trade agreements under the previous Alpha.”

Tension ripples through the nearby tables. The craftsman glances around before leaning closer. “Best not speak of her,” he mutters. “The walls have ears.”

“My apologies.” I affect an embarrassed smile. “I’m new to these parts. Still learning the local... sensitivities.”

A younger wolf snorts into his ale. “Sensitivities. That’s one way to put it. Another is ‘systematic oppression disguised as traditional values.’”

“Hush, boy,” the craftsman warns, but others are nodding. A quick flash of compulsion reveals signs of similar thought in each of them—nervous glances toward the few guards, hunched shoulders, a careful neutrality that tells me they know better than to speak openly.

I listen as the conversation flows around me, catching snippets of valuable intelligence. The market taxes have tripled. Public gatherings require permits. Even howling at the moon is restricted to designated times and places.

It isn't just the wealthy merchants who bear these burdens, but the common folk, too. Even the smallest infractions carry hefty fines that border on petty corruption. Despair drapes these weary people like a second skin, thickening the air with tension. All of them are used to life being harder than it should be, to their packmates betraying them for personal gain.

But more interesting are the whispers about Jackson’s new alliances. The River Pack sent representatives last week. The Moon Valley Pack’s warriors have been seen training with Starfang forces. And most concerning—rumors of dark magic being practiced in the old temple grounds.

Movement at the tavern entrance draws my attention. Alice enters, flanked by two guards. Her pregnancy is more obvious now, her hand resting protectively over the swell of her belly. But it’s her scent that interests me—anxiety and fear masked by artificial confidence.

The tavern goes quiet as she approaches the bar. Every wolf present suddenly becomes fascinated with their drinks, avoiding eye contact. Only I continue watching openly, noting how her guards position themselves to intimidate rather than protect.

“Your weekly contribution is due,” she announces to the tavern keeper. Her voice carries the brittleness of someone trying too hard to project authority.

The keeper, a sturdy woman with gray-streaked hair, counts out a stack of coins with trembling hands. “Business has been slow,” she says quietly. “With the new restrictions—”

“That sounds like an excuse.” Alice’s smile is sharp. “Perhaps we need to review your permit to operate?”

I don’t miss how the keeper’s daughter edges closer to the kitchen door, one hand pressed to her obviously pregnant belly. The keeper sees it too. Her shoulders slump as she adds more coins to the stack.

Alice doesn't miss the extra money. Triumph flashes in her gaze as she drops the first few coins into a wooden box on the bar. The clink echoes loudly in the deathly silent room. She makes a great show of counting out the total, even though every wolf here knows how much is owed. By the time she finishes, her box is overflowing with coin.

Something inside me snaps at the scene. But outwardly, I continue sipping my ale. I watch impassively, noting the careful cruelty with which Alice handles the whole encounter. No doubt she relishes the power.

But for all her newfound authority, there are cracks in the facade. Tell-tale hints of emotion peeking through her otherwise perfect performance. I catch the faint scent of jealousy when the tavern keeper rubs her pregnant daughter's belly. See her fingers clench too tightly around the wooden box, clearly wishing the shopkeeper's fine bones were beneath her touch instead.

“A fine establishment you have here,” I say loudly, drawing all eyes to me. “I especially enjoyed the venison stew. An old family recipe?”

Alice’s attention snaps to me, her nostrils flaring as she tries to catch my scent. But I’ve had centuries to perfect the art of blending in, of being utterly unremarkable. Her wolf finds nothing of interest.

“And you are?” she demands.

“Just a humble merchant passing through.” I smile disarmingly. “Though I must say, I’m honored to meet the Luna of Starfang in person. Your reputation precedes you.”

The flattery hits its mark. Alice preens slightly, though wariness remains in her eyes. “You’re not from around here.”

“The border territories,” I lie smoothly. “I’ve been searching for new trade opportunities. Perhaps we could discuss potential arrangements? I have contacts in several packs who would be very interested in establishing connections here.”

