[POV: Draven]
They dropped him at my feet like a sack of wet fur—muddy, trembling, and half-wild.
I barely looked at the patrol wolves. My attention locked on the boy. His breathing was shallow, ragged, but he refused to collapse.
Interesting.
He lifted his head slightly, and moonlight caught his face. The mark—a crescent on his cheek beneath smeared grime.
The boy was tall but too thin, starved-looking. Torn clothes, soaked boots. Silver-blonde hair hung in tangled curls. He looked like something the forest had spit out.
Yet when his blue eyes met mine, I didn't see weakness. I saw fire.
Fear lurked behind his irises, but beneath it—defiance. Unyielding and fierce.
My wolf stirred.
"There." Silas's voice growled, pleased. "He's the one."
My jaw clenched. The one?
One patrol wolf shoved the boy forward roughly. Heat flared in my chest—anger at the unnecessary force.
"What's this?" I asked coldly. "A rogue?"
"Caught him sneaking in, Alpha," the scout replied. "Claims he's got nowhere else to go."
"A rogue... in my territory." I stepped forward, presence pressing down. "You have one minute to convince me why I shouldn't kill you."
Atlas didn't flinch. Didn't grovel. He lifted his chin and met my eyes with impossible steadiness.
"I swear, I'm just a rogue," he said. "I've been alone... for a while now. I'm only here because I have nowhere else to go."
The same line every rogue used. No home, no pack, no threat—until they ripped your scouts' throats out.
I should've snapped his neck right there.
But Silas growled—not threatening. Curious. Hungry.
"He smells right," my wolf murmured. "Let him in. Keep him close."
My wolf had been silent for years after Annabeth. Now suddenly awake? For this mud-covered stranger?
"Your name," I demanded. "Now."
The boy swallowed hard. "Atlas."
Silas rumbled with satisfaction. I ignored him, narrowing my eyes.
He was lying—partly. I could smell tension coiled in his muscles, panic beneath his controlled expression.
"Atlas." I tasted the name. "It sounds familiar."
His eyes flickered. Gotcha.
"And I'm supposed to believe you've come to Crimson Fang without ulterior motives?" I circled him slowly.
"I wouldn't be here if I had any other choice," he said, voice stronger now. "I'm no threat to you or your pack."
Confidence like armor. But he hadn't begged. Hadn't cried. Hadn't groveled.
I respected that.
Silence stretched, thick and dangerous. My patrol watched, waiting. One word, and they'd end him.
Every instinct screamed to eliminate the threat.
But Silas purred.
Finally, I exhaled. "Fine. I'll allow you to stay. But if I even suspect you're lying, there won't be anywhere left for you to run."
He nodded tightly.
"And if you want to be part of this pack," I added sharply, "you'll have to prove your loyalty."
"How?"
That spark of defiance again. Heat flushed through my veins.
"He's strong," Silas whispered. "I like him."
I stepped forward, reaching out. My fingers brushed hair from his dirt-smudged face, tucked a strand behind his ear.
His skin was too warm. Feverish.
"You're trembling," I said softly.
"I'm not afraid of you," he lied.
My mouth curved. "You should be."
My knuckles skimmed his cheek. His breath hitched. My hand traced his neck, stopping at the hollow between his collarbones. His pulse hammered beneath my fingertips.
That scent—pine and snowdrops and something wilder. It made my head buzz.
Stupid. Irrational. Dangerous.
But I didn't pull away. I leaned closer until he had to tilt his head back. Close enough to see his pupils dilate.
“Let's see if you're as harmless as you claim to be,” I murmured. "Tell me, have you ever been with a man? Are you pure?"
His eyes flashed—not fear. Fury. His jaw clenched.
"That," he said through gritted teeth, "is none of your damn business."
Silas roared with approval. I felt my lips curve into a genuine smile—the first in years.
Bold. Defiant. Unbroken.
"Wrong answer," I said softly. "But I'll accept it. For now."
I stepped back, voice returning to steel.
"You'll be watched. You'll eat what we give you. Sleep where we say. Work when ordered. If you disobey once, I won't hesitate."
"I understand," he whispered. But his eyes still burned.
I turned and signaled the guards. "Take him to an empty room. Nothing comfortable. Just enough."
As they escorted him away, I glanced over my shoulder.
He stood quiet but proud. Raw wrists, unsteady legs, but he didn't fall. Didn't bow.
He met my gaze one last time. A challenge. A promise. A question neither could answer.
Then the guards led him into darkness.
Silas hummed with satisfaction, more alive than in four years. But I didn’t share his approval: that boy's hiding something. And I'm going to find out what.
I didn't believe in fate anymore. Didn't trust mysterious strangers with silver hair and crescent marks.
I wasn't done with him. Not by a long shot.