My Mate Ordered Me to Drink Wolfsbane in Public

I learn to read him in stolen glances.

It becomes a survival skill—watching without being seen, cataloging the tiny fractures in his Alpha facade. Victoria demands his attention constantly, and he gives it. Public displays of affection that make my wolf whimper and my hands clench until my nails draw blood.

But I notice things.

Like today, in the training yard, when she pulls him down for a kiss in front of the gathered warriors. His mouth moves against hers with practiced ease, but his hands—his hands stay rigid at his sides, fingers curled into white-knuckled fists. And there, just for a heartbeat, a flinch. So subtle that anyone else would miss it.

But I don't miss it.

My wolf stirs with something dangerous. Hope. That treacherous, foolish thing that refuses to die no matter how many times I try to bury it.

I turn away before he can catch me watching. Before that hope can grow teeth.

---

The scream cuts through the night like a blade.

I'm walking back from the kitchens—another late shift, another pile of dishes that somehow needed an Omega's attention at midnight—when I hear it. High-pitched. Terrified. Coming from the direction of the pack nursery near the eastern border.

My feet move before my brain catches up.

The scene unfolds in snapshots. A young girl, maybe seven, frozen against the fence. The rogue—massive, scarred, eyes wild with bloodlust—lunging toward her with claws extended. The night patrol is nowhere in sight.

I don't think. I just move.

My Lycan speed kicks in like lightning through my veins. One second I'm twenty feet away, the next I'm between them. The rogue's claws meet my forearm instead of the child's throat. Pain explodes hot and sharp, but I use his momentum against him, twisting and driving my knee up into his ribs with force that sends him sprawling.

He hits the ground hard. Doesn't get back up.

The girl is sobbing. I'm breathing hard, my arm bleeding freely, when the pack warriors finally arrive—Marcus in the lead, three others behind him.

"What the hell—" Marcus stops short, taking in the scene.

I force my breathing to slow. Make my posture smaller, weaker. "I... I don't know. He just fell. I think he hit his head on the fence post."

Marcus looks from me to the unconscious rogue to the girl. His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't question it. Omegas don't take down rogues. It's not possible.

So it must have been luck.

"Get that arm looked at," he says gruffly, already moving to secure the rogue. "And get back to your quarters. This area isn't safe."

I nod, cradling my bleeding arm, and turn to leave.

That's when I feel it. The weight of a stare, heavy and burning between my shoulder blades.

I don't look back. But my wolf knows.

He's here. He saw.

---

I make it three blocks before he catches me.

The alley appears on my left—narrow, dark, the kind of space that swallows sound. A hand closes around my wrist and pulls me into the shadows so fast I don't have time to resist.

My back hits the brick wall. He cages me in, one hand beside my head, the other still gripping my wrist. His chest heaves like he's been running, and his eyes—gods, his eyes are molten.

"That was no lucky blow." His voice is rough, dangerous. "I've been tracking your scent all week. I saw what you did."

The mate bond roars to life between us. This close, it's overwhelming—electric currents racing across my skin everywhere he's near but not touching. My wolf claws at my control, desperate to close the distance.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I force the words out steady, even as my heart threatens to break through my ribs.

"Liar." He leans closer. His scent—pine and winter rain and something uniquely him—floods my senses until I can barely think. "What are you?"

His gaze drops to my mouth. His breathing changes, becomes heavier. The hand beside my head curls into a fist against the brick.

"Arian." His name comes out broken. A plea and a warning.

He inhales sharply, and I realize he's scenting me. Drawing in the peppery floral notes that mark me as his. His pupils dilate, and for one terrifying, perfect moment, I think he's going to kiss me.

His wolf is winning. I can see it in the way his control fractures, in the slight tremble of his hand near my face.

Then headlights sweep across the alley entrance.

He jerks back like I've burned him. The loss of his proximity is physically painful.

"Stay away from the borders," he grits out, but his voice shakes. "Stay away from—" He stops. Swallows hard. "Just stay away."

He's gone before I can respond, disappearing into the darkness like he was never there.

I slide down the wall, my legs suddenly unable to hold me.

My wolf howls inside my chest. And this time, I think I hear his wolf howling back.