Killian POV
A gnawing unease, sharper than any rumor, had settled in Alpha King Killian's gut. Silver Creek Pack. Shady dealings. Caden's gone, Jacob's in charge… He'd hoped for better. The pack's desperation clung to them like woodsmoke – a desperate need for the royal family's investment, a lifeline thrown to a sputtering, failing business. "Carter," Killian muttered, running a hand through his already-disheveled hair, the gesture betraying his inner turmoil. "I never wanted to be here." His wolf, Ace, a restless storm inside him, had been pacing since they'd crossed the Silver Creek border. "Something's coming, Killian," Ace growled, his voice a low rumble in Killian's mind. "I don't know what, but…" The pack house loomed – a once-grand structure, now sagging under neglect, paint peeling like sunburnt skin. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying wood.
Alpha Jacob, his face etched with weariness, and his Beta stood on the porch, their smiles strained. Inside, two women materialized, a jarring contrast to the crumbling exterior. One, Jennifer, was all sharp angles and too-tight scarlet fabric, her laugh a brittle, high-pitched sound. The other reeked of cheap perfume and desperation, her cleavage practically begging for attention. Theron felt a familiar wave of disgust. He was no virgin, but his mate was out there, chosen by the Moon Goddess, and these… these women weren't her. "Dinner at six," Jennifer chirped, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. A pale-faced servant girl showed them to their rooms. Theron stepped into his room, and the scent hit him – a sudden, sharp blast of chocolate and peppermint, so potent it stole his breath. Ace's frantic growls echoed in his mind. *Find it,* Ace urged. *Find the source.* The scent, sharp and sweet, was more than just a smell; it was a command, a primal urge pulling him forward.
The heavy oak door swung shut behind me, the scent of roasting meat – rich, savory, promising – already clinging to the air. My stomach rumbled, a low growl mirroring the wolf's restless whine in my head. I pulled out a chair at the long mahogany table, the polished surface reflecting the flickering candlelight. Then it hit me again – a wave of scent, sharp and sweet, peppermint and dark chocolate, so intense it stole my breath. Aces' howls echoed in my skull, a primal scream demanding action. I pushed back, the chair scraping against the floorboards. My Beta, Carter, entered, his eyes scanning the room.
"Smell that?" I asked, my voice tight. He inhaled deeply.
"Yeah, the food smells amazing. At least *something* good came of this trip." His tone held a weary sarcasm I knew well.
"No," I insisted, my gaze fixed on the doorway. "Smell *chocolate* and *peppermint*?"
Carter brow furrowed. He looked at me, a mixture of amusement and concern in his eyes, as if I'd sprouted a second head. Jennifer and Macy glided in, Jennifer brushing against my arm with deliberate slowness, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down my spine. She moved to the head of the table, a practiced grace that suggested a familiarity with this kind of ritual.
"Oh, we have no drinks yet. Let me see to that," she purred, her voice like honeyed poison. She disappeared through a doorway leading to the kitchen, and the scent of chocolate and peppermint exploded, a fragrant tidal wave washing over me. Aces roared, a guttural bellow that echoed my own heart's frantic leap. *Mate*. The word echoed in my mind, sharp and undeniable. *Our mate*.
