"But don't take this out on Lyra Vulpayne. She's innocent." Even now, he was making excuses for his Omega consort. "She's young—she can't have her scent-name destroyed before the Pack Council. Her grandfather is in poor health; he can't handle the stress of a formal censure. Whatever issues we have—"
His gaze slid from me to Aria, who was glaring at him like she wanted to shift and tear out his throat.
"—we can discuss in our private den."
I listened to him lay it all out so reasonably, every word designed to protect the Omega named Lyra, and I could have laughed.
Five seasons of courtship. Three cycles bonded.
When Rogan first established his annex-pack, I'd called in blood-debts from every ally I knew. My parents pulled every connection within the Nightclaw bloodline. His entire founding resources? My parents had pledged their territory rights as collateral for his blood-oath loan.
Back then, whenever Rogan mentioned any of this, his eyes would glow gold with emotion.
"Selene," he'd say. "I owe you everything. For the rest of my life, I'll make it up to you. I'll honor you as my Luna. I'll honor your pack as my own."
Now?