Substitute Bride: Marrying The Hidden Lycan King

Seraphina Silvermoon POV:

A few days later, our Alpha was hosting an important guest: Alaric Stonefang, the formidable Alpha of the neighboring Stonefang Clan. He was a mountain of a man, known for his brute strength and harsh rule. Elara, dressed in a stunning gown, was practically draped over his arm, trying to charm him, no doubt to erase the embarrassment of her rogue mate.

Alaric, however, seemed distracted. His responses were polite but brief. He kept scanning our territory, his nostrils flaring, as if searching for something.

As my grandfather led him on a tour of the pack lands, Alaric suddenly stopped dead. His head snapped up, his nose twitching. He had scented something.

Ignoring my grandfather's confused questions, the massive Alpha changed course, striding away from the pristine training grounds and heading directly for the Omega sector. A crowd of confused pack members, including Elara and my grandfather, hurried to follow.

His path was unerring. He was heading straight for the livestock pens. Straight for the feeding trough.

Elara’s face paled. She thought he was deliberately trying to humiliate her by seeking out the filthiest part of our territory.

Alaric reached the stone trough and crouched. His movements were controlled, precise—a predator examining a scent trail, not a madman groping in muck. He ran his fingers along the stone, stopped at a seam in the masonry, and worked something free with his thumbnail.

His fingers stopped. He’d found something in a crack in the stone—a tiny, smeared remnant of a reddish petal mixed with dirt.

His breath hitched. His eyes, which had been sharp and intelligent, now widened with a look of pure, unadulterated shock. And then, joy.

In front of the entire Silver Ridge Pack, the mighty Alpha Alaric Stonefang did the unthinkable. He carefully scraped the muddy residue from the crack onto his fingertip. Then, he brought his finger to his lips and, with an expression of reverent concentration, he tasted it.

A shudder ran through his massive frame. A look of pure ecstasy washed over his face, as if he had just tasted the nectar of the gods.

We were all frozen. Stunned into absolute silence. Had a visiting Alpha just eaten mud from our animal feeder?

Dravon and I had been assigned to repair a nearby fence, and we witnessed the entire scene. I clapped a hand over my mouth, my mind reeling.

Beside me, Dravon leaned against a fence post, his arms crossed. A small, cold smile touched the corner of his lips. The show was starting.

Alaric shot to his feet, his dignity completely forgotten. He grabbed my grandfather by the front of his ceremonial robes, his eyes wild. "What was this?" he demanded, his voice a hoarse, trembling growl. "Where did you get this?!"

My grandfather stammered, terrified. "I-I don't know! It's just... feed slop!"

A horrible, dawning realization was spreading across Elara’s face. Her mind was clearly replaying the moment she’d thrown Dravon’s "withered weeds" into that very trough. *No,* her expression screamed. *It can't be.*

Alaric, looking like a madman, plunged his hands into the trough, frantically sifting through the muck, searching for more. He found nothing.

He whirled around, his bloodshot eyes scanning the crowd of stunned faces. His gaze swept past Elara, past my grandfather, past the other warriors.

Then, his eyes locked onto me.

He strode forward, his gaze intense. He could smell it. The faint, pure, energetic residue of the flowers. It was strongest on me.