Carly.
I’ll never forget her. The blood. The silence that followed. The way it broke only when her mother started screaming. The sound still lives in my head and always will. What they did to the omega is the kind of memory that slithers beneath your skin and then decomposes there.
“No,” I answer, my voice taking on a dangerous lilt. “I remember Carly.”
“Good,” he presses. “Then your memory is intact. Which means you should also remember the way I warned you about respecting my daughter.” He steps forward, like invading my space will intimidate me. It fucking doesn’t. “You rejected that wolfless girl—made a spectacle of it—but still brought her home like a puppy fresh from a kill shelter. Tell me, how is doing this showing Talis the respect she’s due?”
Reminding myself of what’s on the line today, I bite back my rising anger until I taste blood on my tongue,
The champagne glass swings lazily in my hand as I gesture at the room that sparkles like it’s trying too hard to impress.
“We’re standing in the middle of a party where she is the guest of honor.” This is the truth, though not in the way Cathal thinks. Not the way he wants it to be.“Grab a mini cupcake, toast the blushing bride, and stop wasting your breath by questioning me on how I runmyterritory or who I allow to breathemyair.” I step into his space the same way he tried to overtake mine, steady and unbothered. The bravado on his face falters. Permanent smirk failing, he steps back half a step. “Because if you keep questioning me while you’re standing onmyland, I’ll haul you to the northern border and make it so you have to crawl home on your fucking knees.”
The color drains from his face, then floods back twice as dark, twice as furious. His jaw tightens, ready to tear into me. The insult dies when I clap him once on the back and move away. The sound is sharp enough to echo.
“Enjoy the party, Cathal,” I offer over my shoulder. “It’s only just getting started.”
I leave him standing there, shaking with fury that smells a lot like humiliation.
And fuck if I don’t savor it.
The crowd splits like water when I push through. Conversations dip and recover as I pass. I don’t stop. I scan the buzzing space and find what I’m looking for.
Siggy stands pressed flat against the timber of the far wall, trying to make herself smaller than she is. The crowd is too much for her. I know that. She knows that. She’s here anyway. For Noa’s sake.
Brave omega.
Our eyes meet and I lift one brow. She dips her chin, the silent signal exchanged, and then she slips away, quick and quiet, off to do her part.
I drag in a breath and let it out slow, tasting the resolve in it. My wolf’s pacing beneath my skin now, restless, aware. He’s more present than he was after the creek yesterday and then last night, though he’s keeping a wall between us. His punishment for once again betraying our mate. Not by intent, but that doesn’t mean shit. To him or me.
Hang in there, I all but plead with him.Just a little longer.
I want to believe this, too. I’m all but clinging to the belief that once she understands—once Noa sees why I did this—she’ll know it wasn’t born from malice but from devotion twisted the wrong way.But if she doesn’t…if all she sees is more damage caused by my hands, then I don’t know what’ll do.
I bury the thought before it can take root, drowning it under the thin layer of optimism I’ve been clinging to all day. My path leads me to stand before the stage, the centerpiece of this spectacle. It’s meant for speeches, for blessings, for people to stand under the rented lights and speak of this shit show like it’s something worth praising. I’d sooner have my eyes scooped out with a melon baller than listen to anyone toast to a happy and fruitful union between me and Talis McNamara.
That I once convinced myself I could grit my teeth and survive a lifetime bound to her now feels like its own special brand of delusion.
The air inside the lodge is thick with too many unfamiliar scents. They coat the back of my throat when I breathe in, heavy and invasive. My gaze flicks through the room, past the bodies crowding in clusters, over the forced laughter that scrapes against my patience. Attention catching on the McNamara wolves, I track the way they meld with my own. Some faces I recognize from the group Cathal sent to guard my northern border months ago. Their presence was something I tolerated out of necessity, out of desperation, to keep my omegas safe.
Some of my own men stand with them, too relaxed, too familiar. Darran’s among them, the same bastard who thought questioning me during that first meeting with the Craddock she-wolves and Amara’s coven was a wise decision. He’s flanked by two other enforcers, all three of them trained by Mercer and who remain close with the team captain to this day. I’ve been keeping a mental ledger, and their names have been on it for a while. Seeing them this at ease with Cathal’s men doesn’t surprise me. It’s confirmation for what I’d already started to suspect.
The same goes for a handful of my council members—the ones my father appointed, the ones who treat opposing me and my leadership like it’s sport. They stand there now, speaking with easy familiarity to members of McNamara Pack’s council.
I became Alpha before anyone was ready for it—before I was ready—and it began with a baptism in blood. I didn’t take this title to make waves or burn down what came before. As it was, the change in leadership itself was already too much of an upheaval, I didn’t want to add more turbulence by coming in too hard, too fast. But that was also around the time that our omegas began disappearing. Hitting the ground running like I did, I never had the chance to ease into the role. I’ve been handling damage control ever since. And in that scramble, I’ve tolerated far more than I should have.
That ends today.
Oswin, the eldest of my council, stands off to the side with a plate full of pastries balanced in one hand, disapproval etched deep into the lines of his weathered face. His guidance and judgment is one of the few I value and trust. His cloudy eyes squint in the direction of a gaggle of she-wolves near the dessert table. They’re all high-pitched laughter and polished smiles, the kind bred for appearances only.The sound like songbirds choking on their own poisonous honey.
Friends of Talis, no doubt.
And right on cue, as if the thought itself drags her forward, Talis slips from the crowd.
Her perfume reaches me before she does. Sweet, expensive, and wrong. It’s always reminded me of a counterfeit omega scent, something crafted to imitate what nature denied her. I want to step away, put space between us before that cloying fragrance starts to cling, but I hold my ground, not wanting to draw more attention our way.
Jaw flexing, I spare her nothing more than a flat, cursory sideways glance.
