Scent of Betrayal, Law of the PackChapter 1
I had just stepped out of a pack gathering with my den-mates, the lingering scent of roasted game still clinging to my fur-trimmed cloak.
That's when I caught their scent first—a mated pair's mingled aroma drifting from the window alcove of the tavern across the cobblestone path. The male was carefully stripping meat from bone for the female, his attention completely devoted to her, his wolf's contentment radiating in waves I could taste on the night air.
My den-mate let out a soft, longing sigh. "See, that's what a true bond looks like."
She nudged my arm, tilting her chin toward the pair. "I bet your mate does that for you every evening, doesn't he? Tends to you like you're the center of his world?"
I opened my mouth to explain that Rogan Ashfen was deathly allergic to moonpetal wine—the very drink sitting before them both. In five cycles of our mating bond, that particular vintage had never once touched our den's table. His body rejected it violently, or so he had always claimed.
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Then the male turned his head, laughing at something the female whispered against his ear.
My expression froze. The blood in my veins turned to ice—and then, without any sense to it, I laughed.
Rogan Ashfen. The same Rogan Ashfen who supposedly couldn't be in the same room as moonpetal wine without his throat closing and his skin breaking into angry welts. There he sat, leaning across the rough-hewn table to press his lips against hers, sharing the wine mouth to mouth, his face glowing with a happiness I hadn't witnessed in years. His wolf's joy pulsed through the air, thick enough to choke on.
The female startled, pushing him away with both hands planted against his chest. She covered her face, flustered, her cheeks flushing beneath her fingers.
"Others are watching!"
"Have you no shame?!"
Rogan's eyes crinkled at the corners, his voice dripping with an indulgence that made my stomach turn. "You're my intended. Why would I care who sees?"
That voice. I knew that voice—but not that tone. Never that tone. Not for me. Not once in all our bonded years.
A sharp pain lanced through my chest as I watched him gently pull her hands away from her face, gazing at her like she was something precious. Something worth protecting. His wolf practically preened.