Prologue

Her grandmother would always say that violins were the instruments of angels, and when she closed her age weary eyes, she could almost see the spiritual beings making the enchanting music.

Maybe that was why Seneca hated it so much.

While gulping down her second glass of champagne, the music sounded like dying cats in her ears, and her eyes burned into the string quartet that played obliviously in the corner.

After placing her empty glass on a tray, Seneca crossed the ballroom floor, guests moving out of her way and bowing their heads with averted eyes. She came to stand beside her husband, her gown swishing around her ankles and settling an inch above the floor. Her black stilettos peeped out, a show of elegant grace while in reality they were mercilessly killing her thighs. Only a few more minutes, and she promised herself she'd be up in her room, kicking her shoes across the the floor and flinging herself down on her favourite chaise lounge.

A smile remained on her lips as she laid a hand on her husband's arm, but he didn't look to her in acknowledgment. Predictably, he continued taking to the men in front of him, both in suits as expensive as the Persian rugs they walked upon. This wasn't unusual, and only after another boring few minutes did her husband cast her a glance from the corner of his eye and give her a certain look. A tilt of his eyebrows that conveyed a very familiar message. Don't interrupt, Darling, not when you can see I'm busy with very important guests.

Important indeed. Important enough to arrange this elaborate gala dinner, hire the cacophonous philharmonic quartet, bring on twenty more staff to cater to tonight, and ignore his wife for a week while overseeing every little detail.

Her husband, ever the perfectionist. She could scream.

With a thin lipped smile, Seneca leaned closer to his ear and whispered, "I'm heading up to bed. Do carry on without me though." She spoke as if he needed her permission, but knew it was only her attempt at fooling herself. He needed no permissions, especially not from her.

When he only patted her hand before squeezing it tightly in response, she slipped away with one last smile at their guests. Pausing by the grand staircase leading upstairs, she spoke softly to the Beta, "Arthur, when you get the chance, please tell the Alpha I wish to speak to him. Tonight."

"Yes of course, Luna Seneca."

And then she hurried on, leaving the party behind her. Normally she enjoyed such elegant occasions, but not tonight with her stomach churning. Churning with the recently learned news that she needed to share with her husband. But of course, the Alpha has been busy all week with the meetings, newly signed treaty and celebration to accompany it all. He barely had time to smile at her or even greet her in the morning. But tonight she would demand his time, Seneca determined as she removed her ball gown and wrapped herself in a comfortable silk robe. Unclipping her earrings next, she studied her reflection while sitting at her bureau; her long black hair falling in shiny tresses over her shoulder, her lips plump and red, and eyes a rich brown, so opposite to Dennison's dazzling and icy blue irises. His eyes were what she had first fallen in love with, and remained enchanted by. No one had eyes quite like her Alpha Dennison.

After a while, when her nerves remained fluttering dangerously, Seneca opened a side cabinet and withdrew a bottle of strong alcohol. Pouring it into two glasses—one for herself and one for her dear Alpha mate, should he decide to join her—she then reached into a drawer and pulled out a small vial. The glass tube was capped with a golden screw top, and the liquid inside was pure black. The nectar of the Madenolia blossom should only be used as a last resort, her grandmother always said. But then, who had ever listened to the old woman anyway? Certainly not Seneca. Unscrewing the cap, she poured a drop into one of the glasses, and replaced the cap just as the door opened.

"I'm sorry I made you wait. Forgive me darling, but it was imperative I speak with the council members."

"Of course," Seneca rose and held out her arms for him. Dennison stepped into them, embracing her lightly with a kiss on the cheek.

When she went to move away, he snagged her again, pulling her closer against his chest with his long and muscular arms. "I hope you are not too weary from the evening?"

"I enjoyed tonight," she answered his unspoken question.

But he meant it in another way, she realised as he picked her up, wrapping her legs around his waist and carrying her to the bed while placing kisses on her jaw and neck.

"Dennison..." she murmured, tugging his soft black hair. The silver streaks by his ears glowed softly in the golden light of the lamps, and as he leaned over her, she couldn't help but admire his beauty. Despite his faults, he truly was a handsome wolf even for his age.

"Good, because it's not over yet," his lips curled as he slipped his fingers between the folds of her gown. As he lay over her and kissed her breathless, his hands roamed her body. A part of her enjoyed it, revelled in being dominated by so impressive a male. But only for so long. His mouth left moist trails on her skin, glistening in the candlelight that threw their shadows to the wall. How many times had she felt that very wall pressed against her back, as he claimed her over and over as his own? How many times had he taken from her everything he wanted?

Well, now finally she had from him the one thing she wanted.

"I need to tell you something," Seneca protested lightly, but it fell on defiant ears.

"It can wait, my Love," came the reply as his lips hungrily explored her skin.

Of course it could. Everything could wait for Alpha Dennison's perfect timing.

Only this couldn't.

"I'm going to be a mother."

Her words had instant effect, the strong Alpha male pushing himself up to his knees to regard her from a distance, his features suddenly going from soft and lustful to hard and cold. "You mean... you're with child? A pup?"

She nodded, her throat dry.

"I need an heir. Is it a boy?"

She knew he'd ask. Which was why, though still early, she'd done all she could to find out. "Yes, I believe so. You will be so proud when our son is born."

Then he broke into a smile, and she knew she'd do almost anything to keep it on his face.

"This calls for a celebration," Dennison declared as his fingers touched her stomach lightly, his eyes staring in awe.

Without a word, she reached for the glasses on the bedside table and handed him one.

"To the child of our love," she raised her glass.

"Now this I can drink to." The clink echoed softly around them.

"And drink you shall," Seneca murmured.

Watching her Alpha throw his head back to take a long drink, her insides churned while her heart told her to stay strong. She needed to do this, and all would be forgiven one day.

When Dennison met her eyes again, a drop of the strong wine sliding down his lip, she reached up and wiped it away with her finger, staring into his eyes. The icy blue irises were ringed with a black stain, the darkness swirling and bleeding into the sea of colour before fading into the pupils.

Only then did she lift her own glass to her mouth.

"You most certainly should not be having that now in your condition," Dennison intercepted her, taking the glass swiftly out of her hands. This too he drank quickly, but it didn't have quite the effect of the first.

"Ahh Dennison, you care for me entirely too much."

"Someone has to, my love." Already his words were slurred, and she laid a hand on his cheek as his face drooped closer to hers. "I am so pleased with this news."

"No more than I, dear one," Seneca whispered as her Alpha slept against her chest, his child growing securely in her womb.