The morning after the wedding night, the sacred mountain was still shrouded in thick fog.
Thorne opened his eyes, his head splitting with pain, last night’s memories cutting through his mind like blades.
He remembered Liora’s flushed eyes beneath him, her gasps calling him “Alpha,” and he remembered that while pressing down on her, he had called out another name.
Seraphina.
He sat up slowly, covering his eyes with the back of his hand, as if escaping the morning light, or perhaps escaping reality.
The familiar yet nauseating body on the bed stirred gently. Liora wrapped in the thin sheet and moved closer, her voice soft: “You were too rough yesterday. I felt like the baby might come early.”
Thorne remained silent.
She pressed against him, her fingertips sliding across his bare back muscles: “Were you too excited last night? You even called the wrong name.”
She spoke gently, but each word pierced to his bones.
Thorne’s gaze turned cold, his voice low and hoarse: “You heard wrong.”
But Liora smiled, her hand slowly moving toward his waist: “Did I look too much like her? Is that why you…”
He suddenly stood, shaking off her hand.
“Don’t mention her again.” His voice was low, hoarse, and sharp. “You’re now my nominal spouse. Don’t exhaust what little patience I have left for you.”
Liora froze, her eyes quickly turning cold.
“I’m carrying your heir.” She bit out. “The entire pack depends on this child to stabilize the situation—if you don’t want it, I’ll go tell the Matriarch.”
“Go ahead.” Thorne threw on his cloak, his voice completely flat. “Don’t forget, if it weren’t for getting you pregnant so I could inherit the Alpha position, I wouldn’t even look at you.”
The air froze.
Liora gripped the bedsheet tightly, her knuckles white.
“You’re the Alpha.” She spoke sharply. “You can’t be weak. You can’t be affected by someone who’s already abandoned you.”
“Weak?” Thorne looked out the window at the mist-shrouded valley, repeating the word quietly.
He suddenly turned, approaching Liora with eyes cold as knives: “Have you ever felt the pain of a wolf soul being torn apart?”
“She took my pup and left. That’s not weakness—that’s being ripped in two.”
Liora stepped back slightly but remained defiant: “She betrayed you first—the entire pack says she wasn’t worthy to stay.”
Thorne said nothing more and pushed through the door.
He didn’t want to hear any more judgments about Seraphina.
In the tribal council hall, lower Alphas, elders, and representatives from various branches sat in a circle.
Thorne, who hadn’t returned all night, strode in with his cloak disheveled, blood vessels clearly visible in his eyes.
The Matriarch sat at the head, speaking coldly: “The ceremony is complete. From now on, you are our recognized Alpha.”
“But you should also listen—”
She raised her hand, and people began discussing in low voices:
“The new Alpha abandoned the ceremony last night, showing no dignity.”
“He may be the heir, but his wolf soul is unstable. Can he truly lead the pack?”
“If Liora hadn’t gotten pregnant first, would this throne even be his?”
Thorne swept the room with cold eyes, saying nothing.
But the Matriarch lightly tapped her staff: “Enough.”
“He has completed the blood ritual and mating ceremony. These doubts can end.”
Liora appeared at the door then, deliberately wearing a dress that emphasized her rounded belly, her expression docile:
“The Alpha was indeed overexerted last night. I failed to remind him to exercise restraint. Please forgive him.”
She walked to Thorne’s side, naturally taking his arm.
He knew he couldn’t make another mistake now.
He had to maintain authority, maintain his position as tribal leader, maintain this hollow union.
But his wolf soul no longer cooperated.
It was restless, struggling and roaring within him, as if it wanted to tear this body apart and escape this territory.
He forced himself to stand before the platform, his knuckles white, his back teeth nearly ground to dust.
The Matriarch whispered something in his ear, Liora continued her gentle consolations, and the elders’ questioning voices rose and fell.
But Thorne couldn’t hear anything anymore.
His mind held only that empty old house, that burned metal wolf, Dean’s final “Uncle Thorne.”
He finally couldn’t hold on anymore.
“Enough.” He bit out these two words quietly and turned to leave.
The Matriarch called sternly: “Thorne, where are you going?”
He didn’t answer.
His cloak dragged a series of heavy echoes across the stone steps of the great hall.
He walked out of the hall, tilted his head back to take a deep breath of the snowy wind, blood vessels spreading through his eyes.
Behind him came Liora’s sharp voice: “Are you insane? If you leave now, you’re abandoning your position and fleeing!”
He suddenly turned, his eyes cold as ice blades: “I don’t care about this position.”
“She’s my mate. I’m going to bring her back.”
In that moment, he completely abandoned reason, abandoned all power, tribal law, and honor.
He called forth his wolf form, leaped down the snowy ridge, and raced toward the Northern Territory.
His wolf howled, roared, screaming a name madly through blood and wind:
Seraphina.
