Althea POV: A violent jolt threw me hard against the leather armrest, the cabin alarm screaming in my ears as the plane plunged hundreds of feet. I tore my eyes open and looked through the cracked window into the pitch-black night. Out on the wing, three massive men with glowing red eyes were ripping into the metal engine cowling with bare claws. Rogues. Packless, feral werewolves who answered to no law. I unbuckled my seatbelt and stood up, my flat boots crunching over shattered glass and expensive designer suitcases littering the aisle. After twelve years of exile in the border wastelands as the disgraced, wolfless Omega daughter of the Langley Pack, I had only boarded this flight to Frostcrown City to fulfill a substitute marriage contract and reclaim my late mother's belongings. Dying at thirty thousand feet was not part of my plan. I pushed toward the cockpit to find a weapon, but the main cabin door suddenly blew inward. Freezing wind howled through the breach. A hulking Rogue with bloodstained fangs lunged into the aisle, blocking my path. I stepped back half a pace, my right hand sliding into the hidden pocket at my waist. Three sharp bone needles soaked in paralyzing herbs slipped between my fingers. Before the monster's claws could graze my nose, a tall shadow shot out from the first-class cabin. The man wore a solid gold mask over the upper half of his face. He did not even shift into a wolf. He simply clamped one bare hand around the Rogue's thick throat and squeezed. The sickening crunch of crushed cartilage echoed over the roaring wind. He tossed the limp body against the cabin wall like garbage. A suffocating wave of pure Alpha dominance rolled off him, cold and heavy as a winter blizzard, making my lungs ache for air. Even among top Pack CEOs, this level of genetic power was terrifying. He turned his head, his pitch-black eyes sweeping over my scarred face from behind the gold mask. "Stay out of the way if you want to live," he rasped, his voice cold and gravelly. I said nothing, shrinking back behind a row of seats while my eyes tracked his movements. More Rogues poured through the torn doorway, turning the narrow aisle into a slaughterhouse. The masked Alpha fought with brutal precision, snapping necks and tearing throats, likely the legendary underground warlord known as the Shadow Falcon. Yet the sheer number of attackers soon boxed him in. Three Rogues pinned his arms from the front while a fourth leaped from his blind spot, aimed straight for the back of his neck. I clenched my jaw, dropping my weak act, and sprang from behind the seat. The gale-force wind whipped loose luggage across the cabin, and a heavy metal beverage cart rolled into the aisle, blocking my sprint. I planted my boot on the edge of the cart and vaulted into the air. Reaching into my left pocket, I flung a handful of fine, glittering silver powder straight into the ambushing Rogue's eyes. Silver was the only fatal weakness to our kind, burning a werewolf's flesh and destroying their healing factor on contact. The powder hissed like acid against his eyeballs. The Rogue let out a bloodcurdling shriek, clutching his melting face as he tumbled backward out the open door. The masked Alpha snapped the necks of the remaining three enemies and spun around, catching the exact moment I lowered my hand. His dark eyes narrowed in sharp scrutiny. "Silver powder? Who the hell are you?" He strode over the corpses and pinned me against the cabin wall, his towering frame caging me in. I opened my mouth to invent a lie, but a deafening explosion ripped off the right wing. The cabin tilted straight down toward the abyss. Gravity vanished. The suction yanked my feet off the floor, dragging me toward the jagged hole in the fuselage. A steel-like arm hooked around my waist and slammed me against a hard, burning chest. "Hold on to me!" he commanded over the screaming wind, his free hand snatching an emergency parachute pack from the bulkhead. We leaped into the freezing night one second before the jet blew apart in a fireball. The falling pressure crushed my chest, forcing my eyes shut, though my nose filled with his clean, intoxicating scent of winter cedar. He pulled the ripcord with one hand, steering us away from the jagged mountain peaks below. The canopy snapped open, the harness jerking us hard. I let out a muffled groan as his arm tightened around my waist, pressing my spine flush against his front. The parachute cords scraped across the high forest canopy with a sharp snapping sound. He lowered his head, his hot breath brushing the shell of my ear. "If we survive this, remember you owe me a life." I looked up into his dark pupils, my pulse hammering against my ribs, ready to retort—when the main cords snapped completely, dropping us straight into the pitch-black trees below.

