His tone was gentle,like a seasoned Beta’s,but his eyes carried the cold,ancient authority of the Alpha bloodline.There was no warmth,no devotion in that deep voice.
“The scent barriers were down for road work.”
Elara walked up to his desk and carefully slid the Separation Decree across the polished wood.
She took a slow,deliberate breath,forcing her voice to remain steady—unwavering,devoid of the fear she felt.“Alpha Thorne,I just concluded a new trade negotiation with the Southern Clan.This is the contract for the Black Forest logging rights.Your mark is needed here.”
Ryder reached for the document.Their hands brushed—a brief,electric contact.Elara’s heart hammered against her ribs,terrified he would detect the sour,deceptive scent of her lie.
But he didn’t even glance at the header.He flipped to the final page and,without hesitation,scratched his powerful,sprawling signature above the line marked‘Alpha’s Mark’.
“Another deal sealed?Elara,your human capability continues to impress the council,”he said in a relaxed,almost dismissive tone.
Watching his mark commit him to their legal separation,Elara felt a crippling pain—a phantom ache where their bond should have thrummed with life.
In five years of this hollow claiming,the only reason Ryder kept her close was because she was a useful,clever shield for his Pack business—never because she was his fated,cherished mate.
Just then,his comm-link pulsed.He glanced at the screen,and his granite features softened.His voice dropped to a gentle,almost tender whisper—a tone Elara hadn't heard directed at herself in years.
“Are you hungry,Lyra?I’m stuck at the keep right now.I’ll send a Beta to get you something to eat from the village,okay?”
Anyone listening would assume he was talking to the woman who carried his future children.
But Elara knew the truth.
She had loved Ryder for countless seasons.They were pups together,growing up side-by-side in the sprawling Thorne Territory.
For him,Elara had abandoned her dreams of traveling,studying finance instead,and entering his company as an assistant—a move that allowed her to be within his scenting range every day.
Five years ago,the disaster struck.
That night,Ryder had been drinking the Pack’s celebratory mead,lost in a furious,drunken haze.The next morning,he emerged from the shadows and declared he would take responsibility,offering her the title of Claimed Mate.