The air in the manor thickened even before each of Varg's steps echoed through the corridor. Having hunted vampires in the woods all night, his raven-black hair clung to his forehead, slick with sweat and the chill of the forest. He was a man known for making the world a living hell for everyone when he didn't get what he wanted.
When he was pleased, there was none better—but such moments were as rare as snow falling in the desert.
On the rare occasions he was pleased, there was none better—but the pack was currently far from such a moment.
The Omegas shrank against the walls as if hearing the footsteps of an executioner, holding their breath to avoid disturbing his savage authority. Even the Betas, despite their shifts being over, preferred to stand in the freezing, snow-covered outdoors rather than come face-to-face with Varg inside.
The other Alfas under his command had sprinted into the depths of the forest, their scents heavy with an adrenaline that sought any shadow to claim as a 'vampire'—anything to avoid Varg's sight. If they returned empty-handed once more, he would turn this magnificent manor into their graveyard.
Varg wore his fury like a cloak; every room he passed through dropped several degrees in temperature, leaving behind only the metallic tang of rage.
"My Alpha... our Luna..."
The Omega's voice was a muffled rasp, choked by the invisible claws tightening around their throat. Varg didn't stop. Without even turning his gaze, he asked the question that crushed the room with its mere existence.
"Still?"
"Yes, Alpha... She persists in her hunger strike, refusing the silver ointments. Her fever is rising, but she won't let us touch her. She has locked herself in. She won't speak, she won't make a sound. We thought she was sleeping, but..."
Varg stopped dead. It was the lethal silence of a predator just before the kill. When he turned to look into the Omega's eyes, he knew that even the bravest wolf in the pack felt their bones ache with terror.
"If she won't eat, tear her mouth open and force her!" he roared. The sound was a primal vibration that seemed to shake the very foundations of the castle. "If she won't use the ointment, bind those dainty hands to the headboard! I didn't bring this woman here as an ornament to rot in a guest room. She is the responsibility of this pack; she is my property! She will learn to comply, or these walls will be her grave while no one hears her screams! You will show no mercy, Omega!"
"She is to be your mate, Varg, not your prisoner. The girl has committed no crime; she simply cannot adapt to the changes."
Samuel's voice was the only calm yet authoritative sound in this savage wilderness. As his uncle stepped forward, Varg's aggressive aura flickered for a second. When Samuel patted Varg's shoulders—shoulders as hard as granite—he felt nothing but cold, pure resistance. Varg had always been like this, even as a child.
Even before the wolf within him had awakened, he had driven his Alpha father to the brink of madness. As a mere pup, his father used to hold him by the scruff of his neck and dunk his head into freezing rivers, yet his fire never died.
He had defied his father at the age of five. His father often left a "margin of seriousness" in his jokes about abandoning this uncontrollable, wild boy on a mountaintop to die.
Uncle Samuel was the only man who could handle Varg's temperament, yet even he sometimes thought, 'If only we could have left him on that peak when he was a child.'
"My mate?" Varg let out a bitter laugh that sounded more like a monster's groan. "Do you think I'm enduring this curse, this divine joke called 'destiny,' just to satisfy a spoiled girl? My borders are drawn in blood, Uncle! I don't have time to play house with a child who's afraid of her own shadow and sobs every night. That girl is a burden, a shackle around my neck! But she is mine. She belongs to me!"
Samuel's gaze hardened, trying to reach that petrified heart.
"She could have said 'no' before the Council. She might be afraid of you, Varg, but she is infatuated. She looks into your darkness and searches for a light. But you... you are making a living woman compete with a ghost in a grave. This pack needs a Luna and you need a mirror!"
Varg's eyes turned into glowing embers in the dark.
"No one can ever look at me the way my Violet-Eyed one did!" he shrieked, the raw pain in his voice eclipsing all his aggression. "The places her delicate hands touched still bear her mark. I cannot put this thin, spoiled girl in her place. Don't push me! If she chooses to rot in that room, let her rot."
Yet, as Varg turned toward the stairs, the torture in his mind wouldn't cease. Vespera's feverish delusions, the guilt of every morsel that hadn't entered her stomach since she arrived—it all wound around his Alpha instincts like a poisonous vine.
She was his woman.
She was his Omega.
More importantly, she was a soul under his protection. To shield her, to wrap her in his life at any cost, was Varg's duty. And yet, the girl had been happier even in the pack of that fool named Kael, where she was displayed like a trophy.
At least she had eaten there in silence. She hadn't gone on a hunger strike in her own home!
He burst into the kitchen like a storm. The Omegas dropped their pots and pans as if the Angel of Death had entered the room, tears streaming down their faces.
"What did that freak want?! She kept babbling about ridiculous foods," Varg barked, masking his unease with violence. "She said something about apples. What was that nonsense?"
"Alpha... apple tart..." a young Omega whispered, nearly fainting. "Eggs, flour, cinnamon... she spoke that...."
"Whatever the f*ck it is!" Varg slammed his fist into a sack of flour on the counter, sending a white cloud into the air.
"Make it! Now! Whatever she likes, whatever she'll cram into her mouth—prepare it all! If even one bite remains on that plate, I will bring this kitchen down on your heads! Use the finest apples!"
After minutes of tense waiting, Varg appeared in the corridor with a silver tray. Even as his massive hands held the delicate porcelain carrying the scent of fresh apples and cinnamon, he looked like a beast. He tried to hide his fury at himself behind the lie.
"I'm only doing this to shut her up." After all, she was under his protection.
When he reached Vespera's door, he didn't bother with the courtesy of knocking. He kicked the door open with a shoulder strike, straining the hinges. The toxic words were lined up in his throat.
"Choke on this and shut up, you freak!"
But the room... the room was ice cold. The scent of winter and the bite of the snow had filled the space.
The tray in Varg's hand trembled for the first time in his unshakable grip. The bed was a mess, but empty. Even the faint imprint of her body on the sheets had long since grown cold. His eyes shot to the massive window, thrown wide open. The freezing wind of Alberta rushed in, hungrily devouring the warm scent of the apple tart. Vespera's hair no longer lingered in the air; nowhere smelled of black orchids anymore.
"Vespera?"
His voice this time was not a roar; it was a whisper. The clinking of porcelain on the tray broke the deathly silence. Varg threw his 'olive branch' to the stone floor. Porcelain shattered; apples and cinnamon crust scattered like debris.
He ran to the window. He saw those small, bare footprints in the snow. In that moment, the pain that stabbed his chest wasn't for the ghost he protected, but for the "catastrophe" he had lost.
"Who will protect you without me..." he whispered into the darkness.
His voice was no longer that of an Alpha, but the whimper of a wounded wolf who had lost its prey in the snow. Maybe I couldn't even protect her from myself, his inner voice said. And a fire like this had never ignited in his heart before—not even when he lost the Violet-Eyed one.
He felt his soul agonizing in the flames of hell. Even the air entering his lungs felt like a sin.
"Vespera!" he bellowed, leaning out the snow-filled window.
But even Vespera's whisper had left the room.