When we arrived at the Bloodmoon Pack's gates, entry was surprisingly easy. Which I must say was surprising.
The massive, iron bound gates, which I'd expected to be heavily guarded and intimidating, swung open almost silently.
The instant I stated my identity, a ripple went through the guards hulking figures with eyes that briefly flashed golden in the dim light of the torches. They bowed deeply, their movements fluid despite their size, parting swiftly to let my carriage through.
This felt like a trap, a meticulously orchestrated method they were using to make me feel relaxed, to drop my guard and lull me into a false sense of security. But instead, it only sharpened my senses, making me suspect them even more. This was not the brute, untamed welcome I'd been led to expect.
As we proceeded, the path was smooth, well-maintained, my carriage directed straight to the Pack House the formidable residence of their leader, the Alpha's house.
The very heart of the Bloodmoon Pack's perceived barbarism.
The carriage rolled to a gentle stop before a grand, imposing structure built from dark, native stone, its windows glowing with a warm, inviting light. Before the driver could even descend, the door to the Pack House opened.
The moment we stopped, I was greeted by an incredibly tall man. He moved with an almost unnerving grace, his presence commanding without being overtly aggressive.
He extended a hand towards me, a gentlemanly gesture that surprised me, and helped me descend from the carriage. His grip was firm, warm, and utterly unyielding, sending a fleeting shiver up my arm.
He was tall, with beautiful long black hair that stopped just at his shoulders. Half of it was pulled back, neatly tied, revealing a strong brow and defined cheekbones, while the other half fell freely around his face, framing it in dark waves. His eyes were a beautiful, piercing emerald green, sharp and intense, holding a depth that seemed to see right through my carefully constructed facade.
The pure definition of handsome; he looked almost impossibly perfect, to be true. He felt more like a personal guard, perhaps a high-ranking lieutenant, impeccably presented and oozing silent authority.
If only he were someone else, I thought, a fleeting, dangerous appreciation sparking within me, quickly extinguished. He looked too good, too alluring, too dangerous in a way that wasn't about the Sect's mission.
But then again, he was affiliated with the Bloodmoon Pack, a part of Elias's inner circle, so of course I was not interested in him. He was the enemy, no matter how striking.
If he weren't, if he were merely a human lord or a compliant werewolf from a neutral Pack, I probably would have stolen him to my chambers and made him mine, claiming him as a prize for myself, not for a mission. Too bad he wasn't.
"Greetings, my lady," he said, his voice a smooth, deep baritone, resonating with a quiet power that seemed to vibrate in the very air around us, as he placed a soft, respectful kiss on the back of my hand. The touch was light, yet surprisingly intimate.
"Greetings," I replied, my own voice a practiced, cool tone, carefully maintaining my composure despite the unexpected tremor of awareness his presence stirred.
Then, Lara, who had been shyly hiding behind me, her small frame almost entirely obscured by my cloak, finally piped up.
Her eyes, usually wide with innocence, were even wider now, fixated on the tall man. "Hello!" she whispered, her voice barely audible, a squeak of wonder.
"I apologize," I said quickly, seeing the man's surprised gaze fall upon her, a flicker of something unreadable in his green eyes. "She's a bit shy." The lie felt strange on my tongue, but it was an easy explanation for a defective wolf unused to open society.
"No problem, my lady," he said, his smile unwavering, a perfect, polite curve of his lips that didn't quite reach his intense eyes.
"Thank you," I replied, a brief, curt nod acknowledging his courtesy.
"Well then," the man said, his gaze sweeping over the grand entrance of the Pack House, "shall we go in?" His hand subtly gestured towards the massive, carved oak doors.
"Of course," I said, a practiced, cool smile on my face, mirroring his politeness. "Lead the way." My mind, however, was already racing, analyzing every nuance of his demeanor.
This man was clearly a prominent figure, certainly not a mere guard. But he couldn't be Elias. It was illogical.
He turned, his movements economical and powerful, to another man standing nearby, who was already approaching the carriage to retrieve our belongings.
"Aaron," he commanded, his voice carrying surprising weight despite its soft tone. It was the voice of command, of someone used to being instantly obeyed. "Take the bags."
"Yes, my lord," Aaron replied immediately, bowing his head in deference.
I froze for a second. My lord. A cold dread began to coil in the pit of my stomach. Hold on, hold on a second.
No, this can't be real. That same man. The one I was just… admiring, allowing a dangerous spark of attraction to ignite. Could he actually be Elias? Hell no, I refused to believe it. It had to be impossible, utterly impossible. Elias was infamous.
He was said to be ugly and brute, a barbaric savage of a wolf, ruled by instinct, not charm. This man standing right before me seemed so genuinely nice, so refined, so calmly powerful and down-to-earth, utterly not barbaric.
His features were too perfect, his composure too absolute. And it was also impossible because Elias was known to be full of himself, a true tyrant who never deigned to show such common courtesy. There was no way he would come down to greet me, knowing I was coming from the Verdant Sect.
They said exactly that he had never been on good terms with the Sect, openly defying our principles. The main reason this marriage was happening was to sign a deal that would finally put us on good terms, to force a reluctant alliance, something I would only find out later, with the help of Lara's uncanny knack for information gathering.
Father hadn't told me that. Father, in his manipulative way, had told me he'd fallen in love with me and wanted me, painting a false picture of a love-struck Alpha. But oh well, I guess he had a reason for hiding the brutal truth.
I followed this man, my steps almost automatic. He was so tall, so commanding, dominating the space around him with a quiet, undeniable presence that felt almost tangible. His aura was so warm, so…nice. Too nice. He couldn't be Elias.
Elias had a suffocating presence; last I heard, the air grew thick around him, and it was impossible for anyone to breathe easily in his presence. So of course, he could not be Elias, not someone as gentle, as welcoming, as this. My mind furiously searched for another explanation, another role he might play. The Head Guard? A powerful Beta?
"This way, please," he said, his voice again that deep, smooth rumble, as he opened a heavy, ornate door that led into what appeared to be a lavishly decorated tea room.
He held the door, his hand resting lightly on the polished wood, then stepped inside with me, letting the door swing shut behind us, the soft click echoing the sudden silence.
I looked at him, my brow furrowing slightly in genuine confusion, unable to reconcile the rumors with the man before me. "Ehm, how long will I wait for your lord to arrive?" I asked, trying to sound casual, but my voice held an undeniable edge of impatience and veiled accusation. I needed to know.
He paused, his green eyes meeting mine, a slow, knowing smile beginning to spread across his face. A slight, amused huff escaped his lips, a low, rumbling sound that was almost a chuckle.
Bloody hell, he looked even more handsome with that fleeting expression, that hint of genuine amusement, and that subtle sound did things to my body that it was not supposed to, sending an unwelcome tremor through me.
"I am the Alpha of this Pack," he said, his voice deepening almost imperceptibly, his emerald eyes holding a hint of challenge, a flicker of something ancient and undeniably powerful, in their depths. The polite veneer dropped, revealing the apex predator underneath.
Damn it, I literally almost whispered it, the word catching in my throat, hot and shameful. It just had to be him, didn't it? The universe, or perhaps Father, had a truly twisted sense of humor.