The border between the Steelheart and Rivers territories was marked by high cliffs and a narrow stretch of riverbed. Rangar Rivers, Pack Leader of the Rivers, patrolled this edge often. Tonight, the familiar scents of pine and water were violently cut by a thick, metallic aroma. Rangar shifted, his massive, snow-white wolf with striking blue eyes moving instantly down the embankment. The scent was blood, and a staggering amount of it. He rounded a cluster of water-worn stones and stopped. There, crumpled against the rocks where the cliff line met the river, lay a human form, partially shifted and barely alive. The pool of water around the body was stained a shocking, deep crimson. It was a powerful Alpha, soaked in his own life, having clearly fallen hard onto the jagged stone. Most would have dismissed this dying rival as a Steelheart problem. But Rangar saw something in the desperation of the shattered body—a stubborn, defiant will to cling to life. He saw an Alpha who had fought his own death to escape an even greater pain. Without hesitation, Rangar gripped the ruined Alpha, carefully pulling him clear of the rocks. He noted the massive wounds and, despite the agony, the stranger's powerful scent. Rangar hauled the body onto his back and began the arduous, blood-soaked trek toward his own territory. This Alpha was holding on. This one, Rangar knew, was worth saving. Rivers Pack Hospital Arthur Steelheart surfaced slowly, the medicinal scent of antiseptic mixing with a faint, grounding aroma of river water. His body was heavy, sluggish, and wrapped tightly in pain-dampening bandages. He blinked, his red eyes adjusting to the dim hospital room. Beside him, in a chair angled slightly away, a dark skin short man sat, arms crossed over a broad chest, head resting back. Arthur recognized the low, steady breathing of a powerful Alpha. A softer voice cut through the silence. “You decided to rejoin the living, Alpha?” Arthur turned his head. Standing in the doorway was a younger male, a Beta by his scent, with a kind but direct expression. This was Talon Rivers. “Where… where am I?” Arthur’s voice was a dry rasp. “Rivers Pack territory. Don’t strain yourself.” Talon moved to the bed. “That’s Rangar, our Pack Leader, beside you. He’s the one who found you, covered in a pool of blood down by the cliffs. He brought you here.” Arthur’s eyes drifted back to the massive, sleeping Alpha. He should have smelled a powerful, unfamiliar Alpha scent, distinct from his own. Instead, Arthur inhaled again, and his breath hitched. The dominant Alpha scent that saturated the room was fiercely familiar—it was his own. It was the overwhelming, pure scent of Arthur Steelheart, Alpha, magnified by the strength of the air in this foreign territory. Talon continued quietly, oblivious to Arthur’s internal shock. “Rangar was honestly impressed you were still clinging to life. You lost a lot of blood. The only reason you made it is because Rangar gave you a lot of his own—his Alpha essence is keeping you going right now.” Arthur stared at Rangar. The fact that he smelled his own Alpha essence meant Rangar’s powerful blood was integrating with his own, boosting his core nature. He was alive, but now his body was a furious monument to the strength he'd tried to destroy. Talon then gave him a hard, pointed look. “The Steelheart pack, by the way, assumes you just ran off throwing a tantrum again. They have no idea you survived your attempt. To them, you’re just a coward.” Arthur closed his eyes. The deep humiliation of the betrayal now mixed with the heavy, confusing weight of gratitude and the realization that he was an short man dark skin curly hair indebted to a rival Pack Leader—a man who had ironically forced Arthur to embrace the very Alpha he had just tried to kill.
