Chapter 1
Rune
The black cab pulled away from the wrought-iron gates leaving Rune standing alone on the gravel drive with nothing but a worn duffel bag and a knot of nerves in his stomach.
He had worked for three packs before this one. He knew how to read a Packhouse by the size of it, the upkeep, the small signals in architecture and landscaping that told you whether the Alpha cared more about power or performance. This one was both. The gravel was freshly raked. The stone façade was immaculate. Window boxes flanked each ground-floor sash with white flowers.
“Rune, is it?” The housekeeper appeared on the wide stone steps. He was a beta male, tall and efficient, mid-forties, with neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair and a face that never wasted an expression. “I’m Thomas. Follow me.”
Rune clutched the strap of his bag tighter. His slender frame felt even smaller under the weight of the house’s silent grandeur. At twenty-five, he knew exactly where he stood in any pack hierarchy: omega, servant, barely noticed. He preferred it that way. Quiet. Invisible. Safe.
Inside, the entrance hall was all dark wood panelling and ceilings designed to swallow sound. Oil paintings lined the walls: a procession of alphas down the centuries, rendered in the same unsmiling three-quarter pose. The air smelled of polished oak, fresh lilies, and something deeper that made Rune’s pulse flicker.
“You’ll sleep in the east wing servant quarters,” Thomas explained, “shared bathroom, one day off a month. Meals in the staff kitchen unless the pack requires service in the main dining room. Questions?”
"No, sir."
Thomas paused at a side table to lift a key-card and a loaded cleaning caddy, handing both to Rune without slowing his stride toward the main staircase. "Your first task is the Alpha's private suite. He returns from pack business tonight. Strip the bed, dust every surface, clean the en-suite, replace the towels. Do not touch his personal belongings; anything that is not linen, towel, or cleaning surface is off-limits."
"Understood."
Thomas sent him a quick look. "Top floor. Last door on the left. The key-card will get you in. Go now.”
The climb up the sweeping staircase felt endless. When Rune finally reached the heavy oak door and swiped the card, the lock opened with a soft click.
The scent hit him like a punch.
It wasn't cologne. Cologne had edges, a manufactured brightness that always gave itself away. This was something organic, and it shamelessly soaked itself into the room.
Fucking intoxicating.
The room was large and sparsely appointed. A king-sized bed with navy silk sheets that probably cost more than a month of his wages. A leather armchair was positioned to catch the grey light from the tall window. When Rune past by a wool coat hung on the back of the door, the scent seemed to thicken briefly and he froze when he felt his cock twitch inside his plain black trousers.
What the fuck.
He stood still for several seconds.
No.
What was-
Just focus. Forget it.
He stripped the bed first, bundling the sheets that reeked of that heady smell into the laundry hamper and tried to ignore how it seemed to cause a flush across his skin.
The en-suite was black marble, chrome and easy to manage. He scrubbed, replaced, wiped, stacked. In here the scent was fainter. He told himself this was fine. That it was just the sensitivity of his first day in a new place, or any number of things that had nothing to do with him standing slack-jawed and hard in a strangers bedroom.
By the time he finished, the room gleamed and nearly two hours had passed. Rune stepped back, pushing away hair that stuck to his forehead and bent to gather his supplies. He stepped out of the bathroom just as the door to the suite opened.
The voice arrived before the man fully did.
“Who the fuck are you?”
Rune startled so hard he nearly dropped the caddy.
He turned and felt his breath leave his body.
The man filling the doorway was massive. At least six-foot-four. His black shirt was tailored and slightly damp from the rain. His dark hair was pushed back imperfectly from a sharp jaw and sharper eyes that were currently fixed on Rune.
The same overwhelming scent rolled off him in waves, now ten times stronger.
Alpha.
Mate
Rune's hand found the edge of the desk behind him.
"I—I’m the new servant, Alpha." His voice came out too fast. He forced himself to maintain eye contact for exactly the correct amount of time before dropping his gaze — deferential without being prostrate, the narrow line he'd learned to walk with alphas who didn't know him yet. "Thomas asked me to clean your suite before your return. I apologise. I'll finish up and be out of your way immediately."
Rowan stood in the doorway. His gaze tracked over Rune. The silence stretched, broken by the distant patter of drizzle against the window.
“Thomas sent you."
“Yes, Alpha.”
“Alone.”
Rune’s throat tightened. “Yes.”
Rowan stepped fully into the room, one hand resting casually in his pocket as he closed the door behind him.
“Look at me.”
Rune’s eyes met his before he could think to resist.
“Your name.”
“Rune, Alpha.”
“You’re an omega.”
Rune nodded once, his fingers curling tighter around the edge of the desk. He could feel his own scent spiking with nerves, a cloud of fresh linen and rain, clean and unobtrusive, now threading through the heavy layers of Rowan’s dominance.
“How long have you been in the Packhouse?”
“Since this afternoon. I came straight from the transfer.”
“And you felt nothing unusual when you entered this room?”
The question was too specific. It caught Rune off guard.
“The room was… very clean, Alpha. I just followed the housekeeper’s instructions.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Rowan stopped just before him, the scent wrapping around Rune’s senses until his head swam. A low, involuntary sound escaped his throat — a soft, breathy noise he immediately tried to swallow back.
The Alpha’s eyes flickered gold.
“You can smell it.” Rowan’s voice was dangerously soft, he leaned down until they were eye level. “My scent. It’s affecting you.”
Rune’s face flushed hot. “I don’t— I’m just new here. The air is different. I’m not used to it.”
“Liar,” he smirked faintly. “Your pupils are dilated. Your breathing is shallow. You’re holding onto that desk because your knees are shaking. Why are you lying?” His eyes searched the omegas.
Rune’s mouth had gone dry. His pants were embarrassingly strained. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to make himself small and invisible — but a pull that was both warm and foreign kept him rooted in that moment.
A sharp knock cut through the room.
“Alpha?” It was Thomas’s voice, muffled but clear. “The representatives from the Northern Pack have arrived. They’re waiting in the study.”
Rowan didn’t move immediately. His gaze dropped to Rune’s lips for a moment. Then slowly he exhaled through his nose and straightened.
“Go,” Rowan commanded, though he didn’t move much to give him space. “Get out of here before I decide the North can wait. And Rune?”
Rune could barely find his voice. “Yes, Alpha?”
“Don’t let me find another servant in my room tomorrow morning. This suite is yours to maintain now. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” he managed.
Rowan stepped back and straightened his shirt, his expression fixed back into a mask of professional indifference. He gestured toward the door. “Thomas is waiting. Move.”
Rune scrambled, cleaning caddy in hand as he practically burst out into the hallway.
Thomas was waiting in the corridor. He looked at Rune — at his flushed face, his slightly unsteady hands — and both eyebrows rose a precise, judgmental centimetre.
“Everything in order?”
“Perfectly fine,” Rune said, head down, moving fast. “Room’s all done.”
He felt Thomas’s gaze on his back all the way to the servant staircase.
In the cool dark of the stairwell, he stopped on the landing, back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. His skin felt over-warm and his body was doing things that made professional objectivity feel like a very distant country.
This suite is yours to maintain.
He’d been here two hours.
He was absolutely, catastrophically in trouble.
