My voice dripped with mockery.
If she hadn't believed I could carry on the Nightclaw bloodline, she probably wouldn't have acknowledged my existence at all.
I kept my tone steady.
"I'd better clear out of the den quickly. Wouldn't want to get in the way of your next mate—that would be unforgivable of me."
Kael's voice cut through the chamber, cold and sharp. "Lyra, what the hell are you talking about?"
I met his gaze without flinching.
"We're completing the Bond Rejection on the eighth. The Pack Elder's chambers will be open that day."
Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked toward the pup's quarters to check on Rowan.
But my mind drifted back—to what happened not long ago.
Raven had shown up at the den on the eve of the Winter Hunt, seeking out Kael.
Her face was pale, her fur-lined cloak far too thin for the bitter cold that swept through the territory.
"Kael."
The moment her voice reached him, his eyes flashed amber with wolf-light.
He shot to his feet, the heavy chair scraping against the stone floor, and crossed the room to drape his own thick pelt over her shoulders, his movements tender with concern.
"I'm sorry, Kael. I had nowhere else to turn."
"Nyx Ashford is sick. Please—I'm begging you—save her."
That was the first time I'd ever seen Kael lose his composure like that.
He left. Just like that. Left me and Rowan behind without a backward glance.
He didn't return to our den that night.
When Rowan woke, he crawled into my arms, all chubby limbs and sleepy warmth, his small body radiating the innocent scent of pack and home.
"Mama."
I pressed a kiss to his little cheek.
Selene chose that moment to enter the pup's quarters.
"You gave the Nightclaw Pack an heir. Credit where it's due—even with the Bond Rejection, you won't walk away empty-handed."
I didn't know what Kael had said to her, but she'd agreed to let me take Rowan.
I didn't refuse.
Her cold gaze swept over me, assessing me the way one might evaluate a she-wolf who had outlived her usefulness.
"If you hadn't birthed Rowan, you wouldn't receive a single hunting right or territory claim."
I didn't doubt for a second that she meant it.
"Grandmother, that's enough."
Kael appeared in the doorway, exhaustion carved into every line of his face, the weight of an Alpha's burden heavy on his shoulders. He stepped in front of me, just as he always had.
Shielding me from Selene's barbs.
I remembered the early days of our mating bond, before Rowan came along.
Selene had scoured every corner of the territory for fertility remedies, brewing bitter concoctions of moon-blessed herbs and forcing them on me daily.
The taste was vile. I hated every drop.
But I never dared refuse.
Back then, Kael would always step in. He'd send Selene away, then pour the medicine into the fire pit.
"If you don't want to drink it, don't."
I'd gaze at him, heart full to bursting, though a sliver of worry remained.
"What if Grandmother finds out? She'll be furious."
He'd tap my nose, playful and reassuring, a rumble of affection in his chest.
"You won't tell. I won't tell. Who's going to know?"
"I didn't claim you as my mate just to produce pups."
Back then, I truly believed he was the one—my fated Alpha.
Until two weeks ago, when I discovered a secret buried in his private study.
A locked chest hidden beneath the floorboards. Dozens of sketches and painted portraits. Him and another she-wolf.
I looked through them, one by one.
Kael walked into the study at that exact moment. The instant he saw me kneeling by the open chest, his expression twisted with rage. He lunged forward and snatched the portraits away.
"Lyra, who the hell told you to touch my things?"
His voice was a thunderclap. His tone, vicious.
I froze. Stared at him. Couldn't process what I was seeing.
A beat passed. Something in his face shifted—perhaps he realized he'd gone too far.
His demeanor softened. He stepped closer and pulled me into his arms, his scent wrapping around me like a lie.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't mean it. I just—I panicked."
I drew a slow breath and pointed at the scattered images.
"What is this?"
His expression darkened, just for a flash.
"She's my first love."
The she-wolf in those portraits—his first love. They'd fallen for each other when they were young, before pack politics and bloodline expectations had torn them apart.
