“He’s finding pressure points,” Tristan explains, seeing herbewildered expression. “Places where a carefully worded email or phone call could make her life... difficult.”
“You’rethreateningher?” Zoe’s voice rises with alarm.
“No,” I say firmly. “We’re ensuring she understands the consequences of harassing a private citizen. There’s a difference.”
Zoe doesn’t look convinced. Her arms are wrapped around herself, her coffee mug abandoned on the nearby table. She’s looking at us with a look of wide-eyed, dawning horror.
The look hits me like a silent, brutal gut punch.
She’s seeing the reality of our world, not the sanitized version we’ve been trying to show her. She’s seeing the cold, hard, and brutally efficient machinery that underpins our power. She’s seeing the weapons we use to protect our own.
And she’s appalled by it.
A vicious, internal conflict rips through me. A part of me, the civilized man who wants her to see him as good, feels a sharp pang of shame. We are scaring her, showing her a darkness she is too good for.
But the alpha, the primal, possessive beast that now sees her as the absolute center of our pack, has a different reaction entirely.
Good.
Let her see. Let her understand the lengths we will go to. Let her realize that this is what our protection looks like. It is not gentle. It is not kind. It is absolute.
“This is because of me,” she says quietly. “Because I’m here.”
“No,” Diego says immediately, moving to her side. “This is because of them. Because they have no respect for privacy or boundaries.”
“But if I wasn’t here?—”
“Then they’d be harassing someone else,” I cut in, my voice hard. I force myself to soften it. “Zoe, this isn’t your fault. This is what they do. They prey on people’s personal lives for clicks and engagement.”
“I’ve got her,” Dane says suddenly, looking up from his phone. “Tiffany Burns. Twenty-eight. Junior reporter at PackTrackr for eight months. Previously worked for a local news blog that specialized in restaurant openings. Editor is some guy who happens to be a beta who lost his entire retirement savings in a high-risk investment scheme three years ago.” He pauses, his pale eyes gleaming. “A scheme run by…wow, would you look at that.” His gaze slides to mine. “Your father’s company.”
The room goes silent. My father. The specter that looms over everything we do, every success we chase, every mistake we avoid. The man who cast us out when I chose my pack over his legacy.
“You’re going to use that?” Zoe asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dane looks at her, his expression softening just a fraction. “Only if necessary,” he says. “It’s a last resort.”
“We’re not my father,” I tell her, needing her to understand the distinction. “We don’t use people’s weaknesses against them for sport. But we will protect what’s ours.”
Her eyes meet mine, wide and searching. There’s a question in them, one I’m not sure how to answer. What are we to each other? What is she to us? And I can’t answer that. Not yet, at least.
“The security team is escorting her out,” Tristan says, checking his phone. “Carnations and all.”
I nod, some of the tension finally leaving my shoulders. The immediate threat is handled. But the larger issue remains. This is just the beginning. The first attempt to penetrate the fortress we’ve built around Zoe.
“We need to tighten security,” I say, already thinking ahead.
“Already on it,” Dane says, typing rapidly on his phone. “New system in place by tonight.”
“And we need a better cover story,” Tristan adds. “The art initiative works for now, but we need something more substantial if they keep digging.”
Diego says nothing, but his arm has found its way around Zoe’s shoulders, a casual protective gesture that makes something dark and possessive twist in my gut. She leans into him slightly, perhaps not even aware she’s doing it, and the sight of it, of her seeking comfort from one of my pack, sends a confusing mix of jealousy and satisfaction through me.
“I’m sorry,” Zoe says suddenly, her voice small but steady. “This is... a lot. I didn’t think about the consequences of being here.”
“This isn’t on you,” I say, pushing some weight into my voice. “I’m serious.”
She meets my gaze, and for a moment, I see something in her eyes that I can’t quite decipher. A vulnerability, yes, but also a determination that makes my chest tighten with an unfamiliar feeling.