Her eyes sharpen with interest. Through the mate bonds, I feel Alaric’s mild disapproval at my risk-taking. But he doesn’t interfere—he knows I’m the best at these delicate social maneuvers.

“Come to the main house tomorrow morning,” Alice decides. “We can discuss terms then.”

After she leaves with her “contribution,” the tavern’s atmosphere remains tense. I order another round for everyone, letting the alcohol gradually ease the fear from the air.

“Brave of you,” the craftsman comments quietly. “Or foolish. These days, drawing her attention usually ends badly.”

“She seemed unhappy,” I observe. “Strange, for someone who supposedly has everything she wanted.”

He glances around before responding. “Word is, all isn’t well in the main house. Jackson spends more time with his new allies than his mate. And there are rumors...” He trails off, shaking his head.

“What kind of rumors?”

“About why he really turned on Alpha Lara. About old magic and darker purposes.” The craftsman drains his ale. “But those aren’t the kind of rumors a smart wolf repeats.”

I spend the next hour gathering more intelligence, piecing together a disturbing picture. Jackson’s power base is built on fear rather than loyalty, making it inherently unstable. But he’s compensating by forging alliances with other packs who oppose our rule.

The real question is: what does he offer these allies in return?

Just before sunset, I catch a familiar scent—sunshine and steel, masked by silver power but unmistakable to her mate. Lara moves through the crowded market square, her simple clothes and altered gait making her nearly invisible to casual observers.

I watch through the tavern window as she stops to help an elderly wolf with her dropped packages. The woman never sees the coins Lara slips into her basket, or the way she whispers something that makes the guard nearby suddenly remember urgent business elsewhere.

My wolf stirs with pride. Even in exile, she can’t stop protecting her people. More evidence of her strength—a true Alpha isn't born, but made through choices and actions. This woman would sacrifice anything for her pack.

And somewhere within, an intriguing spark of goodness burns. I sense its presence through our bond—warm, protective, dangerously enticing.

I should alert my brothers. Should move to capture her while she’s distracted. Instead, I find myself tracking her progress through the square, noting how she uses the crowd’s movements to mask her own. She’s learned well these past weeks, adapting her Alpha training to her current circumstances.

A child’s cry draws her attention—and mine. A small girl has fallen, skinning her knee on the rough cobblestones. Before anyone else can react, Lara is there, helping her up with gentle hands. Silver power flickers briefly around her fingers as she brushes the child’s knee, and I know she’s using her gift to ease the pain.

Through our bond, I feel her satisfaction at the small kindness. But underneath that is bone-deep exhaustion. She’s pushing herself too hard, trying to protect everyone while maintaining her masks.

She needs rest. Needs the strength that only her mates can provide. But she’s too stubborn to accept our help, too determined to face this alone.

You can’t save everyone, little Alpha, I think, knowing she can’t hear me through her carefully maintained walls. Some battles require more than one wolf to win.

I trace the route she’s taking, realizing she’s heading toward the temple district. The same place where Jackson’s dark magic is supposedly being practiced. Not a coincidence.

My finger taps thoughtfully against my ale mug. I should tell my brothers. Should spring the trap now, while she’s tired and vulnerable.

Instead, I find myself drafting a message to Alaric: Possible ritual site located. Temple district. Recommend we watch and wait.

His reply is immediate: And our mate?

I look back to where Lara has disappeared into the crowd, my wolf straining toward her retreating presence. She’ll lead us to what we need to know. Whether she means to or not.

Because that’s the thing about my clever little mate—she’s so focused on saving everyone else, she doesn’t see how perfectly she’s playing into our hands.

Let her think she’s maintaining control. Let her believe her silver power makes her untouchable.

In the end, she’ll learn that some bonds can’t be masked or broken.

Some fates are written in blood and moonlight.

And some wolves are meant to be caught.