Althea POV: Thick pine branches snapped beneath us one after another, breaking our fall before we slammed into a deep mound of wet leaves with a heavy thud. At the last second, the masked Alpha had twisted in midair to take the brunt of the impact. I lay sprawled across his broad chest, my stomach churning and my ribs aching from the drop. I braced my palms against his shoulders to push myself up, only to find his iron arm still locked around my waist, holding me so tight my bones creaked. The forest was dead silent save for the rustling leaves. Suddenly, that crisp scent of winter cedar rolling off his skin grew ten times stronger, thick and dizzying. His breathing turned ragged. In one swift motion, he flipped me onto my back, pinning me into the soft leaves as his gold mask glinted under the faint moonlight. My eyes widened. My fingers twitched toward my waist for a bone needle, but he lowered his head and crushed his mouth over mine. The instant our lips touched, a violent jolt of electricity shot straight down my spine to my toes. My heart hammered wildly against my sternum, and my blood boiled like molten lava in my veins. That cedar scent wrapped around my senses, filling a hollow ache deep inside my chest with an overwhelming sense of peace and completion. Through the press of our chests, a low, feral vibration rumbled from deep within his throat—an inner wolf's possessive roar echoing a single word: Mine. My mind went completely blank. The scent, the physical surge, the soul's peace, the inner roar, and the electric sparks—all five undeniable signs of the Moon Goddess's Recognition Ritual had just triggered at once. Only adult werewolves with an inner wolf could experience the Fated Mate bond, yet my dormant White Wolf bloodline was screaming in response to this stranger. His kiss grew rougher, carrying an Alpha's absolute dominion as his teeth nicked my bottom lip, drawing a drop of blood. My hands lost all strength against his burning chest, my legs turning to water under the pull of the mate bond. Just as my sanity began to slip, a chorus of sharp, feral howls tore through the distant woods. The surviving Rogues were regrouping to hunt him down. The man froze. Pulling back an inch, he sucked in a harsh breath, his chest heaving as he forced down his raging instincts and rolled off me. He stared down at me for a long beat, his dark eyes swirling with shock and fierce restraint. Then his long fingers brushed against my left ear. With a sharp click, a cold metal stud locked onto the cartilage of my upper ear. "Wait for me to find you," he rasped. Without shifting into his Dire Wolf form, he melted into the dark trees at a blinding speed. I sat up in the leaves, gasping for air, and touched my ear. My fingers traced a star-marrow blue diamond stud engraved with ancient wolf runes. It was fitted with a bloodline mechanical lock designed to stay permanently shut unless opened by its owner. The Rogue howls drew closer through the freezing air. I could not let anyone see my real face or connect me to the Shadow Falcon. Channeling a tiny thread of pure White Wolf healing energy into my fingertip, I pressed the hidden spring on the back of the stud. It clicked open and dropped into my palm. After tucking the diamond stud into my inner pocket, I pulled a waterproof tin from my torn bag. Using a puddle as a mirror, I smeared the pungent brown herbal paste across my left cheek, recreating the hideous burn scar I had worn for twelve years. The bitter herbs instantly masked my natural White Wolf scent, turning me back into a scentless, wolfless Omega. I stood up, brushed the dirt from my clothes, and walked out to the highway, flagging down a passing cargo truck thirty minutes later to borrow the driver's phone and call the Langley Pack headquarters. Kenton POV: One mile back in the forest, I stood high on a thick oak branch, cold sweat soaking my shirt as chronic silver poison flared painfully through the nerves of my legs from the hard landing. The silver poison in my legs has been with me for years. After two years of secret treatment, I've finally gotten to the point where I can leave the wheelchair behind—but only for short periods of time. Any injury and the pain turns unbearable, and the damage worsens fast. Once I've rested long enough for the pain to fade, the numbness creeps back in —my legs go completely dead again, without the faintest sensation or sting. I bent over, bracing my hands on my legs, and watched the truck's taillights disappear down the highway. My heart was still pounding against my ribs. After years of searching, the Moon Goddess had dropped my Fated Mate right into my arms. Her sweet, intoxicating scent was still burned into my lungs. I clenched my fists, forcing myself not to turn back. As the Shadow Falcon, I had a pack of bloodthirsty Rogues on my tail, and dragging her into my underground war would get her killed. I swore on my wolf that once I slaughtered these Rogues, I would tear Frostcrown City apart to find the woman wearing my bloodline stud.

