Chapter 3 - The Secret in the Blood
Back at the main pack lodge, Alpha King Rowan Ashford stood by the expansive arched window, staring out into the dark pines where the smoke still drifted. The failure to protect his bonded companion weighed heavily on him, but an unfamiliar curiosity nagged at his thoughts. An omega from Red Pine Pack—marginalized, dismissed, and ignored by her own people—had walked directly into a disaster zone and commanded his royal guard with absolute poise.
The heavy oak doors swung open, and Caleb stepped into the hall, flanked by two guards carrying an improvised stretcher bearing the massive form of the silver-white wolf. Walking beside them, her hands stained with soot and dried blood, was Elise.
Rowan strode down the steps, his silver eyes instantly locking onto Oral. He knelt beside the beast, checking his pulse and the neatly wrapped bindings on his leg. The bleeding had stopped entirely, and Oral’s breathing was deep and even. Relief washed over the king’s fierce features before he looked up at the young omega.
“You saved him,” Rowan stated, his deep voice echoing in the quiet hall.
“He would have died of shock and blood loss within the hour,” Elise replied quietly, keeping her gaze respectfully lowered to the polished stone floor. “He needs rest, clean water, and a poultice change every twelve hours.”
Before Rowan could respond, heavy footsteps echoed behind them as Alpha Marcus of Red Pine Pack entered, flanked by an indignant Grant and Marissa. Marcus wore a strained, overly polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Your Majesty, we apologize for this unfortunate incident,” Marcus began smoothly. “Our tracker hounds are already hunting down the rogue elements responsible. As for this... omega, she overstepped her bounds. She had no business interfering with royal matters.”
Rowan stood slowly, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the local alpha. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “She did what your entire pack failed to do, Alpha Marcus. She showed competence, courage, and mercy.”
Grant stepped forward, unable to contain his disdain. “She’s an omega, Your Majesty. She doesn't even know her own lineage. Her family were nothing more than wandering herbalists who settled here years ago. She has no breeding for greatness.”
At the mention of her lineage, Elise felt a hot flash of indignation, though she kept her expression composed. But before she could speak, something extraordinary happened.
Oral, still groggy from the pain and sedatives, shifted on his stretcher. He let out a low, resonant growl and dragged himself toward Elise, pressing his massive snout directly against her apron pocket—the exact spot where her grandmother’s crescent-moon scarf was tucked.
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A collective gasp echoed through the hall. Pack wolves did not bow to omegas. Bonded royal wolves certainly did not pledge fealty to strangers.
Rowan stared at the interaction, his silver eyes narrowing as he noticed a faint, shimmering silver light radiating from the embroidery on Elise’s pocket—a light that mirrored the ancient royal crest of the long-lost Moonward dynasty.
