After a brief rest, the King and his entourage prepared themselves for the feast.
Alaric adjusted the cuffs of his tailored black jacket, his motions slow, deliberate. Yet beneath the composed exterior, tension simmered like a live wire. That damned scent — vanilla and citrus — still clung stubbornly to the edges of his senses, teasing and elusive. It would appear, curl through his nostrils like a siren's call, and vanish before he could lock onto it.
It was maddening.
The grand hall of the Shadowfang pack house had been transformed into a masterpiece of deference and grandeur. Gleaming chandeliers spilled warm light across long tables laden with silverware and fresh blooms. Banners of crimson and black swayed above, bearing the ancient insignias of the werewolf Court and the Shadowfang Pack.
As the heavy doors were thrown open, Alaric entered.
Instantly, the hall fell into perfect, synchronized motion.
A great rustle of fabric, boots, and bare knees striking stone echoed as the entire gathering dropped to their knees, foreheads bowing low. A unified murmur rippled through the hall, their voices low but clear:
"Your humble subjects welcome His Royal Highness, King Alaric Magnus, to our humble pack."
The sound settled over the space like a blessing... or a warning.
Alaric paused, surveying them — warriors, elders, mothers with children held close, all pledging silent fealty with their very posture. His wolf, restless within him, prowled just beneath his skin, snarling for attention.
"Rise," Alaric said, his voice a smooth command, quiet but sharp as a blade. "Thank you. It is my honor to be here."
Chairs scraped lightly against stone as everyone obeyed, straightening with cautious, respectful movements.
Alpha Rowan stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. His welcoming speech was brief and carefully crafted — the right balance of loyalty, gratitude, and pride.
Alaric gave the necessary nods, made the right diplomatic remarks.
Alaric and his entourage made their way to the high table and tok their seats before the rest of the pack followed suit.
Alpha Rowan approached with a wide, eager smile, practically vibrating with anticipation. A young woman stood by his side, tall, graceful, and dressed in a gown that clung to her like a second skin.
"Your Majesty," Rowan said with a grand bow, "may I present my daughter, Livia. Trained in the ways of court, diplomacy, and all matters that might please a King."
Alaric offered a curt nod, barely glancing at her. She was beautiful — statuesque, poised — but he felt nothing.
No pull.
No stirring.
No vanilla, no citrus.
No her.
Before he could take a step further, another official stepped up, practically shoving his daughter into the King's path.
"This is Calla, Your Majesty. A mind sharp as a blade and a spirit to match!"
"And Elara, Your Majesty," yet another chimed in. "A skilled healer — gentle, wise, perfect for a King in need of a Queen…"
One after the other, they came. Offering smiles too wide, words too sweet, daughters too eager.
The badgering grated on Alaric's nerves. Each new introduction tightened the knot in his chest, feeding the already simmering irritation within him. His wolf paced furiously beneath the surface, teeth bared, craving escape.
The scent was back — so faint it might have been a trick of his mind, but it seized him all the same. His wolf bristled, ears flicking up, golden eyes seeing through his own.
A muscle ticked in Alaric's jaw. He was edgy, restless, a live flame caged behind cold eyes.
"I'm stepping out for a breather." Alaric mind linked Elias
There was a beat of silence before Elias's voice responded, sharp and concerned.
"Your Majesty, perhaps it's better if a few guards accompany you. Just in case."
Alaric's wolf gave a low, warning growl. His patience, already thin, was wearing dangerously close to snapping.
"No guards." His mental voice left no room for argument. "I need space. You will stand down and enjoy the feast."
"But—"
"That's an order, Elias."
Reluctantly, Elias backed off, the link going quiet.
Even that small exchange had irritated him further.
Without ceremony, he rose from the table.
The courtiers stiffened slightly but said nothing as he turned and made his way out of the hall, the heavy doors swinging shut behind him.
The cool night air hit him like a balm.
For a moment, he simply stood there under the star-drenched sky, dragging in slow, deep breaths.
Then he remembered — when they had arrived, faint over the scent of pine and earth, he'd caught the distant roar of water. A waterfall.
Alaric didn't hesitate.
He stepped away from the pack house and into the tree line, shedding his jacket as he went.
The shift came easily to him, like slipping into a second skin — but tonight, it was different. Tonight, it felt urgent, fueled by the prowling need inside him.
With a low, rumbling growl, he gave in.
Bones cracked and reformed with brutal grace. His muscles expanded, ripping clean through his remaining clothes. Midnight-black fur erupted along his body, sleek and perfect save for one imperfection — a faint, silvery mark shaped like a crescent moon, carved into the fur of his left shoulder like an ancient birthright.
Golden eyes, bright as molten suns, opened.
Standing there in the moonlight, Alaric's wolf form was breathtaking — massive, powerful, an ancient creature of dominance and shadow. His claws dug into the earth, nostrils flaring as he caught a stronger, sharper hint of that scent he'd been chasing all day.
Vanilla. Citrus. And something else now — something wild.
His wolf surged forward, demanding control.
"Find her."
The whisper curled through his mind, half command, half prayer.
Alaric growled low in his throat but allowed the wolf to guide his senses. He dropped into a powerful lope, each stride devouring the distance as he moved deeper into the woods. Branches parted before him, the ground whispering of his passing.
The roar of the waterfall grew louder, the sound vibrating through his bones.
The scent grew stronger too, no longer fleeting but more grounded, more real.
His heart thundered, matching the rhythm of the falling water ahead.
Somewhere near that waterfall... something waited.
Something that might change everything.
And Alaric Magnus — Alpha King, feared enforcer, breaker of oaths — would find it.
Or tear the forest apart trying.