The Alpha’s Moon Gala Reckoning

"The Beta-Consort is... waiting to head out."

He made a point of emphasizing those last two words.

I reached for the obsidian quill resting on my desk and lifted it from its holder.

The sharpened tip hovered over the blood-seal line. It didn't come down.

"Kael, you've served in this den for almost five moon cycles now, haven't you?"

My voice was steady. Unreadable.

"One week shy of five cycles."

His answer came quick and easy.

I said nothing more. I signed, pressing my thumb to the wax to seal it with my Alpha mark.

"Thank you, Alpha Blackthorn."

He took the leather-bound folder I handed back, flipped through to confirm the blood-seal, then closed it.

And in that split second as he turned to leave, I saw it clearly—his lips moved, fast and silent.

No sound. But the shape was unmistakable. Three syllables:

Old bastard.

He didn't even bother closing the heavy oak door behind him.

I stayed in my chair. Didn't move.

The quill slid back into its holder with a soft click.

Moonlight streamed through the arched window, falling across one corner of my desk. Almost too bright for midday—the celestial blessing that marked our kind.

I pressed the rune-stone that connected me to my Omega assistant.

"Alpha Blackthorn?"

"Close the door."

"Yes, Alpha."

A soft click, and the council chamber fell silent again.

My eyes drifted to the dimmed ward-stone on my desk—the one linked to the territory scrying network. My finger brushed its surface once, then stilled.

I didn't activate it.

Ten minutes later, the front gate keeper sent word through the message-rune.

"Alpha Blackthorn, the Beta-Consort and her Omega Liaison just left together. They took... your shadow-mount."

"Noted."

I severed the connection.

Rising from my chair, I walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Blackthorn territory.

Below, the sleek black carriage—pulled by my prized shadow-horse, a beast bred for speed and silence—glided out of the underground stables, merged onto the forest path, and vanished at the edge of my vision.

The glass reflected my silhouette—formal pack attire, expressionless face.

A few minutes later, I activated the travel scryer bound to the carriage.

The image was crisp. The sounds, crystal clear.

Kael had one hand on the reins. His other rested on Selene's silk-covered thigh.

His fingers traced lazy patterns there, the motion practiced. Familiar.

Selene had one hand draped over his arm, her face tilted up toward him, eyes curved with laughter, cheeks flushed pink. Her scent—even through the scryer—carried notes of arousal that made my wolf snarl in recognition. That scent should have been for me alone.

The modest cream cloak she'd worn in the council hall was gone—tossed in the back of the carriage.

All that remained was a silk blouse, the top two buttons undone, exposing the pale column of her throat where my mating mark should have kept her faithful.

Not a trace of the composed Pack Steward she played before the pack.

"You said he looked at it carefully?"

Selene's voice came through, soft and coy, with an undercurrent of tension she couldn't quite hide.

"Flipped through several pages. Even paused on mine."

Kael chuckled, his fingers trailing higher along her thigh.

"What's wrong—scared?"

"Just... surprised, that's all."

Selene hesitated, then leaned closer into him, her wolf clearly responding to his presence in a way that should have been reserved for her bonded mate.

"He never used to look twice at anything I brought him. Always just sealed it without question."

"Worried he caught your scent on the documents?" Kael shot her a sidelong glance, lips curling. "Relax. That old fool's got nothing in his head but territory and silver-tribute. Spends all day scheming how to expand his hunting grounds. Never occurs to him his own den is already burning—and the horns on his head are glowing bright green."

Selene swatted his arm, the touch playful, barely a tap. "That mouth of yours."

"My mouth?"

Kael laughed outright, his hand sliding higher, fingertips slipping beneath the hem of her skirt. The gesture was possessive—the kind of touch that marked territory.

"I can say worse. Want to hear? Last night, someone was whimpering my name, begging me to—"

"Shut up!"

Selene clamped her hand over his mouth, her face burning redder now, but her eyes—her eyes shimmered, dark and inviting. I could see the way her pupils had blown wide, the telltale sign of a wolf responding to its chosen partner.

The shadow-mount slowed at a crossing. The carriage stopped.

Kael caught her wrist, drew it to his lips, and pressed a kiss to her palm—right over the pulse point where her scent glands lay beneath the skin.

Then he turned and kissed her, claiming her mouth the way only a bonded mate should.