Six Years Ago. Shadowclaw Alpha Tower, Kaelen Estate.
The twenty-first story of the Kaelen Tower was Ronan's domain—a sweeping penthouse of obsidian and glass that showcased the city he commanded. Yet, the atmosphere inside was colder than the winter air outside.
Lyra Thorne, twenty-one years old, sat at the edge of the vast dining table, picking at a meal she didn't want. Across from her, Ronan Kaelen, the Shadowclaw Alpha, was focused on financial reports, the subtle scent of rich espresso and crushing power radiating from him.
Their marriage, just a year old, was a contract, a truce between warring houses, not a union of mates. Lyra was the placeholder mate—a wolf-less Omega from a respected but magically weak lineage, chosen because she presented no political threat. She was decorative, easy to control, and acceptable to the increasingly conservative Elder Council who demanded Ronan marry quickly.
"The Elder Council is meeting tomorrow to discuss the energy siphon threat," Ronan finally said, his voice flat and managerial. "You need to be present and silent. Your presence is required to demonstrate domestic stability."
"I understand my function, Alpha Kaelen," Lyra replied, her voice soft but steady. She was used to the transactional nature of their lives. She had traded her freedom for the illusion of safety, and Ronan had traded his heart for the illusion of control.
A faint cry drifted from the nursery. Ronan visibly tensed.
"I need to check on Leo," Lyra said, rising quickly.
Ronan didn't stop her. Their six-month-old son, Leo, was the only emotional truth in the entire sterile apartment. He was also the source of their deepest, unspoken conflict.
Lyra walked into the nursery and scooped up the baby. Leo immediately quieted, burying his face in her neck. As Lyra settled him in her arms, she gently checked the distinct birthmark on his tiny shoulder—a swirling, nebulous shadow mark, visible proof of the Ancient Crimson Bloodline that had been dormant for centuries.
The healers had pronounced it a magical birth defect. The Elders called it a curse. Ronan, haunted by the old texts his father had shown him, simply saw it as a liability that jeopardized his reign.
"He's fine," Lyra whispered, cradling Leo. "He's just hungry."
Ronan appeared in the doorway, his massive frame filling the space, his face etched with a familiar mixture of fear and proprietary pride.
"The mark is more prominent tonight," Ronan noted, his voice strained. "My father believes that if we were to... dissolve the contract now, before the boy turns one, the curse would lose its focus."
Lyra's heart seized. She finally understood. Ronan wasn't discussing the Elder Council's threat; he was discussing her threat. The political marriage had served its purpose, and now, the path was being cleared for a true, powerful Alpha mate—one who could negate the 'curse' of the Crimson Bloodline.
Lyra looked down at her son's innocent face. "Leo is not a curse, Ronan. He is your son, and this mark is a unique power."
"It's instability," Ronan argued, his voice hardening, his Alpha command barely contained. "The Pack is on the brink. I need an undisputed, formidable alliance to stabilize my future, Lyra. You gave me Leo, and for that, you have my gratitude, but the placeholder must be replaced."
Lyra walked past him, a cold, empty feeling replacing her fear. The love she had secretly hoped would bloom between them was officially dead, replaced by the grim reality of Pack politics.
He chose the Pack over his blood.
She held Leo tighter, her vow to protect him hardening into a diamond-sharp resolve. The Omega was dead; only the mother remained.