The Winter Solstice Pack Banquet was the kind of night I used to love. Crystal glasses caught the firelight. Laughter rolled through the great hall. Allied Alphas and their Lunas stood in clusters, exchanging the polite territorial gossip that kept our alliances strong. I wore a deep green gown that brought out the gold in my eyes, and Ryder stood beside me in his formal suit, his hand warm at the small of my back.
We looked perfect together. We always had.
"Luna Lina," Alpha Marcus from the Ironridge Pack greeted me with a slight bow. "Your hospitality is unmatched, as always."
"Thank you, Alpha Marcus." I smiled and gestured to the refreshment tables. "Please, enjoy the evening. Felicity mentioned you've been working on new alliance protocols. I'd love to hear about them later."
He nodded and moved on. Ryder's thumb traced a small circle against my spine—a gesture I'd once found comforting. Now it just felt automatic.
Midway through the evening, Ryder leaned close. His cedar scent wrapped around me, as overwhelming as it had been the night of our Come of Age Ceremony. "Border patrol just linked me," he murmured against my ear. "Possible rogue activity on the northern edge. I need to handle it."
I turned to look at him. His expression was serious, concerned—exactly what an Alpha's should be. "Now?"
"Can't wait." He kissed my temple quickly. "You're brilliant at this. You don't need me here."
I didn't argue. I never did. "Be safe."
He was gone before I could press him for details, his broad shoulders disappearing through the side exit. I pressed my fingertips lightly against the inside of my wrist and turned back to the crowd, smile fixed in place.
The rest of the banquet passed smoothly. I made small talk, laughed at the right moments, ensured every guest felt welcomed. It was second nature after a decade. When the last Alpha departed and the packhouse staff began clearing tables, I finally retreated to the quieter sitting room off the main hall.
I pulled out my phone, meaning to check messages. Instead, I found myself scrolling through social media—a mindless habit. Aria Peters had posted a festive selfie an hour ago. She was smiling in front of a decorated tree, holding a glass of wine. The caption read: *Cozy winter nights.*
I almost scrolled past. Then I saw it.
In the ornament behind her shoulder—a silver ball catching the room's reflection—I could see a stone fireplace. Not just any fireplace. The gray river rock, the iron grate, the specific mantle design. I knew that fireplace. I'd helped choose those stones.
My thumb moved before I could think, enlarging the image. There, in the blurred background: a leather jacket draped over a chair. Dark brown, with the collar slightly worn on one side. Ryder's jacket. The one he claimed to have left in his office last week.
And the furniture. A low couch I didn't recognize, but the coffee table—that sleek walnut piece—I'd seen Ryder looking at it online months ago. He'd said it didn't fit our aesthetic.
My wolf stirred. Low. Urgent. A growl that started deep in my chest and tried to claw its way up my throat.
I forced it down. Pressed my fingertips hard against my wrist until I felt my pulse hammering. Counted to ten. Then twenty.
Aria was my personal assistant. I'd rescued her from rogue territory myself, half-dead and shaking. I'd sponsored her education, brought her into our home, given her safety and purpose. She wouldn't—
But the fireplace was real. The jacket was real.
And underneath it all, threading through the image like smoke I couldn't quite see: that faint wrongness I'd been smelling on Ryder for years. The scent I could never place. The one he always explained away.
*It's from the Omega staff in the packhouse, Lina. I work with them daily.*
*You're imagining things. Your wolf is being overprotective.*
*Do you really think I'd—?*
His voice in my head, smooth and certain. His Alpha tone threading through the edges, just enough to make me doubt myself. To make me feel foolish for asking.
I stared at the ornament's reflection until my eyes burned.
Then I locked my phone, stood, and bid the remaining staff goodnight. I climbed the stairs to our bedroom alone. Slid between cold sheets on my side of the bed. Ryder's side was empty, his pillow untouched.
I turned my face into it and inhaled.
Cedar. Always cedar. But underneath—so faint I'd taught myself not to notice it—something floral. Synthetic. Like cut flowers left too long in a vase.
Aria.
I lay there in the dark, eyes open, my wolf finally still.
I wasn't imagining it. I never had been.
When Ryder returned the next morning, I was in the kitchen with coffee already brewed. He looked tired but not disheveled. His boots were clean.
"Rogue incursion?" I asked mildly, handing him a mug.
His jaw rolled—just slightly. The tell I'd learned to read a decade ago. "Yeah. Northern border. Small group, but aggressive. We handled it."
I watched him over the rim of my cup. Watched him deploy that slight Alpha edge to his tone, the one designed to end questions before they formed.
"Of course," I said quietly. "I'm glad it was handled."
He relaxed. Kissed my forehead. Took his coffee to his office.
And I stood in the kitchen, fingertips pressed to my wrist, my wolf no longer pacing.
I had stopped doubting.
Now, I was planning.
