Ethan POV

Another one.

I watch the woman approach across the ballroom, her hips swaying, her smile practiced. She's beautiful—objectively, I can see that. Dark hair, curves in all the right places, a dress that leaves little to imagination.

And I feel absolutely nothing.

No pull. No interest. No scent.

It's like looking at a painting. Aesthetically pleasing but completely flat.

"Alpha Ethan." She stops in front of me, dipping her head in a gesture that's more flirtation than respect. "I was hoping to catch you before you left."

I don't bother with warmth. "You've caught me."

She laughs, the sound high and artificial. "I'm Alice, from White Rock Pack. My father speaks very highly of you."

"Alpha Henry is a good man." I keep my tone neutral, polite. Nothing more.

"He'd love for our packs to strengthen ties." Alice steps closer, her hand landing on my arm. "Perhaps we could discuss it over a dance?"

Niel appears at my shoulder, and I've never been more grateful for my Beta's timing.

"Alpha." He nods to Alice. "Apologies for the interruption."

I pull my arm free, gentle but firm. "I appreciate the offer, Alice, but I'm afraid I have other commitments tonight. Please give your father my regards."

Her smile tightens. "Of course. Perhaps another time."

She glides away, and I resist the urge to scrub a hand over my face.

"How many is that tonight?" Niel asks, watching her go.

"Lost count after the first dozen." I scan the room, cataloging exits. "This was a mistake."

"You're the most powerful unmated Alpha here." Niel shrugs. "Of course they're circling."

"They're wasting their time."

Because what they don't know—what no one knows except Niel and my grandfather—is that I can't sense any of them. Not their scents, not the subtle pheromones that should tell me who's compatible, who's pack, who's a potential mate.

Nothing.

I've been to a hundred gatherings like this, endured countless introductions, let women touch me and flirt and throw themselves at my feet. Every single one might as well be made of stone for all I can perceive.

'Maybe there's something wrong with me.'

'Maybe I'll never—'

"Well, well." Niel's voice drops, amused. "Looks like Darkrock's Alpha has arrived."

I follow his gaze to the entrance.

Damien stands framed in the doorway, looking every inch the powerful Alpha in a tailored suit. A woman clings to his arm—pink dress, dark hair, beautiful in that calculated way.

"His Luna?" I ask, though I already know the answer from Niel's expression.

"Nope." Niel leans in, voice dropping to gossip-level. "That's Lilith Light. His brother's widow."

My jaw tightens. "He brought his mistress."

"To a formal pack assembly." Niel shakes his head. "Ballsy. Or stupid."

"Both."

I've never liked my nephew. Oh, we're cordial in public—family politics demand it. But I've seen things over the years that don't add up. Convenient deaths. Suspicious accidents. A pattern of cruelty disguised as strength.

And now this.

Bringing his mistress to a formal gathering while his Luna—wherever the fuck she is—gets left behind like forgotten baggage. It's disrespectful. Dishonorable. Everything an Alpha shouldn't be.

"I'm leaving." I turn toward the nearest exit.

"Thank god." Niel falls into step beside me. "I was starting to think you'd make us stay for the speeches."

"I'd rather chew glass."

We're almost to the doors when Niel pauses. "You know, if you slip out now, every unmated she-wolf in there is going to take it personally."

"Good. Maybe they'll stop—"

Then it hits me.

A scent. Actual, real, undeniable scent.

It slams into me like a physical force—jasmine and rain and something wild that makes every nerve in my body light up. My wolf surges, sudden and violent, pressing against my control.

'What the fuck—'

I freeze, my head snapping toward the entrance.

The doorman is arguing with someone. A woman. I can't see her clearly through the crowd, but that scent—god, that scent is everywhere, drowning out the perfume and cologne and stuffiness of the ballroom.

"Alpha?" Niel's looking at me strangely. "You okay?"

I don't answer. Can't answer.

For the first time in my entire life, I can smell someone.

Ellen is going insane inside me, howling and clawing, trying to force a shift right here in the middle of the hall.

'Mine. Mine. MINE.'

"Shut up," I mutter.

"What?" Niel blinks.

Then the crowd shifts, and I see her.

Blonde hair like moonlight. Green eyes wide with desperation. A silver dress that clings to curves that make my mouth go dry. She's arguing with the doorman, glancing over her shoulder like she's being chased.

And before I can think, before I can process what the fuck is happening, she's moving.

Straight toward me.

Her hand slides through my arm, and the contact sends electricity racing up my spine. The scent intensifies—so strong it makes me dizzy.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, darling." Her voice is breathless, honeyed, undercut with real fear. "Traffic was a nightmare."

She's pretending. Playing a role. Using me as cover.

I should call her out. Should demand to know who she is, what she's running from.

But Ellen is screaming so loud I can barely think.

The woman's eyes meet mine—forest green and desperate—and something in my chest cracks wide open.

She starts to pull away. "I didn't mean to—"

My hand clamps over hers before I can stop myself.

The wolf inside me roars in approval, in possession, in recognition.

'Move. Now. Before she runs.'

I'm turning, pulling her with me, past the doorman's sputtered protests, through the massive doors, into the golden chaos of the assembly hall.

Ellen won't shut up. Can't shut up.

'Mate! Mate! That's her! That's our mate!'