**Chapter 2 – The Alpha of the Black Moon**
The Black Moon territory was a study in harsh beauty. Where the Silver Fang lands were rolling forests and sun-dappled meadows, this was a landscape of jagged granite peaks, deep, shadowy pine forests, and cold, clear lakes that reflected the sky like shards of obsidian. The air was thinner, sharper, carrying the scent of frost even in late spring.
At its heart stood the Black Moon stronghold. It wasn't a lodge but a fortress, built into the side of a mountain, all dark stone and sharp angles. There were no welcoming lights in the windows, only the watchful glow of torches along the high walls. It spoke of defense, of paranoia, of a pack perpetually at war.
In the highest chamber of the fortress, Kael, Alpha of the Black Moon, stood before a wall of glass that looked out over his domain. He was a man carved from the same granite as his mountains—tall, broad-shouldered, with a severity in his posture that discouraged approach. His hair was the color of raven wings, tied back from a face that was all sharp planes and unyielding angles. His eyes, a pale, piercing gray like winter ice, missed nothing.
"The Silver Fang omega will arrive by nightfall," reported Lyra, his Beta. She was a fierce, pragmatic woman with scars mapping her forearms. "Our scouts have confirmed the party. A small guard. He travels lightly."
Kael didn't turn. "And Torin? Any signs of deception?"
"None. He seems desperate for this treaty. The omega is his nephew, but he offered him without hesitation. A political sacrifice."
A muscle ticked in Kael's jaw. *Sacrifice.* The word left a bitter taste. He understood strategy, the cold math of survival. This treaty was necessary. The war was a drain on both packs, a cycle of vengeance that had long since lost its meaning. A mating bond was the oldest, most unbreakable seal. But the idea of taking a mate—a stranger, an enemy, a *pawn*—chafed against every instinct.
His wolf, a powerful, restless beast that lived just beneath his skin, stirred with a mix of disdain and curiosity. *Mate?* it seemed to growl. *This is a transaction.*
"Have the west wing prepared," Kael ordered, his voice a low rumble. "The rooms farthest from my own. Post a guard, but discreetly. He is not a prisoner. He is a… guest." The word felt foreign.
"Understood, Alpha." Lyra hesitated. "And the… arrangements for after the signing?"
Kael's gaze hardened. "There will be no traditional claiming. Not until the treaty is proven. Not until I choose." The thought of touching the omega, of marking him under the compulsion of a contract, made his skin crawl. A bond should be born of choice, of strength, not political expediency. He would have the treaty. He would have the peace. But he would not have a mate he did not want, bound to him by chains of obligation.
He thought of the omega—Aren, the reports said. Described as gentle, intelligent, with a healer's touch. Weak, in other words. Soft. Everything the Black Moon Pack despised. He would be a fragile thing in this harsh place, a songbird caged among hawks. Kael felt a flicker of something unwanted—not pity, but a grim sense of waste.
"The pack is restless," Lyra ventured. "They see this as a sign of weakness. Accepting an omega from a defeated foe…"
"They see what I allow them to see," Kael interrupted, finally turning. His presence filled the room, an aura of absolute authority that had cowed stronger wolves than Lyra. "The war ends. Our borders are secure. Our strength is preserved. That is not weakness. That is victory. Any who question it will answer to me."
His tone brooked no argument. Lyra bowed her head and left.
Alone, Kael returned to the window. The sun was setting, painting the peaks in blood and gold. Soon, the Silver Fang omega would arrive. A living symbol of a hard-won peace. A problem dressed in skin and bone.
He had built his rule on control, on discipline, on the unflinching application of power. Affection was a distraction. Love was a vulnerability he could not afford. This omega, this Aren, would learn the rules of his new home quickly. He would have a roof, protection as stipulated by the treaty, but nothing more. No intimacy. No false promises. No place in Kael's heart, which had been locked away long ago.
The moon began its ascent, a pale sliver against the darkening velvet of the sky. The Black Moon. His symbol. A source of power that offered no warmth.
He would sign the treaty. He would take the omega. And he would ensure the bond remained a line on parchment, nothing more. His control was absolute. It had to be.
For the first time in years, his wolf paced uneasily within him, a silent, questioning presence. Kael ignored it. Control was everything. And he was in control.