The scent hit me first—a sharp, metallic tang interwoven with something else, something primal and intoxicating. "Beta Carter," I rasped, the words catching in my throat. My wolf howled, a low growl rumbling in my chest. We moved as one, drawn by the scent's escalating intensity. The kitchen shimmered under the opulent chandeliers, a stark contrast to the coppery reek clinging to the air. It pulsed strongest near a shattered tray on the polished marble floor, two women—Jennifer and her sycophantic friend—hovering over the cleanup. Their smiles were sharp, calculated, their eyes glittering with something akin to amusement. "What happened?" I demanded, my gaze sweeping the room, the scent a burning brand under my skin. Jennifer's voice, smooth as polished onyx, cut through the sudden hush. "Oh, nothing, Alpha King. A maid dropped a tray. We're just getting more drinks ready for the dining room. No worries, we have it under control." Beta Thomas entered then, Alpha Jacob flanking him, his expression impassive. But the scent—it clung to Thomas like a shroud, a sickening blend of my mate's unique musk and the coppery tang of blood. My wolf exploded. My fingers clamped around Thomas's throat, nails digging into his skin. He was lifted from his feet, a rag doll slammed against the ancient stone wall. The impact cracked the plaster, dust raining down like morbid confetti. "Where. Is. She?" Each word was a growl, the air thick with barely contained rage. Thomas gasped for breath, his eyes wide with pain. "Who…?" "Her scent is on you. Her blood." My grip tightened, the wall groaning under the renewed impact. A low, guttural snarl escaped my lips. Jennifer's carefully constructed composure finally shattered. "He… he took her to the cells, Alpha King. She… she got into trouble. She said the maid was an omega and deserved punishment." A primal roar tore from my throat, a sound that vibrated the very floorboards. Every head in the room snapped down, necks bared in instinctive submission. Grabbing Thomas by the scruff of his neck, I dragged him towards the door, the scent of my mate—my *injured* mate—a relentless beacon pulling me forward.
The stale air of the basement hit me first—a suffocating blend of mildew and something metallic, acrid. Thomas's lantern cast feeble shadows that danced across damp, rough-hewn stone walls. My breath hitched. Cells. Grim, barred cages. My blood roared, a primal drumbeat against the cold. "She's in here for dropping a tray?" I snarled, my voice a low growl directed at Alpha Jacob. His head shook, a jerky, unconvincing denial. "No, sir. I wasn't aware. I'll get to the bottom of this personally." They led me to the last cell. The sight that greeted me slammed into my gut, a physical blow. My wolf howled silently, a caged fury mirroring the one in the cell. I whirled on Thomas and Jacob, the fury barely contained. "If it weren't for the Council…" My voice cracked with barely controlled rage. "I'd rip out your throats." My mate lay on a makeshift pallet of filthy rags, barely clothed, a canvas of bruises blossoming on her pale skin. Her ribs showed sharply beneath her skin, her limbs stick-thin. The stench of old blood clung to her, a testament to her suffering. Her eyes were closed, her lips a frightening shade of blue. Starvation etched itself into every line of her face. I ripped the cell door open, the rusty hinges groaning in protest. I scooped her into my arms, her body stiff and ice-cold against mine. She didn't stir, didn't acknowledge me, only nestled instinctively closer, seeking the meager warmth of my embrace. Beta Carter hurried forward; his hand gentle as he draped a blanket around us. We carried her up, the climb a slow, agonizing ascent from that damp hellhole. "I'm going to conduct a full investigation of this pack," I announced to Jacob, my voice strained but firm. Behind me, I heard Thomas mutter, "Stupid omega…" A sharp crack echoed through the hallway. My Beta, his face a mask of controlled fury, stood over Thomas, hand still raised. "Say that again." His growl carried the promise of serious consequences.
My fingers, careful as prayer, settled on her skin. The silk sheets, cool against her cheek, felt a stark contrast to the frantic beat of my heart. I laid her down, the plush mattress yielding slightly beneath her weight. Then, turning, I met Thomas's gaze. "Get the royal physician," I commanded, my voice low, a growl vibrating in my chest. Alpha Caden, his hand outstretched, offered, "I can call my doctor—" I cut him off, the word a raw snarl. "No." The air crackled with unspoken threat. "The *royal* physician. No pack members. My mate." The scent of my own potent anger filled the room, a musky tang that even the rich tapestries couldn't mask. The heavy oak of the bedroom door seemed to shudder under the weight of my fury. My gaze locked onto his, unwavering. "She is Queen. Luna. Anyone who touches her without my permission… dies. By my hand." The silence that followed was thick, heavy with the promise of violence. The only sound was the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, a fragile counterpoint to the storm raging within me.