CHAPTER TWO

"One... Two..."

Before Zach could say three, the double doors of the Alpha's office exploded open with a bang, wood splintering at the hinges. A deep, jagged crack ran across the polished surface, the aftermath of yet another one of Zeke's legendary tempers.

Zeke Easton Ashmore.

Zach didn't flinch. He didn't even look up. He simply leaned back in his chair, the expensive leather creaking slightly as he twirled the sleek foundation pen between his fingers. The office was cloaked in rich mahogany and obsidian tones—bookshelves lined one wall, filled with ledgers and strategy books, and a large map of the werewolf territories hung behind Zach’s chair. The scent of pinewood and leather lingered in the air, the room a direct reflection of Zach himself—calculated, composed, powerful.

"Right on cue," Zach murmured to no one, voice calm, face unreadable.

Zeke stormed into the office like a tempest in wolf's clothing. Hazel eyes burned with raw rage, golden flecks dancing in the irises like embers barely restrained. His dark, shoulder-length wavy hair whipped behind him, tousled from what had to be a furious run straight from the training field. His chest rose and fell like a beast fighting its own skin, his black thermal clinging to taut muscles that vibrated with tension. The collar was askew. He hadn’t even bothered to fix himself before barging in.

"Zeke, calm down," came the low, firm voice from behind—Owen, their Gamma, trying to play peacemaker despite the fear that gripped his heart.

Who wouldn't be scared?

Everyone knew what happened when this legendary god of anger starts his rain of terror. It wasn't always pretty.

Zeke turned his fury onto him. "Fucking stay out of it. I won’t hesitate to kill you if you try to stop me."

His voice was thunder and venom. His glare could ignite a lesser man. Owen stopped in his tracks, jaw tight, weighing whether challenging the Alpha’s twin was worth it. Clearly, it wasn’t.

Zeke’s boots hit the floor like hammer strikes as he closed the space between him and Zach. Without a word, he grabbed his brother by the collar of his deep navy shirt, yanking him halfway out of the chair. Papers fluttered off the desk.

"Are you fucking insane?" Zeke growled, his teeth gritted so tight it looked painful. "Why the hell are we going to their pack? After everything? After the blood they spilled?"

Zach’s silver-blue eyes met his brother's without blinking. There was no fear in them, only ice. He didn’t lift a hand, didn’t push back. He just stared.

"Let go of my shirt, brother," Zach said calmly. "You’re wrinkling it."

Zeke’s nostrils flared.

"Do you think this is a joke? Do you think I’ll just smile and wag my tail for those bastards?"

Owen tried again. “Zeke, you need to—”

Zeke moved like lightning. He spun and kicked Owen clean across the office. The Gamma slammed into the far wall with a grunt, crumpling against a bookshelf. Books tumbled down over him.

Zach sighed. “I just reorganized those.”

Zeke’s hands were still clenched into his shirt. “Why, Zach? Tell me why we’re crawling to them. Tell me why I have to sit in a room with the people who destroyed our scouts, who burned our border outposts. Why are we shaking hands with the enemy?”

Zach slowly reached up and uncurled Zeke’s fingers from his collar. “Because I don’t have the luxury of reacting with emotion, Zeke. I have to think like a leader.”

Zeke's jaw ticked. “Bullshit. You’ve been planning this, haven’t you?”

Zach stood now, adjusting his collar. Even standing, he was relaxed—too relaxed for the fury brewing in the room.

“Peace is strategic. War costs us blood, warriors, resources. We’ve proven our strength. Now, we show our control.”

Zeke scoffed. “I’d rather die than sit at a table with those cowards.”

Zach’s tone dipped, quiet but sharp. “That’s your wolf talking. Not your brain.”

Zeke sneered, stepping back. “You don’t get to tell me how to feel, Zach. You didn’t see the bodies. You didn’t hear the way they screamed."

There was a beat of silence. Zach’s expression darkened.

“I did,” he said. “Every single one. Don’t mistake silence for ignorance.”

The tension wrapped around them like a noose, thick and choking. Owen groaned from the floor.

Zeke spat out a curse under his breath and turned his back.

“I swear to the Goddess, if this is some political game—”

“It’s survival,” Zach said, walking around his desk. “And I need you there, even if you’re pissed. Especially if you’re pissed. We walk into their territory like kings, not beggars.”

Zeke grumbled but didn’t argue further. His rage simmered, but somewhere beneath it, trust held like old iron. He’d follow his brother. He always did—even when it hurt.

Silence settled between them like fog—tense and suffocating.

Zeke’s fists trembled at his sides. For a moment, Zach wondered if he might punch a hole in the wall.

But instead, Zeke spun around, storming toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Zach asked coolly.

“To get dressed,” Zeke snapped over his shoulder. “If I have to sit through this shitshow, I’ll at least do it without blood on my shirt.”

Zach watched him leave, then turned to Owen, who was coughing as he sat among fallen books.

“Make sure he doesn’t torch anything on the way out,” Zach said.

Owen groaned. “That’s your brother, not a wild animal.”

Zach’s lips twitched. “Is there a difference?”

–––––

The ride to Crimson Fang territory was quiet—tense. Zeke sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, jaw locked like stone. Every few minutes, he muttered curses under his breath—usually involving burning treaties, snapping necks, and shoving pens through eyeballs.

Zach didn’t respond. He focused on the road, expression unreadable.

The Ashmore twins hadn’t stepped foot on enemy soil in over a decade. The last time they had, they’d walked away with ash on their hands and blood in their hearts. Peace felt like betrayal, even to him. But something deeper pulled him forward—something that tugged at his instincts with razor-sharp urgency.

As they reached the outskirts of the Crimson Fang pack, a silence fell.

Zeke leaned slightly forward. “Do you feel that?”

Zach inhaled.

And stopped breathing.

It hit them like a tidal wave.

A scent—rich, divine, intoxicating—flooded the car. Sweet like moonflower and warmed honey, yet sharp like wild cedar and something impossibly ancient. A scent that spoke to their bones, to the beasts beneath their skin.

Mate.

Zeke swore under his breath, his hand tightening on the door handle.

“No way…” he whispered.

The pull was primal. Overwhelming.

Zach’s fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter. His heart pounded—not in fear, but in recognition. The prophecy. The dream. The whispers of the Moon Goddess they’d both ignored for years.

“She’s here,” he said quietly.

Zeke’s voice cracked. “You don’t think… they knew?”

“If they did…” Zach’s jaw clenched. “This changes everything.”

They stepped out of the car, the air thick with the scent that had haunted their dreams.

It wrapped around them, possessive and wild. As they approached the pack house doors, neither of them spoke.

Their mate was inside.

And she smelled like salvation dipped in sin.

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