Caius doesn't tell Maya why we're traveling.
He never does when it involves politics.
I hear them upstairs anyway—low voices, teasing laughter, the familiar rhythm of two people who fit together without effort. The bond between them hums softly through the pack, steady and warm, like a heartbeat I'm constantly aware of.
It's annoying.
And—if I'm being honest—unsettling.
Mates are supposed to complete you. That's the story the shamans tell. Two halves shaped by the Moon Goddess, destined to collide and lock together so perfectly that nothing can pry them apart.
I've seen it.
I grew up watching it.
My parents were like that. Alpha and Luna. Power and grace. They ruled with balance, instinctively dividing the weight of leadership without ever needing to speak about it.
Then they died.
And whatever faith I had in destiny died with them.
I don't need a woman in my life to complicate things. A girlfriend would be a distraction. A wife would be a liability. A mate?
A walking and breathing disaster.
"Ronan," Caius calls from the doorway, dragging me from my thoughts. "You ready?"
I glance at the packed bag by my desk. Five days. In and out.
"Let's get this over with."
*
The drive is long and quiet.
Maya hums softly to herself in the passenger seat, occasionally reaching over to lace her fingers with Caius's. He squeezes back every time. They don't even look at each other when they do it.
Automatic.
I focus on the road, the familiar pull of my territory fading as the miles pass beneath us.
"So," Maya says lightly, as if we're heading to a festival instead of a political minefield. "What is this one like?"
"I don't care," I answer.
She laughs. "You always say that."
"And I'm always right."
Caius clears his throat. "Elara Wynford. Twenty-one. Raised abroad. No known mate."
I grunt. "Of course."
"Her pack is… strict," Maya adds carefully. "Old hierarchy. Omegas at the bottom. Warriors at the top."
My hands tighten on the wheel.
"Noted."
Silence settles again, heavier this time.
We cross into Red Moon territory just after dawn. The land is manicured—too clean and too controlled. Training grounds stretch along the road, warriors drilling in rigid formations.
Strength without compassion.
I feel my wolf bristle.
This place stinks of obedience, he mutters.
And fear, I add.
The packhouse comes into view, all marble and gold, towering and cold. Wolves line the entrance in perfect rows, heads bowed.
A display.
I park the car and step out, immediately aware of every gaze snapping toward me. Power rolls off me whether I want it to or not. The air hums with it.
Maya stiffens beside me. Caius's jaw tightens.
"This isn't hospitality," he murmurs through the link. "It's intimidation."
"Let them try," I respond.
A woman glides forward—tall, impeccably dressed, smile sharp enough to draw blood.
"Alpha Ronan Blackthorn," she says smoothly. "Welcome. I am Luna Helena."
So this is Elara's mother.
She looks me over like I'm merchandise.
I return the favor.
Her smile falters for half a second.
Good.
"We're honored by your visit," she continues. "Please, allow me to show you to your rooms. Lunch will be served shortly."
"May I ask, where is your daughter?" Maya asks politely.
Helena's eyes flicker. "Preparing."
Of course she is.
As we follow her inside, something twists low in my chest. Not attraction. Not anticipation.
Recognition.
My wolf lifts his head, suddenly alert.
Be careful, he warns. The Moon doesn't forget.
I ignore him as I always do.