“Of course he did. He’s never not fallen for you.” I tried to make her smile. She didn’t.
She shoved the notepad across the table at me. “Dawn. That’s hours, Eli. We need to tell Bronc.”
“We will,” I said. I wanted to reach out, to touch her hand, but her energy was kinetic, dangerous, already pulling away. She was already gone, racing ahead to the next move.
I watched her walk out of the room, the little black dog limping after her. For a second, I envied the simplicity of the animal: it wanted only to be near her, to protect her, even if it cost everything.
I closed my eyes, tried to savor the moment: we had the intel, the trap was set, and all that was left was to make it through the morning alive.
I opened them again, and the war room was empty, save for me and the cold blue light.
I didn’t trust dawn any more than I trusted fate.
But I’d walk through hell with her, if that’s what it took.
We drove to Bronc’s place with the heater blasting and Parker’s hands buried in Rocket’s fur, the air between us thick with the residual cold of her call with Axel. Even Rocket—usually thrilled at any car ride—sat with his head on her thigh, ears flattened like he sensed the storm brewing at the edge of the horizon.
Bronc’s cabin was a massive timber house with a large front porch that spanned its entirety, on the highest point of the compound. A large wrought-iron pendant light hung over the front door making the house feel welcoming and warm. The yard was already ringed with security lights, the front porch swept clean, the window glass dark as a tombstone. There were six cars in the drive and two bikes on the walk, all the good guys accounted for. I parked by the curb. The grass was stiff and brown; the soil rutted—a sign of winter.
Parker paused before the door. I reached for her hand, and she let me, just for a second, before she pulled away to knock. It was Bronc who opened, blue eyes clearer than I’d seen in days, the silver streaks in his hair looking almost staged in the porch light.
“Come on in,” he said, voice pitched low to keep the house calm. “Everyone’s waiting.”
Inside: Bronc, Juliet, Savannah, Menace, Papa. The air reeked of coffee, lemon, and the wet wool scent of nervous wolf. The women clustered on the sofa, Juliet with a notepad, Savannah curled around a mug, Menace perched on the armrest looking less like a wolf king and more like a disgraced quarterback. Papa sat in the corner, silent, hands steepled over a crossword.
I led Parker to the big oak table in the kitchen, the conference spot for anything too dire for the war room. The wood had knife marks and rings from a thousand bottles. Bronc slid into his usual seat at the head, Juliet scooted in beside him, and the rest of us scattered like chess pieces. Parker stood for a moment, eyes flicking to the window, then leaned against the counter, arms crossed. She looked like a prisoner giving her own testimony.
“Tell ‘em,” I said.
She did, voice sharp and precise: “Axel says Dagger’s new Alpha. Greenbriar will hit at dawn. They’re hoping we’re too weak to fight. Dagger’s got demon backing, maybe more. They’re going to kill everyone, but me most of all, because they think I killed Silas. He said I should run.”
Menace exhaled. “Classic move. If you’re on the list, Parker girl, they’re going to be coming hard.”
Bronc leaned in. “So, at dawn?”
“That's what Axel said. He didn’t know if there was a countdown, but he made it sound like they’d be ready as soon as they saw an opening. I painted the grimmest picture I could. Told him you were on a vent.”
Bronc looked at her and grinned.
Juliet put her pen down. “Do we think Maltraz will show himself? Or is he still just sending minions?”
Menace snorted. “Demon’s a coward. He’ll never risk Council eyes on him. He likes to work the shadows and let the wolvestear each other apart. If anything, he’ll send his right hand to supervise. Adramal. But even that would be a tremendous risk to him.”
I remembered the demon from the last time: his suit, his teeth, his eyes like ground obsidian. “He’ll just be waiting for the call when it’s done,” I said. “Pussy that he is. He’ll let Dagger and the other sick fucks do the dirty work.”
Savannah looked up, lips tight. “Do they have witches? Or vamps?”
Papa said, “If they did, we’d know by now. They’d want credit for it. Vamps don’t work with wolves unless it’s a suicide mission. And with the witches—most of them remember what happened the last time the packs tried to get them involved.”
Parker spoke up. “I think vampscouldbe involved. I remember seeing three at one of the meetings I was required to attend. They didn’t speak, but there was no doubt they were vamps. Axel mentioned them in passing also, but he didn’t sound certain.”
Juliet frowned. “Should we tell Kazimir? I think he’d want to know if Otero had some involvement. Especially if it involved harm to Iron Valor.”
Bronc agreed. He picked up his phone and scrolled, then slid it across the table to Juliet. “Call him on speaker.”
Juliet did. The phone rang twice, then picked up.
“Dobryy vecher.” Kazimir’s accent was thick, barely filtered by the transatlantic lag. “You call again, so this must be about the war.”
