Chapter 3

The scent-bonding ritual took place at dawn.

Kael's private study had been transformed overnight. Dark curtains blocked every window. Candles formed a precise circle on the hardwood floor, their flames barely flickering in the still air. Ancient symbols were painted in silver on the wood—symbols I didn't recognize from any pack tradition I'd studied.

An elderly woman stood in the center, her white hair braided with wolfsbane flowers and her eyes milky with age. She smelled like old forests and something deeper—magic that predated modern pack structures.

"Elder Miriam," Kael said, his voice carrying unusual respect. "This is Aria."

The old woman's clouded eyes turned to me, and I felt the strangest sensation—as if she could see straight through my skin to whatever lay beneath.

"Wolfless," she murmured. Then her head tilted. "Or so you believe."

Before I could ask what that meant, she gestured us into the circle.

"Kneel. Face each other. Hands touching."

We knelt. Kael's hands were warm and rough against mine—a warrior's hands, despite his corporate empire. This close, his scent hit me full force. Pine and thunderstorms and something dark underneath, like smoke from a fire that never quite went out.

My pulse jumped. His eyes met mine, and for one unguarded second, I saw something behind the ice. Something wounded.

Then it was gone.

Elder Miriam began chanting in the old tongue, her voice rising and falling like waves against ancient shores. The candle flames grew taller, their light turning silver. The painted symbols on the floor began to glow.

Heat spread from our joined hands up through my arms and into my chest. Not painful—warm. Intimate. Like being wrapped in someone else's heartbeat.

Kael's jaw tightened. His fingers gripped mine harder.

"Don't fight it," Elder Miriam commanded.

The warmth exploded.

I gasped as his scent poured into me—not just through my nose but through my blood, my bones, every cell rewriting itself to recognize him as mine. Simultaneously, I felt something flowing outward from me into him, though I couldn't imagine what a wolfless woman had to offer.

When it was over, we were both breathing hard. Kael released my hands quickly, standing and stepping back as if I'd burned him.

"It's done," Elder Miriam said, extinguishing the candles with a wave. "Any wolf who encounters you will sense a mate bond." She paused, her milky eyes finding me again. "Though what I bonded today was... unexpected."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

But she was already shuffling toward the door. "You'll understand soon enough, child."

Kael was already in full business mode by the time I emerged from my room, showered and dressed in clothes that had appeared in my closet overnight—designer pieces in my exact size, tasteful and expensive.

"Tonight is the Blackwood Industries annual gala," he said without looking up from his laptop. "Every major pack leader and corporate Alpha in the territory will be there. This is your debut as my wife."

"Our marriage isn't even public yet."

"It will be by tonight. My legal team filed the paperwork this morning. The announcement goes out at noon." He finally glanced at me, his eyes doing a quick, clinical assessment of my appearance. "You'll need to look the part."

"I know how to dress for a gala, Kael. I was a Luna for three years."

"You were a Luna who got thrown out in a torn dress." The words were brutal in their precision. "Tonight, you need to be untouchable."

The sting of his words must have shown on my face, because something flickered in his expression—not quite regret, but awareness that he'd drawn blood.

"A stylist will arrive at two," he said, his tone marginally softer. "Hair, makeup, wardrobe. Whatever you need."

I turned to leave, then stopped. "Will Damien be there tonight?"

Kael's fingers paused on his keyboard. "The Silver Fang Pack holds minor shares in one of our subsidiaries. Their Alpha typically attends." His eyes met mine. "Is that a problem?"

My reflection stared back at me from the dark window—a woman in borrowed clothes, wearing a fake bond, pretending to be something she wasn't. Again.

"No," I said. "It's an opportunity."

For the first time, Kael Blackwood looked at me with something other than cold calculation.

He looked at me with curiosity.

"The stylist arrives at two," he repeated. "Don't be late."

I walked back to my room, my hand pressed against my chest where the bonding warmth still lingered. And in that hollow space inside me—the void where my wolf should have been—something shifted again.

Not a stirring this time.

A growl.