The forest stretched wide beneath the blood-colored dawn, but Adrian saw only opportunity.
From the ridge above the valley, he watched the Blue Moon Pack's village, the faint trails of smoke curling from their hearths. Weak. Vulnerable. Already fraying at the edges. It wouldn't take much to break them, to reduce their proud Alpha to ash and scatter his pack like frightened prey.
His lips curled into a sharp smile.
"Soon," he murmured, his voice a low growl that made the wolves at his back lower their heads. "Blue Moon will fall."
He stood tall and commanding, his presence radiating dominance that pressed like iron on the wolves gathered behind him. His enforcers—hulking, scarred warriors who had ripped their loyalty from blood-soaked battlefields—watched him with reverence and fear.
Fear. Adrian thrived on it.
Mercy had no place in his rule. The Arrival Pack had grown strong because he had cut away the weak, burned hesitation to ash, and crushed betrayal before it could ever take root. His father, the last Alpha, had ruled with kindness and compromise, and it had nearly destroyed them. Adrian would never make the same mistake.
And yet…
That tug again. That pull inside him like chains tightening around his chest. His wolf paced, restless, snarling for something unseen.
He had felt it before—faintly, like the whisper of a dream. But this morning, when the dawn broke, it had struck him full force. A scent. Sweet yet wild. Pure yet untamed. It had sliced through the stench of earth and pine, threading through his lungs like wildfire.
It was still there, haunting him. His wolf thrashed, growling one word with a hunger Adrian could not silence. Mate.
His jaw clenched until his teeth threatened to crack. Impossible.
He would not be bound by fate. He had no need for weakness disguised as destiny. A mate was nothing but a chain—and Adrian did not wear chains.
Still, the memory lingered. He could almost taste it, feel it. Soft and sharp all at once, pulling him toward the Blue Moon lands.
"Alpha."
The voice snapped him from his thoughts. His Beta, Caldor, stepped forward, bowing his head slightly. Loyal, efficient, and ruthless in his own right, Caldor was the blade Adrian trusted most.
"The scouts return," Caldor said. "Blue Moon's supplies are thinning. They ration more with each passing week. Their wolves grow restless. If we strike soon, their collapse will be swift."
Adrian's eyes gleamed. "Good."
He turned from the ridge and strode into the shadows of the forest, his warriors trailing behind. "We will bleed them dry. Their Alpha will kneel, or his head will decorate my walls."
A ripple of growls and approval surged through his men. Their faith was absolute.
But Adrian's wolf snarled, not in triumph, but in protest. The tug in his chest pulled stronger now, clawing, demanding. It was maddening.
"Alpha," Caldor pressed, lowering his voice so only Adrian could hear. "Something troubles you."
Adrian shot him a glare sharp enough to silence him instantly. Few dared to question the Alpha and live. But Caldor had earned the right to speak his mind.
Still, Adrian gave nothing away. "Nothing troubles me," he said coldly, though his fists tightened at his sides.
Because he could not tell his warriors the truth.
That somewhere beyond the trees… in the pack he planned to burn to the ground… lived the girl who carried his scent. The one his wolf had already claimed.
A curse. A weakness.
And yet, for the first time in years, Adrian felt something he did not recognize.
Not hunger for power.
Not the thrill of conquest.
But fear.
Fear that fate had found the one chink in his armor—and it smelled like sweet fire and rebellion.