Alpha Alexander of the Shadow Fangs Pack signed his name for the third time that morning and felt absolutely nothing.
The parchment lay flat on his desk, ink still drying, bearing his seal—an agreement regarding border patrol routes and grain shipments between packs. Necessary. Tedious. Endless. His life had become a sequence of decisions that kept others alive while draining something unnamed from himself.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, amber eyes lifting to the tall windows of his office.
Beyond them stretched his territory—dense forests bathed in silver moonlight even at dawn, rolling hills marked by stone watchtowers, rivers that curved like protective veins through the land. The Shadow Fangs land was vast, old, and powerful. Wolves patrolled it at all hours. Crops flourished. Borders were enforced.
It was a kingdom in all but name.
And it was his burden.
Alex rose, long strides carrying him toward the window. From this height, he could see the pack moving about the grounds below—guards сhanging posts, workers hauling supplies, children darting between buildings with careless laughter. They were safe. They were fed. They were protected.
That was his job.
That was all it had ever been.
A soft knock sounded behind him.
"Enter," he said without turning.
Beta Raphael stepped in, tablet tucked under his arm, expression already braced for bad news. "Two Alphas are requesting audience next week. One about trade disputes, the other about… alliances."
Alex exhaled slowly.
Alliances. The polite word for what they truly meant.
"Mating offers?" he asked flatly.
Raphael grimaced. "Among other things."
Of course.
Alex turned back to his desk, already reaching for the next document. He didn't need to hear the details. He never did. The offers blurred together after a while—daughters, cousins, widows, ambitious she-wolves who thought standing beside an Alpha would give their lives meaning.
They wanted his name. His power. His territory.
None of them wanted him.
And none of them were his.
"I'll decline," Alex said. "As always."
Raphael hesitated. "You can't keep doing that forever."
Alex's jaw tightened, but his voice remained even. "Watch me."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with things neither of them said. Raphael eventually nodded and left, closing the door softly behind him.
Alex stared at the desk once more.
He was twenty-eight years old. One of the strongest Alphas in the region. Respected. Desired. Feared. His pack adored him. Other Alphas measured themselves against him.
And yet—
His chest felt hollow.
Love was a concept he understood in theory, the way one understood history or strategy. He had seen it in others. Witnessed mate bonds snap into place with violent certainty. Wolves finding their other half and becoming something more because of it.
It had never happened to him.
And perhaps it never would.
He had long ago accepted that some Alphas were not meant for softness. Some were built only to lead, to endure, to stand alone at the center of the storm.
Alex gathered the remaining papers and stacked them neatly, order soothing the quiet ache beneath his ribs.
Outside, the land waited. The pack depended on him.
There was no room in his life for longing.
No room for fate.
And certainly no room for a mate.