"Ten hours until sunrise, Garret. Ten hours until this hall must be dazzling, yet all I see is shameful incompetence."
Cale's heavy boot struck the stone slab, sending a sharp echo ringing through the air. He strode through the swarm of servants without slowing, forcing them to scatter like frightened birds. The air in the main hall was stagnant, thick with the acrid scent of lye and the stale burnt smell of torches.
"We are trying, Alpha. The fabrics for the dais only just arrived, and—"
"Trying?" Cale turned sharply, closing the distance between himself and the overseer. "Your 'trying' reeks of laziness and fear. I see no luster. I see grime in the corners."
"The people are collapsing," Garret squeezed a greasy rag in his fists, his shoulders trembling slightly. "We started at three in the morning, as you commanded."
"Then you will finish at three tomorrow morning. Or you won't finish at all. Speed them up. Every one of them. If I see even a shadow of doubt in their movements, you will personally lick these slabs clean until dawn."
"Yes, Alpha. Hey, you! Faster! Move it, you bags of bones! Anyone who slows down goes without their rations!"
Cale ignored the overseer's barking as he continued his rounds. His gaze, cold and scanning, caught every flaw: an unevenly hung tapestry, a smudge on a column, hunched backs. Suddenly, his stride faltered.
In the center of the hall, directly in his path, a small figure knelt motionless. Alina. She was scrubbing the floor, gripping a coarse brush so tightly her knuckles were white. Her old tunic was soaked through at the back, revealing the sharp lines of her shoulder blades.
Cale stopped two paces away. The silence around them grew dense, almost tangible.
His inner wolf, which had been dormant beneath a layer of icy control, suddenly lifted its head. The beast gave a low growl deep in his chest, sensing something that stood out from the surroundings. A scent. Amidst the stench of chemicals and sweat, a thin, nearly imperceptible thread broke through. Wild herbs after rain? Metal? Clove?
This aroma did not belong here. It was disturbing. It irritated him with its inappropriateness.
"You."
Alina flinched but did not lift her head. Her fingers tightened even further around the wooden handle of the brush. Cale saw her shoulders shake—the small, pathetic tremor of a creature that knows its fate.
"I said speed up," Cale's voice dropped to a vibrating bass. "Why is this section still covered in suds?"
Garret rushed up from behind, breathless with effort.
"She's slow, Alpha! I've already corrected her three times! The girl has lost her wits; she fusses over every single seam!"
"She isn't fussing, Garret. She is delaying me."
Cale took a step forward, his boot stopping inches from her hands. Alina pressed herself even lower against the floor, as if trying to merge with the stone. The wolf inside Cale clawed at him, demanding… what? For her to look at him? For her to acknowledge his power? Or for her to simply vanish, to stop poisoning the air with her strange, alluring scent?
"Look at her, Garret. She's trembling. Are you in charge of cripples or servants?"
"Forgive me, Alpha. Hey, you! Wretch, did you hear the master?" Garret swung his hand, but Cale caught his wrist. The grip was so powerful the overseer gasped, turning pale.
"Don't touch her. Your hands should be maintaining order, not getting dirty on trash. But if this place isn't clean in five minutes, I will decide that you are encouraging this… sluggishness."
Cale didn't take his eyes off the back of Alina's head. He could feel a wave of fear radiating from her—pure and sticky—but beneath it lurked something else. A quiet, barely audible resistance that infuriated him more than open rebellion.
"She is a reflection of your management, Garret. If she is weak, it means you are weak. Do you want me to consider you weak?"
"No, Alpha! Not at all!" Garret jerked, trying to free himself. "I'll fix everything! Do you hear me, you? Scrub! Scrub until the skin comes off your fingers!"
Alina made a sharp movement with the brush. The sound of the tortured stone seemed deafening to Cale. He felt her terror like a physical pressure, and it fed his dominance, but the wolf… the wolf continued to circle restlessly within his ribs. Alina's scent was seeping into his lungs, demanding an attention she did not deserve.
"Alpha! A message from the Eastern Reach!"
The heavy oak doors swung open. Jake ran into the hall, his uniform splattered with road dust, his breathing ragged. He quickly assessed the scene: Cale towering over the huddled figure of the servant girl, and Garret, flushed with tension.
Jake slowed as he approached. He held out a leather tube, but for a split second, his gaze slipped down to Alina. In that look, there was none of Cale's contempt or Garret's malice. There was only a brief, silent flash of pity.
