Chapter 7

Emilio POV

The roar of the crowd was deafening, a physical weight pressing against my eardrums, but inside my chest, there was only a cavernous silence.

I stood over the mangled body of the Rogue leader I had just torn apart. My chest heaved, sucking in the copper-tang of the air, my knuckles slick with crimson.

Around me, the Obsidian Pack warriors were in a frenzy, chanting my name.

"Alpha! Alpha! Alpha!"

I wiped the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand. It was a messy victory. These Rogues had been organized, attacking our northern border with a ferocity that bordered on desperation.

"You were amazing, Emilio!"

Hayden threw her arms around my neck. She smelled of expensive perfume and... something metallic. Was it the scent of my own violence on her skin? Or was it her own fear masked as excitement?

She kissed me, right there on the churning mud of the battlefield. Her lips were soft, demanding a claim.

I kissed her back. Not out of passion, but because it was the script I had written for myself. I had chosen her. I had chosen the mother of the boy I treated as my son.

But as I pulled away, seeking air, my gaze didn't linger on her. Instead, it drifted to the Northern Wall.

It held.

It had held perfectly.

The Rogues had tried to breach it, but the hidden reinforcements-the ones masked as natural rock formations to blend into the mountain's spine-had funneled them right into our kill zone.

It was brilliant. It was architectural perfection.

*It was Elana.*

A sharp pang hit my chest, harder than any blow I had taken today. I ignored it, shoving it down into the dark along with everything else. She was gone. A tragic accident.

That's what I told the pack.

That's the lie I told myself to sleep at night.

"Come on," Hayden said, tugging my arm, oblivious to where my attention had wandered. "Leo is waiting. We need to celebrate."

I nodded, forcing the muscles of my face into a smile. "Yes. A victory for the pack."

But as we walked back to the Packhouse, the cheers felt hollow, echoing in a void. The victory felt... bought.