Althea POV: Two hours after getting off the cargo truck at the city limits, I pushed open the heavy oak doors of the Langley Pack headquarters and stepped into the brightly lit marble foyer. In the center of the hall, my half-sister Aubree stood swirling a glass of champagne, her honey-blonde curls bouncing under the crystal chandelier. As the pampered Beta princess of the family, she wore custom silk while my jacket was caked in dried forest mud. Spotting me, Aubree covered her mouth with a dramatic gasp, her eyes gleaming with disgust. "Oh my god, look what the cat dragged in. Our family's pathetic little wolfless freak looks like she crawled here through a ditch—you look like you haven't bathed in ten years." "And that face. Ugh." She wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something rotten. "Just thinking about you sharing the Langley name makes my stomach turn." I stared at her blankly, keeping my fingers still at my sides. In werewolf society, being born wolfless without an inner wolf was treated as a genetic curse worse than a servant's, and their arrogance was the best shield I had. Footsteps sounded on the grand staircase. My stepmother, Valerie, glided down, a massive emerald ring flashing on her left hand. "Aubree, watch your tongue. We are family, after all," Valerie scolded lightly before turning to me with a stiff, painted-on smile. "Althea, since you made it back in one piece, the substitute marriage will proceed tonight. You are taking Aubree's place to marry Kenton Frost." I kept my face expressionless. Kenton Frost was the disgraced Alpha heir of the billionaire Frost Pack-a man rumored to have had his leg meridians shattered, leaving him a violent, crippled outcast. Valerie wanted Frost's alliance money without sacrificing her precious daughter. "Where are my mother's belongings?" I asked, my voice flat. That was the only reason I had agreed to this deal. Valerie's smile flickered. "Once you settle into the Frost estate and behave yourself, I will have them sent over. The car is waiting outside." Aubree folded her arms over her chest and snickered. "A hideous, scarred freak and a crippled lunatic Alpha. You two are a match made in hell, sister. They didn't even bother holding a Moon Goddess blessing ceremony for you-just pack you up and ship you out." Ignoring her, I turned around and walked back out the oak doors toward the black sedan bearing the Frost Pack crest. Fighting with fools wasted energy; I needed to get inside the Frost territory to investigate the fire that had ruined my life twelve years ago. That fire took my mother's life and left my grandfather badly injured. Because of it, I was exiled to the borderlands for twelve years. I have to find out what caused that fire. Two burly Beta guards yanked the rear door open and shoved me onto the leather seat before slamming the door shut. As the sedan pulled away, I watched Valerie and Aubree laughing on the steps, my fingertips lightly brushing my chin. Leaning back against the headrest, I closed my eyes as the car sped out of downtown. Unbidden, the memory of that golden mask and the searing electric jolt of his kiss flashed through my mind. The Moon Goddess had given me a Fated Mate in the sky, yet I did not even know his name, and now I was bound by contract to a crippled stranger. The sedan climbed a winding cliffside road and stopped before an imposing fortress overlooking the black ocean—Clearwater Cliff Estate. Armed warriors patrolled the perimeter, the air thick with lethal security. A middle-aged Beta butler in a tailored suit, Jody Clarke, waited on the front steps. When I stepped out of the car, his gaze hit my scarred cheek and widened for a fraction of a second before smoothing over. "Miss Althea, follow me. Young Master Kenton is waiting in the study," Jody said with polite detachment. Clutching my small canvas bag, I followed him down a dim hallway lined with ancient Dire Wolf tapestries. At the end of the corridor stood a pair of heavy mahogany doors. Even through the thick wood, a suffocating wave of pure Alpha dominance leaked into the hall, pressing heavily against my chest. Jody knocked twice. "Young Master, the girl from the Langley Pack has arrived." "Tell her to get the hell in here," a freezing, gravelly baritone cut through the door. Jody pushed the door open, gestured me inside, and shut it behind me. The study was dark save for the crackling fireplace. A tall, broad-shouldered man sat facing the hearth in a custom black wheelchair. Slowly, he spun the wheelchair around, locking his pitch-black eyes onto mine. My breath hitched—not from fear, but because beneath the heavy smell of medicinal herbs in the room, he carried the exact same winter cedar scent as the masked man in the sky.