Commitment

Honestly speaking, Beatrice was a bit mesmerized by their attitudes. 

'Even though the werewolves have a special place in the Moon Goddess' heart, I expected them to be more wary of me.'

Her hand touched the scar on her neck before realizing the reason for their behavior. 'They must've sensed the goddess' powers here.'

Should she be happy? Grateful, perhaps? 

Beatrice knew she definitely should be. Not only did the Goddess save her—she even secured a connection she can use to start anew and gain new strength. Whether it happened intentionally, or unintentionally, however, was a thing only the Moon Goddess knew. 

Her status as a werewolf, in addition to the divine power that was settling in her scar, were the perfect combination to borrow the strength of the temple. 

Beatrice bowed politely toward the priests. 

"Thank you for your generous care."

After a little while of small talks, Zed took Beatrice to her new room at the temple. The second floor thankfully had guest rooms—which were usually occupied by nobles or high ranking individuals of various races and origins—that weren't all freaking white and actually had few shades of gray and silver. 

'Phew,' the werewolf almost let out that sigh but she tactfully held back. Returning kindness with rudeness was nothing the former Protector would like to do. 

Even if the glowing temple caused her to almost turn blind, she couldn't—wouldn't—be ungrateful. 

Later that night, Cedric came to her room with the files she asked for before heading to her room. 

"Here, princess, all the Lycan families that are known."

Raising an eyebrow, Beatrice took the files. 

"What's the sudden shitty nickname?"

Cedric didn't answer her, simply motioning to the files in her hands. 

[Duke]

[Count]

[Archduke]

Beatrice almost growled. What the fuck? Every Lycan family that was known had such crazy status. For her, who was a member of a free werewolves pack, such a situation had rendered her speechless. 

Arguably, she wasn't far from the positions of power. However, she had never gotten that deep into any political situation, especially when it regarded kingdoms. 

Their land, Articia, had only three kingdoms. Other than that, it was filled with free cities and free packs. In addition to a few other races who occupied a lot of the land as well. 

The 'free' people of this land would like to never touch the kingdoms or their affairs with a ten-feet pole. 

Nobody would blame them once they realize the tense relationship between the three kingdoms and the even worse interpersonal relationships between the nobles of those kingdoms. 

As such, Beatrice could only growl at the fact that her mate was part of these kingdoms. 

'Not just part of it,' her inner self mewled in distress, 'he's a high-ranking noble?'

Her gaze flickered back to Cedric and she asked, her voice holding a pleading edge. 

"Really? Are you absolutely sure that there are no others?"

"Ha." the Saint let out a dry laugh, he couldn't lie to her even if he wanted. So, he didn't. "Lycans are rare, you know that better than anyone else. And all the Lycans now are such… High profile, honestly."

Cedric could easily see her distress at his answer. He swallowed a sigh while brushing his hair away from his face. Something inside him always whined whenever his friend got into trouble. 

Because normally, she wouldn't.

The Saint knew better than anyone how capable Beatrice was— is. His dear friend would never lose her capabilities even if some venomous snake attempted to disguise itself as a loyal dog just to bite her. 

Beatrice was someone who came back from death. 

Despite all of that, this person was now in distress about something as 'trivial' as finding her mate who was surely in the middle of some political storm in one of the three major kingdoms. 

A country, a duke, or perhaps an archduke.

Cedric's courageous, strong friend was in distress because of that simple fact. 

As if realizing what his gaze was implying, Beatrice turned to him, her face clearly holding much frustration and something else—yes, she was offended. 

"Are you pitying me? You know I'm just being a whiny bitch now, you should stop that."

He almost sighed. He knew the truth. 'You are just trying to look strong, which isn't too convincing. But what do I know?'

The Saint then rolled his eyes and just shoved the files into her hands again. "Just read, princess. You need to find your mate, no? That's how stupidly committed you mutts are."

Werewolves were too loyal to their loved ones. You could never find two mates or a family from werewolves who would betray their beloved ones. 

Even if it cost their lives. 

There was a reason why Cedric was utterly thunderstruck the moment he heard that his friend died by the hands of Alicia. Because these two were supposed to be sisters in everything but blood. 

Yet, she was easily betrayed by her for a mere human. 

Cedric couldn't believe his ears, but when he was faced by the same reports from everyone, he found himself disconsolate. 

Heartbreak was too strong. Cedric looked at the alive Beatrice and felt his shaky heart beating erratically. 

'Commitment,' he almost scoffed at those words. But in reality, he found the werewolves' commitment to each other to be beautiful. He wouldn't forgive that mutt, that filthy Queen—Alicia, who dared to tarnish that concept. 

Despise. That was the only feeling he had for Alicia and for that pack that betrayed Beatrice. 

Beatrice, who didn't know about everything that happened while she was 'dead' and 'missing' couldn't possibly understand everything the Saint felt, but she faintly felt the fluctuations of his mood and did as he said. 

She needed to find out the identity of his mate and to meet him soon. The vague image of the injured Lycan made her heart ache. 

'I can't leave him alone,' the image flashed in her head as she started reading those files. Yes, Beatrice was going to save her pitiful, little Lycan. 

"No one actually knows my face, right?"

She inquired lightly, and the elf nodded. "You were part of the free wolf packs, no one knows the details about your appearance. Many don't even know about your death."

"Good," she inhaled deeply, "Great, even."

That way, Beatrice could sneak around and find her fated mate—and by all means, protect him—without anyone trying to use her against him. 

'Whoever hurt him, they wouldn't even know what hit them.'