“Same,” she said simply.
The mountains rose ahead of them, dark green and ancient, guarding secrets older than memory. Somewhere in those peaks, a traitor waited. A reckoning loomed. But he faced it with his mate beside him, and that was all that mattered.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Something was wrong.
Harper felt it the moment Adrian’s truck crested the final ridge and the compound came into view. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw going rigid.
“What is it?”
“The Pack Hall.” His voice had dropped into that dangerous register she was learning to recognize. “Lights are on. The entire pack is gathered.”
She squinted through the windshield. Sure enough, the great timber hall set off in the woods a short way from the central clearing blazed with illumination, warm light spilling from every window despite the late hour. Figures moved behind the glass—too many figures for a casual gathering.
“Howard.” The name came out as a growl.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know.” He gunned the engine, and the truck lurched forward. “I can smell his treachery from here.”
He tore into the clearing without slowing, gravel spraying as he wrenched the wheel towards the Pack Hall. She barely had time to brace herself before he slammed the truck into park and was out the door, moving with predatory purpose.
She scrambled to follow, her laptop bag banging against her hip.
At least I came prepared.
The hall doors stood open, voices spilling out into the night. She caught fragments as they approached—anger, fear, righteous indignation layered thick enough to taste.
“—cannot be trusted to lead?—”
“—corrupted by city influence?—”
“—our traditions demand?—”
Adrian didn’t slow. He walked straight through those doors like he owned them—which, technically, he did—and the effect was immediate. Conversations died mid-sentence. Heads turned. The crowd parted like water before a stone.
She followed in his wake, acutely aware of every eye shifting between them.
The hall was magnificent in a way she hadn’t fully appreciated during her previous visit. Soaring timber beams arched overhead, carved with intricate patterns that told stories she couldn’t read. Torches burned in iron sconces alongside modern electric lights, tradition and progress existing uneasily side by side. Long wooden benches lined the walls, packed with pack members in various states of agitation.
At the far end, on a raised dais where the council normally sat, Elder Howard held court.
The old werewolf stood with his arms spread wide, his silver hair gleaming in the firelight, his weathered face twisted into an expression of righteous fury. He’d clearly been mid-speech when Adrian arrived—his mouth still hung open, words dying on his lips.
“Alpha.” The title dripped with contempt. “How good of you to finally join us.”
“Howard.” Adrian’s voice carried effortlessly through the hall, calm and cold. “I don’t recall authorizing a council meeting.”
“The council doesn’t require your authorization.” Howard’s smile was a thin, ugly thing. “We convene when the pack’s welfare demands it.”
“And what welfare demands a meeting in my absence?”
“Your absence is precisely the issue.” Howard stepped forward, addressing the pack directly. “Our Alpha has been missing for days, off in the city cavorting with?—”
He broke off, his gaze landing on Harper like she was something unpleasant he’d stepped in.
“With that.” He pointed a trembling finger at her. “A human. An outsider. Someone who cares nothing for our ways, our traditions, our very survival.”
