Chapter 159: Manipulative.

Chapter 160

Alaric exited the study. He didn’t stop walking until he was clear of the administrative wing, his lungs burning as he fought to draw in a breath that didn’t feel like it was laced with his father’s disappointment.

Outside, the pack grounds were bathed in the bruised purples and oranges of a dying sunset. It was a beautiful view, but to Alaric, it looked like a bruise.

He could see pack members in the distance, warriors training, mothers calling their children and he knew they were all looking at him.

They didn’t see Alaric; they saw the future, and they saw the man who was supposedly blessed with a golden Luna.

“Alaric?” The voice was sweet, melodic, and perfectly pitched to carry across the lawn. Mrs Mrs Rohan —selena’s mom—was standing by the stone fountain, her dark hair catching the last of the light, looking every bit the beta’s wife and the architect of her family’s social standing.

She stood with a poised, rigid grace, her eyes—the same calculating shade as Selena’s—already locked onto him with a terrifyingly focused intensity.

Alaric felt a heavy sigh rattle in his chest. For a fleeting second, he had been relieved that it wasn’t Selena; he wasn’t sure he could stomach another round of her ambitious coaxing and manufactured “mate” touches just yet.

But that relief evaporated the moment his brain registered who it actually was. Being caught by Mrs. Rohan was arguably worse. If Selena was a budding manipulator, her mother was the seasoned master who had written the manual.

That woman didn’t just crave power; she breathed it, calculated it, and moved pieces on the pack’s chessboard with cold precision that made Alaric’s wolf bristle in suspicion.

Both mother and daughter were cut from the same silk cloth—manipulative, relentlessly annoying, and entirely too focused on the crown that Alaric was supposedly carrying.

If he had to pick who was more dangerous, his money was on the mother. She didn’t have the distraction of youthful infatuation to soften her edges; she only had the cold, hard drive to see her daughter installed as Luna, cementing the Rohan legacy for another generation.

As she began to glide toward him, her smile not quite reaching her predatory eyes, Alaric’s mind involuntarily flickered to Isabella.

Isabella. She was the anomaly, the one who didn’t fit the mold of her family’s sharp-toothed ambition.

She hadn’t been like them—there was no hidden agenda in her smiles, no calculation in her silence.

But she hadn’t had a wolf. In a world built on the strength of the beast within, her lack of a spirit had made her invisible to the pack, a “broken” thing in the eyes of the elitists like Mrs. Rohan.

Yet, in the hollow silence of his own head, Alaric found himself wondering if a wolf-less peace wouldn’t have been better than this high-stakes theater.

“Alaric, dear,” Mrs. Rohan purred as she reached him, her hand coming up to rest on his forearm in a gesture that was supposedly maternal but felt more like a claim.

“I saw you leaving the Alpha’s study. You look… troubled. I hope Silas isn’t being too demanding of his future successor?”

Alaric fought the urge to flinch away from her touch. The scent of her perfume was cloying. “It was just a standard briefing, Mrs. Rohan,” His voice dropped into that guarded, formal tone he reserved for the pack’s political players.

“Is that so?” She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as they flicked toward the side of his neck, searching for the same mark his father had been hunting.

“Because the pack is talking, Alaric. They are so excited for you and my Selena. It would be a shame to keep them waiting much longer for an official celebration. A union like yours is what keeps the Blood-Moon’s bloodline pure and powerful.”

There it was. The hook. She wasn’t asking; she was reminding him of the debt he supposedly owed to the pack’s expectations.

“We are taking our time to ensure everything is perfect,” Alaric replied, the lie now coming to him with sickening ease.

Inside, his wolf let out a whine of disgust, turning its back on the woman and the future she was trying to force into existence.

“Of course, of course,” Mrs. Rohan smiled, but the expression was as cold as the stone fountain behind her.

“Just remember, Alaric—a man in your position needs a strong woman who understands the weight of the title. Selena was born for this. She has the fire, the grace, and the lineage. Don’t let the ’private’ nature of your bond become a shadow that others might use against you.”

She patted his arm one last time, a gesture that felt like a final warning, before turning to glide back toward the pack house.

Alaric stood frozen, the evening air suddenly feeling much colder. He was surrounded by people who saw him as a prize or a stepping stone, all while he carried a void in his soul that was growing wider with every passing sunset.

He looked up at the moon, which was just beginning to peek through the clouds, and for the first time in his life, he felt a flicker of genuine resentment toward the Goddess.

He was the future Alpha, the golden boy of the Blood-Moon, and he was being suffocated by the very people who claimed to be his strength.

The interaction with Mrs. Rohan left a bitter, metallic taste in Alaric’s mouth that no amount of evening air could wash away.

Turning away from the main pack house, Alaric set his pace toward the edge of the territory. He started walking to the small, secluded cabin nestled deep within the treeline, the one he had requested weeks ago under the guise of needing ’newly found mate privacy.’

It was a bold-faced lie, a performance designed to explain why he and Selena were spending nights away from the prying eyes of the main house.

In reality, he had just needed a place where the air didn’t feel heavy with the scent of a hundred different wolves—a place where he could finally be alone with the silence of his own head.

The path was overgrown but the isolation was the only thing keeping him sane. He reached the heavy timber door, his hand trembling slightly as he turned the iron handle.

He expected the cabin to be exactly as he had left it: dark, cold, and blessedly empty. He wanted to throw himself onto the small sofa and stare at the ceiling until the sun came up.

But as the door creaked open, a scent hit him. It wasn’t the scent of pine or old wood. It was the heavy, cloying smell of Selena’s perfume—the one she wore to the pack galas—mixed with the unmistakable, musky heat of a female-wolf in want.

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