Scent of Betrayal, Law of the Pack

I had just stepped out of a pack gathering with my den-mates, the lingering scent of roasted game still clinging to my fur-trimmed cloak.

That's when I caught their scent first—a mated pair's mingled aroma drifting from the window alcove of the tavern across the cobblestone path. The male was carefully stripping meat from bone for the female, his attention completely devoted to her, his wolf's contentment radiating in waves I could taste on the night air.

My den-mate let out a soft, longing sigh. "See, that's what a true bond looks like."

She nudged my arm, tilting her chin toward the pair. "I bet your mate does that for you every evening, doesn't he? Tends to you like you're the center of his world?"

I opened my mouth to explain that Rogan Ashfen was deathly allergic to moonpetal wine—the very drink sitting before them both. In five cycles of our mating bond, that particular vintage had never once touched our den's table. His body rejected it violently, or so he had always claimed.

1.

Then the male turned his head, laughing at something the female whispered against his ear.

My expression froze. The blood in my veins turned to ice—and then, without any sense to it, I laughed.

Rogan Ashfen. The same Rogan Ashfen who supposedly couldn't be in the same room as moonpetal wine without his throat closing and his skin breaking into angry welts. There he sat, leaning across the rough-hewn table to press his lips against hers, sharing the wine mouth to mouth, his face glowing with a happiness I hadn't witnessed in years. His wolf's joy pulsed through the air, thick enough to choke on.

The female startled, pushing him away with both hands planted against his chest. She covered her face, flustered, her cheeks flushing beneath her fingers.

"Others are watching!"

"Have you no shame?!"

Rogan's eyes crinkled at the corners, his voice dripping with an indulgence that made my stomach turn. "You're my intended. Why would I care who sees?"

That voice. I knew that voice—but not that tone. Never that tone. Not for me. Not once in all our bonded years.

A sharp pain lanced through my chest as I watched him gently pull her hands away from her face, gazing at her like she was something precious. Something worth protecting. His wolf practically preened.

"Why so shy?" he murmured, his thumb stroking her wrist where her pulse fluttered. "You're nothing like this when we share a den."

Beside me, my den-mate was already whispering to the others, her voice tight with disgust.

"Wolves these days have no honor."

"Right out in the open."

"Speaking of such things."

My feet felt like they'd been filled with silver weights. My chest heaved. The sheer impact of this betrayal threatened to crack my ribs open from the inside, my wolf howling in silent anguish.

I kept my eyes locked on them—on Rogan and this female, flirting like unbonded pups in their first heat—and pulled out the small scrying mirror from my cloak pocket. I captured their images. One. Two. Three. Then I opened my bond-link with Rogan and stared at the scent-tagged missives he'd sent thirty minutes ago.

My moon, I have pack business running late tonight.

Don't wait up for the evening meal.

Yours always.

My eyes burned with unshed tears that I refused to let fall. My den-mate tugged at my arm, ready to leave, and I understood: if I pretended I hadn't seen anything, maybe Rogan and I could maintain the illusion a little longer. Keep the surface of our bond smooth and presentable to the pack.

But just as I reached the tavern entrance—

"How much longer do we have to sneak around like this?"

The female's voice, petulant and sharp, carried clearly to my heightened ears.

"My grandfather's moon-cycle celebration is next month. My mother keeps pressing me to present you to the pack formally."

Her words landed like hammer blows against my heart.

"I can't exactly tell them—" she said, each syllable a claw driven deeper into my chest, "—that I'm actually some bonded Alpha's scent-betrayal. That I'm the Omega consort nobody's supposed to know exists."

"And turn my whole bloodline into a laughingstock before the Pack Council."

My footsteps halted on the worn stone floor.

I had assumed—foolishly, perhaps—that she was innocent. That even if I had to confront this scent-betrayal, I shouldn't drag some naive Omega into the wreckage. That whatever needed to happen between Rogan and me, we should handle it cleanly, between ourselves, as bonded mates should.

I'd planned to tell her the truth. That she'd been deceived by a mated Alpha.

But this?

This made everything so much simpler.

A cold smile curved my lips as Rogan's voice floated over to me, his words sealing his fate.

"Don't worry, little moon."

"Everything I owe you—"

"I'll make it up to you. All of it. I swear on my wolf."

I drew a deep breath, letting my Alpha presence settle around me like a cloak of frost, and gently freed my arm from my den-mate's grip.

"Wait here for me."

I met her confused gaze, my eyes no doubt flickering with the gold of my wolf's rising fury.

"There's something I need to handle."

Before she could respond, I was already moving.

I walked straight to Rogan's table, my steps measured and deliberate. I picked up the goblet of moonpetal wine sitting before him, the same wine that should have sent him into convulsions, and threw it directly in his face.

The purple liquid dripped down his shocked features, staining his fine tunic. His expression—pure, slack-jawed disbelief—was almost worth the five cycles of lies.

I smiled, letting my canines show just slightly.

"What a coincidence."

"Rogan Ashfen."

"Of all the dens and taverns in our territory, you picked my pack gathering spot to parade your scent-betrayal. Should I compliment your taste in meeting places, or should I compliment—"

My gaze dropped to the empty wine goblet, the remnants of the supposedly deadly drink still glistening on its rim. The mockery rose like bile in my throat.

"—your miraculous recovery from that moonpetal allergy?"

"Rogan!"

I grabbed the second goblet of wine, ready to drench him again—but his hand shot out with Alpha speed and clamped around my wrist, his grip bruising.