Chapter 1
GRANT
The storm hit without warning.
I watch through the restaurant's floor-to-ceiling windows as sheets of rain hammer the empty street, each drop exploding against the glass like bullets. The weather matches my mood perfectly—dark, violent, and unpredictable.
Across from me, Luther's hands shake as he grips his coffee cup. The alpha who'd strutted into Mrs. Chen's private dining room an hour ago now looks like a man facing execution. Good. He should be afraid.
"You're not listening to me, Grant." Luther's voice cracks on my name. "This isn't a request anymore. My pack is dying out there. The hunters—"
"The hunters are exactly why you're in this mess." I lean back in my chair, letting my alpha presence fill the space between us. The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. "You got sloppy. You got careless. Now you want me to clean up your mistakes."
Luther's tie has come completely undone, hanging around his neck like a noose. Sweat beads on his forehead despite the restaurant's air conditioning. "I'm not asking for charity. I have something you want."
My blood goes cold. "I'm listening."
"Information." He slides a manila envelope across the table. "About the hunters. Their new tactics. Where they're heading next."
I don't touch the envelope. "Keep talking."
"They're organized now, Grant. Really organized. Not just random groups picking off lone wolves anymore." Luther's voice drops to a whisper. "They have a list. Pack territories. Alpha names. They know about the IronFang offices."
The chair creaks under my weight as I lean forward. Every instinct I have is screaming danger. "How do you know this?"
"Because we captured one." Luther's eyes are wild now, desperate. "Before they killed my beta. Before they burned our safe house. The hunter told us everything before he died."
I study Luther's face, reading the truth in every micro-expression. He's not lying. The sick feeling in my gut confirms what I already suspected—this conversation just became about survival, not territory disputes.
"You should have led with that information." I reach for the envelope, my fingers brushing the manila surface. Inside could be the intelligence that saves my pack. Or gets us all killed.
"I need your protection first," Luther insists. "Your word that you'll give my people sanctuary on IronFang land."
"You're in no position to make demands."
"Neither are you." For the first time since he arrived, Luther meets my eyes without flinching. "Because they're coming for you next, Grant. Soon."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I've spent months tracking hunter movements, staying one step ahead. But if they have detailed intelligence on pack locations...
"You have until midnight to get your people to the western border of my territory," I tell him, standing abruptly. "After that, you're on your own."
Relief floods Luther's face. "Thank you. I won't forget this."
"See that you don't." I tuck the envelope inside my jacket. "Because if this information is wrong, or if this is some elaborate setup, I'll hunt you down myself. And Luther?" I lean close enough that he can feel my breath on his ear. "I won't be as merciful as the hunters."
I leave him there, shaking in his chair, and walk toward the restaurant's exit. Mrs. Chen intercepts me near the door, her usual smile replaced by concern.
"Everything alright?" she asks, glancing back at Luther's pale form.
"Just business." I place a hand on her shoulder, drawing comfort from her maternal warmth. Mrs. Chen has been like family to me for years—one of the few humans who knows exactly what I am and doesn't flinch. "How are you holding up? With all the strange stories in the news lately?"
She shrugs, but I catch the worry in her eyes. "People talk about missing hikers, animal attacks. Makes an old woman nervous, you know?"
"This world has never been safe for people like me," I tell her. "But I promise you—I won't let anything happen to you or yours."
Mrs. Chen nods, squeezing my arm before heading back inside. I push through the glass doors and step into the storm.
The rain hits me like an icy slap, immediately soaking through my jacket. The street is deserted except for the occasional car speeding through puddles, their headlights cutting through the gloom like searchlights.
