The study in the Silverwood Packhouse was freezing.
Adrian sat at his heavy oak desk, his hands clasped tightly in front of his face, his breath rising in thick, pale clouds. He didn't bother lighting the hearth. Wood was scarce, and what little they had was being hoarded for the nursery and the elders' quarters.
He was the Alpha of the Silverwood Pack, but looking at himself in the dark glass of the window, he felt like a ghost. He was twenty-eight, but the last four years had aged him a decade. He had a wiry, lean build, his muscles taut and strained like a bowstring drawn too tight. His skin was pale, his angular features sharp from stress and a lack of proper sleep. Messy black hair fell into his amber eyes—eyes that used to burn with pride, but now held only the heavy, suffocating weight of a failing alpha.
"We have three days of grain left, Adrian," Marcus said.
His Beta was standing by the door, his graying hair disheveled, his coat worn and patched at the elbows. Marcus had been his father’s Beta, a loyal man who had stayed by Adrian’s side through every terrible decision.
"And the cattle?" Adrian asked, his voice gravelly.
"Two more died last night. The blight has taken the grass, even under the snow. The meat is rot before we can even slaughter them. The pups... they’re crying, Adrian. The mothers don't have enough milk."
Adrian closed his eyes. Every word was a lash against his back. He had done this. He had brought his pack to the brink of starvation.
"The Goldcrest alliance was supposed to secure our food supply," Adrian muttered, the taste of bitter regret coating his tongue.
"The Goldcrest alliance was a lie," Marcus said, his tone remarkably gentle considering the circumstances. "Your treaty-bride stripped our treasury, took our best hunters to secure her father's northern borders, and when the winter blight hit us, she ran back to her family. She abandoned us, Adrian. She abandoned you."
"I know," Adrian whispered.
He opened his eyes and looked down at the parchment resting on the desk. It was a treaty. A desperate, humiliating plea for an alliance with the Obsidian Pack—the most ruthless, aggressive pack in the territory. Obsidian had food. They had secure, fortified borders. They had wealth.
And they had Sloane.
Just thinking her name sent a sharp, agonizing pang through Adrian’s chest. The severed mate-bond flared, a hollow, cold ache that never truly went away. It was his punishment. He had rejected her. He had stood in the sacred pavilion four years ago, with both packs watching, and he had looked Sloane in her beautiful, proud eyes and told her she was not enough. He had told her that his pack needed a political marriage, not a love match. He had broken the sacred bond for the sake of duty.
And the universe had punished him by destroying everything he tried to protect.
"Drake will never sign this," Marcus said, stepping closer to the desk. "The Obsidian Pack has no reason to help us. They view us as weak. They’ve been waiting for us to die out so they can annex our forest."
"They will sign it," Adrian said, his voice quiet but filled with a strange, desperate certainty.
"Why?"
"Because of the clause I added," Adrian said. He spun the parchment around so Marcus could see the dense, black ink at the bottom. "Look at the validation requirements."
Marcus leaned over, squinting in the dim light. His eyes widened as he read the script. "This... Adrian, you can't be serious."
"The ancient magic of our land is tied to the blood of the first settlers," Adrian explained, his fingers tracing the edge of the desk. "The Vireo line. Sloane is the last of them. The land will not recognize any treaty, any transfer of resources or joint protection, unless a true daughter of the soil binds it. Without her voluntary signature, the treaty’s binding magic is null. If Obsidian wants our timber, our silver mines, and our southern pass, they need this treaty to be magically binding. And they can only get that if Sloane signs it."
"She hates you," Marcus said plainly. "She was an initiate when you rejected her, Adrian. You broke her heart, and her pride. She left Silverwood that very night and swore herself to Obsidian. Now she’s their Enforcer. They call her the Scarred Beast. She has killed rogues with her bare hands. She will burn this treaty the moment she sees your name on it."
"I know she hates me," Adrian said. He stood up, his tall, wiry frame casting a long shadow across the cold room. "I don't expect her forgiveness. I don't deserve it. But she is a protector at heart. She always was. When she sees that her former pack—the children she used to play with, the elders who taught her—are starving, she won't let them die. She is too noble for that."
"And if she demands your head as the price?" Marcus asked, his amber eyes searching Adrian’s face.
Adrian let out a dry, humorless laugh. He picked up a silver dagger from his desk, slicing his thumb open without a flinch. He pressed his bleeding thumb against the bottom of the treaty, sealing the wax with his blood.
"If she wants my head, I will hand her the blade myself," Adrian said. "But my people will eat."
He rolled the parchment tightly and slipped it into a leather carrying tube. He handed it to Marcus.
"Send your swiftest rider," Adrian commanded. "Directly to Alpha Drake of the Obsidian Pack. Tell him the Silverwood Pack begs for an audience. Tell him we offer our loyalty, our lands, and our blood."
Marcus held the tube, his expression grim. "And what of you, Alpha?"
Adrian walked to the window, staring out at the frozen forest. The phantom bond in his chest hummed, a tiny, agonizing spark of warmth in his cold body. He knew Sloane was out there. He could feel her anger, her coldness, even across the miles of ice and stone.
"I will prepare," Adrian said softly. "Because if she agrees to even look at this treaty... I will have to face her. And I don't think I will survive the look in her eyes."
Marcus bowed his head and left the room, leaving Adrian alone in the cold.
Adrian pressed his forehead against the freezing glass of the window. He closed his eyes, letting himself feel the ache. For four years, he had lived with the constant, crushing guilt of his choice. He had thought he was being a good leader. He had thought he was sacrificing his personal happiness for the greater good.
But he had been a fool.
"Sloane," he whispered into the empty, freezing room.
The name felt like a prayer, and a curse, all at once.
* * *