The contract was three pages long. I read it twice before I signed it, sitting in the leather chair across from Layton Campbell's desk while he stood by the window with his back to me, looking out at the Ironridge territory like a man inventorying assets.
Six months. Provisional mark. Clean severance upon territorial ratification. Payment structure outlined in appendix C. I had memorized every line before I ever walked into this room, but I read it again anyway because it gave me something to do with my hands that wasn't pressing them against the scar on my neck.
"Any questions?" Layton's voice came from the window, flat and businesslike.
"No."
He turned. His eyes were dark — not warm dark, not inviting dark, just the absence of light. He crossed the room in three strides and sat on the edge of the desk, close enough that I could smell him for the first time: cedar and something sharper underneath, like cold air before snow. My wolf didn't stir. She hadn't stirred in months.
"We'll do the mark now," he said. "It needs to be visible before the Council inspectors arrive next week."
I nodded. My throat was too dry to speak.
He gestured toward the leather couch against the wall. I stood, crossed to it, sat. The room was very quiet. Somewhere outside I could hear voices — pack members, normal people doing normal things — but in here there was only the sound of my own pulse in my ears.
Layton knelt in front of me. Not beside me. In front of me, one knee on the floor, close enough that I could see the fine line of his jaw and the way his hands — large, controlled — rested on his thighs like he was deciding what to do with them.
"Turn your head," he said quietly. "Left."
I did. The scar from Jayce's rejection was on the right side of my neck, raised and ugly. Layton would mark over it. That was the plan. Cover the old wound with the new contract.
I felt his breath first. Warm against my skin. Then his hand, steadying the back of my head, his fingers threading into my hair with a carefulness I hadn't expected. My whole body went still.
"This will hurt for a second," he said, his voice lower now, closer. "Then it won't."
I closed my eyes.
His canines grazed the scar.
And the world detonated.
Heat exploded across my neck — not pain, not the white-hot searing I remembered from the rejection, but living, golden, impossible heat. It flooded down my spine, into my chest, into places I thought had gone permanently cold. My hand flew to my neck, colliding with his jaw. He jerked back.
The scent hit me a half-second later.
Cedar. Night-blooming jasmine. Something wild and green underneath, like a forest after rain. It filled the room. It filled my lungs. I couldn't breathe around it. I couldn't think around it.
I opened my eyes.
Layton was staring at me. His pupils had blown wide, gold bleeding into the edges of his irises, and for three full seconds he didn't blink. His hand was still in my hair. Mine was still pressed against my neck, and beneath my palm the scar was warm — warm in a way it hadn't been since before Jayce said the words.
Neither of us moved.
I could hear my own heartbeat. I could hear his. They weren't synchronized — they were crashing into each other, erratic and too fast.
"What—" I started.
Footsteps in the hallway. Sharp, rapid. Then a knock at the door.
Layton's eyes snapped back to brown so fast I almost thought I'd imagined the gold. He pulled his hand out of my hair and stood in one fluid motion, putting three feet of space between us before I could finish the sentence.
"What," Declan Voss said from the doorway, his tone clipped and urgent.
Layton didn't turn around. "Report."
"Commotion at the gates. Alpha Jayce Lewis of Ashvale. He's requesting entry on diplomatic grounds."
The air in the room changed.
I felt it before I saw Layton's face — a drop in temperature, a tightening, like the moment before a storm breaks. When he finally turned toward Declan, his expression was perfectly, lethally calm.
"Diplomatic grounds," Layton repeated.
"That's what he said."
Layton's gaze cut to me. I was still sitting on the couch, my hand still pressed to my neck, and I made myself drop it. Made myself meet his eyes. Whatever he saw there — I don't know what he saw there — but something shifted in his face.
"Tell him," Layton said slowly, "that I'll meet him at the gates. With my Luna."
Declan's eyebrows rose a fraction. He looked at me, then back at Layton, and nodded once before disappearing down the hall.
I stood. My legs were steadier than I expected. "You don't have to—"
"Yes," Layton said, cutting me off. "I do."
He crossed to me in two strides, and before I could process what was happening, his arm was around my waist. Not tentative. Not asking permission. Possessive, in a way that sent a shiver straight through me that had nothing to do with cold.
He looked down at me. His jaw was tight. "You're my Luna. He needs to see that."
I nodded. I didn't trust my voice.
We walked to the gates like that — his arm around me, my body tucked against his side, the scent of cedar and jasmine still thick in the air between us. Neither of us spoke. Neither of us let go.
Jayce was waiting on the other side of the iron gate, flanked by two of his ranked wolves. He looked exactly the way I remembered: tall, composed, his dark hair perfectly styled, his expression carefully neutral. His eyes found me immediately.
Then they found the mark on my neck.
Something flickered across his face — too fast for me to name it, but I saw it. I saw it, and I felt Layton's arm tighten fractionally around my waist.
Layton didn't speak. He just stood there, and the air around him went heavy. Thick. His Alpha aura rolled out like a wave, and I watched Jayce's wolves take an involuntary step back. Jayce himself went very still.
"Alpha Lewis," Layton said, his voice low and absolutely controlled. "You're a long way from Ashvale."
Jayce's gaze dragged away from my neck and back to Layton's face. "I was in the area. Thought I'd pay my respects."
"To?"
"To Ironridge's new Luna." Jayce's eyes cut back to me. "Congratulations, Kensley."
My name in his mouth felt wrong. I didn't answer.
Layton's voice dropped lower. "Luna Campbell," he corrected quietly. "And your respects are noted. Was there anything else?"
Jayce's jaw tightened. For a long moment, he didn't speak. Then his wolf — I saw it happen, saw the exact second his wolf recognized the superior Alpha standing in front of him — forced his eyes down.
He looked at the ground.
Layton didn't move. Didn't gloat. Didn't say another word. He just stood there with his arm around me, and waited.
Jayce turned and walked back to his car. His wolves followed. The gates didn't open.
I didn't breathe until the taillights disappeared down the road.
When I finally looked up at Layton, his eyes were still fixed on the empty road, his expression unreadable. But his hand — his hand was shaking where it rested against my hip.
Neither of us let go.