Alina froze for a second, her eyes—huge and full of hunted light—met the messenger's gaze. She immediately lowered them, staring into the dirty foam at her knees.
Cale snatched the tube from Jake's hands.
"Report."
"Scouts saw movement near the ridge border," Jake tried not to look at the girl anymore, but his voice sounded hollow. "They say it's a small detachment. The message is encrypted for your eyes only."
Cale broke the seal, keeping his eyes on the messenger.
"And that is a reason to burst into the hall during an inspection? You look as if you've seen a ghost, Jake. Or are you so impressed by the sight of a wet floor?"
"No, Alpha. It's just… the road was long."
"Dismissed. Wait in the small study."
Jake nodded, cast one more quick, barely noticeable glance at Alina, and hurried away. Cale unfurled the parchment, scanning the lines. The information was vital, but right now he was more occupied with how Alina had reacted to Jake. She hadn't trembled as much when she looked at him.
A new surge of irritation flared within him.
"Garret," Cale crumpled the message in his fist. "If I see one more spot on this slab when I return, you will be sent to the kennels. As lunch."
"It will be done! I swear! Hey, you, why have you stopped? Scrub!"
Cale spun on his heel. He didn't look back at Alina. He no longer looked at the servants. His inspection was over, and he had gotten what he wanted—confirmation of his absolute control. Almost.
As he left the hall, he squared his shoulders and breathed in the cool air of the corridor, desperate to purge the haunting aroma of wild herbs and fear from his nostrils.
"A worthy mate," he muttered, addressing the wolf within more than himself. "Soon, beast. The ceremony will provide us with someone who can stand beside us, not grovel at our feet. Someone strong. Pureblood. Someone who won't smell of weakness and grime."
The wolf remained silent, but in that silence, Cale sensed a dull, mournful disagreement. He suppressed the feeling, slamming the door to his quarters behind him. He was the Alpha. He knew what he needed. And the little gray mouse on her knees was merely noise that would soon fade in the shadow of great events.
"Garret!" a muffled cry reached him from the hall. "A bucket! Bring more water! Faster, before I wring your neck!"
Cale nodded with satisfaction. Order was restored. Fear worked better than any request.
He walked to the window, watching the setting sun. The horizon was stained blood-red—the color of the coming moon.
"Strength attracts strength," he told his reflection in the dark glass. "Everything else is to be destroyed."
The inner beast finally quieted, curling into a ball, but Cale knew: should he catch that scent again, his control would crack. He needed to find his true mate as soon as possible to drown out this persistent, wrong calling from a woman whose name he didn't even want to remember.
He tossed the crumpled letter onto the table and began unbuttoning his cuffs. His hands did not shake. His will was made of steel.
The Blood Moon Ceremony would put everything in its place. The weak would remain in the dust, and the strong would take what was theirs. And Alina… she would remain nothing more than a shadow on the stones of his castle.
So he convinced himself, ignoring the strange tingling in the palms that had never touched her.
"Soon," he repeated, closing his eyes. "Everything will be right."
Outside the hall, the hustle continued. The clatter of buckets, the hiss of brushes, and the quiet sobs that no one dared to voice. And the scent. A scent that had already begun to shift the trajectory of his fate, even if he refused to admit it.
"Master?" there was a cautious knock at the door.
"Get out," Cale snapped without turning.
He needed solitude. He needed to clear his mind of the image of a slender neck bent in a bow, and that inexplicable, wild pulse in his blood that awakened every time he was too close to the one who had no right to his attention.
He was the Alpha. He would find his queen.
And a slave… a slave was just a slave.
Cale sat in his chair, staring at the fire in the hearth. The flames danced, reflected in his eyes, and for a moment, he glimpsed the same sparks he had seen in Alina's eyes when she looked at Jake.
He gripped the armrests so hard the wood cracked.
"Mine," the wolf suddenly growled, waking with a new, terrifying intensity.
Cale shook his head, driving the vision away.
"Never."
He stood and walked to the decanter of wine, pouring himself a full goblet. The ruby liquid looked like blood.
"To strength," he exhaled, draining the goblet.
Tomorrow, everything would change. Tomorrow, he would prove to everyone—and to himself most of all—that he was the master of his instincts, not just his pack.
Alina remained there, below, in the darkness of the vast hall, washing away his footprints. That was the only proper way of things. At least, that was what he chose to believe, until the silence of the room was filled with the echo of her rapid, frightened breathing, which he could somehow hear right through the stone walls.