The day after the party, the air in the packhouse was thick with unspoken tension. Elara bypassed it all, heading straight for the training grounds. She needed the burn of her muscles, the sharp impact of her fists against the leather dummy, to drown out the furious snarling of her wolf.
She moved with a fluid, brutal grace, her kicks and strikes landing with precision. This was her element, the discipline and power of a warrior, a part of her Kade had always chosen to overlook.
Her solitude was shattered by the sound of Lila's affected laughter.
Kade had brought his human lover to the training grounds. He was showing her off, a prize, while simultaneously displaying the strength of his pack. Lila, dressed in a ridiculous frilly sundress and impractical wedge heels, looked completely out of place on the dusty, sweat-soaked field.
Ignoring Elara, Kade acted as a tour guide. He pointed out the obstacle course and the dueling pits. He even had the audacity to halt a pair of warriors mid-spar, ordering them to demonstrate a takedown maneuver for Lila's entertainment.
The warriors obeyed, their movements stiff with resentment. The sacred art of combat had been reduced to a circus act for a human.
Lila clapped her hands in delight. Her eyes then landed on Elara, who was still methodically working over the training dummy in the corner.
"Kade, can the Luna actually fight?" Lila asked, her voice dripping with faux innocence. "She looks so… delicate."
Kade's gaze flickered to Elara. For a split second, something complex and unreadable crossed his face, before it was replaced by dismissive pride. "It's part of her duties," he said, making a false assumption. "But she never truly enjoyed it."
To change the subject, he decided to put on a show himself. He picked up a weighted wooden practice sword and began to move through a series of ancient forms, his power and grace undeniable.
Lila watched, mesmerized. She took a step closer to get a better view, not paying attention to the uneven ground. Her heel caught on a loose rock.
She let out a theatrical shriek and tumbled to the ground. Her heel snapped, her ankle twisted, and the palm of her hand scraped against the gravel, bringing forth a few tiny beads of blood. It was a minor, insignificant injury.
To Kade, it was a catastrophe.
He was at her side in an instant, the practice sword dropped and forgotten. "Who left this here?" he roared, his Alpha command washing over the grounds, forcing every young wolf present to bow their heads in submission. His furious gaze swept the field, searching for someone to blame.
It landed on Elara. She was the closest to where Lila had fallen.
"Was this you, Elara?" he snarled, his accusation sharp and baseless. "Some petty, childish trap born of jealousy?"
Elara froze, her fist still raised. She stared at him, incredulous. He was accusing her, his mate, his Luna, of something so vile, all for a woman who had tripped over her own feet.
Before she could even form a denial, Lila started to sob in Kade's arms. "No, Kade, it wasn't the Luna's fault… I'm just so clumsy… It hurts so much…"
Her tears were all the fuel Kade's irrational fury needed. He looked down at the minuscule scrape on Lila's palm, at the droplets of blood, and he made a decision. A decision that made the blood run cold in the veins of every werewolf watching.
Without hesitation, he drew a ceremonial dagger from his boot, sliced open his own palm, and clasped Lila's injured hand. His lips began to move, chanting in the ancient tongue.
He was performing the *Vitae Translatio*. The Life-force Transfer.
It was a sacred, draining ritual, meant only for a dying mate or a grievously wounded blood-kin. An absolute last resort.
A soft golden light enveloped their joined hands. Lila's scrape vanished. The slight pallor from her fall was replaced by a healthy, rosy glow.
Kade, however, swayed on his feet. The massive expenditure of his own life force left him drained. His face went ashen, and he sank to one knee, panting from the effort.
A dead silence fell over the training grounds. The pack warriors stared in horror at their Alpha. He had desecrated a sacred rite. He had wasted a gift from the Goddess on a human's trivial scratch. It was more than foolishness; it was blasphemy. As Kade sank to one knee, Rhys moved instantly, not to his Alpha, but to the horrified warriors. His voice was a low, cutting command that sliced through the silence. "Training is over. Disperse. Now." He was managing the fallout, his expression a mask of cold fury and deep disappointment.
Elara stood frozen, watching the scene unfold. The last, stubborn thread of attachment in her heart, the final echo of love for the male she had once known, turned to ash and blew away.
This man, this stranger, was not worthy of a single glance more.
She didn't confront him. She didn't scream or cry.
She simply lowered her fist, turned her back on the entire pathetic display, and walked away. As she walked, a wave of stunned silence followed her. She could feel the burn of dozens of eyes on her back—a mixture of pity, horror, and confusion. Not a single wolf dared to meet the Alpha's gaze. Her steps were steady and sure, more determined than they had ever been.
She had to get out. Now.
