The biting scent of whiskey clung to Alpha Tatum Gunner like a second skin, a constant companion in his lavish, yet desolate, chambers. He took another large gulp from the glass, the amber liquid burning a familiar path down his throat, momentarily dulling the raw ache in his chest.

His eyes, heavy with three years of unresolved grief, flickered to the naked form sprawled across his bed. Chasity, the latest in a long line of fleeting distractions, was violating his cardinal rule: no sleeping over. A growl rumbled deep in his chest. He finished his drink, the clinking of ice the only sound in the room, then walked to the bed. Without a word, he kicked her out. She landed with a surprised yelp, her indignant glare doing little to stir him. "Out," he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Later, after the door slammed a little too loudly, his mother, the Luna, waltzed in, her expression a mix of concern and exasperation. "The Elders have decided," she began, her words a hammer blow to his fragile peace. "You have one week to find a Luna, or they will force you to step down."

Tatum's grip tightened on the glass, a familiar rage coiling in his gut. "I will not agree to make her my mate," he grounded out, referring to the Alpha of Lunar Eclipse's daughter, a woman he knew to be rotten. His mother's expression softened slightly, though her resolve remained firm. "This isn't up for discussion. An alliance with Lunar Eclipse is ideal for the pack's expansion."

He watched her leave, then hurled the glass at the door, the shattering sound a pathetic echo of his internal turmoil. Grabbing the bottle, he chugged the remaining whiskey, his gaze falling on a framed picture: Leslie, his fated mate, gone too soon. "I will avenge you," he whispered to the empty room, his voice raw with a promise he intended to keep.