“Noah,” my father greeted coolly, as if finding his younger son looking like he’d been dragged through hell backward was perfectly normal. “What have you found?”
Noah and I locked eyes for a second. Whatever he’d discovered had him looking more rattled than I’d seen him in years, which meant it was bad. Really bad.
“When the attack started at the wedding, I used the chaos,” Noah said, straightening up despite his obvious exhaustion. “Broke into Alderic’s office, went through everything. His files, his correspondence, his hidden safe behind that ugly painting of his grandfather.”
“Breaking and entering,” my mother observed. “How refreshingly direct.”
“Sometimes the old ways work best,” Noah replied, pulling out a thick folder from inside his jacket. The papers were crumpled and stained, but intact. “He’s been corresponding with someone named Blade. Someone who can control rogues.”
The room went dead silent. Even my parents, masters of the poker face, couldn’t hide their shock.
“That’s impossible,” my mother breathed, and hearing Serena Raven admit something was impossible was like hearing the pope question the existence of God. “Ferals don’t follow anyone. It’s what makes them feral, which is what makes them rogue. They’ve lost their humanity, their ability to reason or follow commands.”
“I thought so too. But look.” Noah spread the papers across the coffee table, his hands steady despite everything. Letters in Alderic’s careful script, bank transfers to offshore accounts, coded messages that weren’t coded well enough.
I leaned forward, reading over his shoulder. Each page made my wolf rise higher, made my control slip further. But my mind was racing with the implications. If someone could control ferals, it changed everything we knew about pack security. Our entire defense strategy was built on the assumption that rogues were solitary, unpredictable threats. If they could be weaponized, directed...
“Blade leads them somehow. Coordinates them. That’s why the attacks were so organized. Someone’s been directing them like pieces on a chess board.”
“The attack pattern at the wedding,” Noah continued, pointing to a hand-drawn map. “Look at the marks. Every exit was covered. Every strong fighter was targeted first. They knew exactly where everyone would be.”
My blood ran cold as the implications hit me. “This attack on Lina and the pups...”
“Alderic ordered it. Paid for it.” Noah’s voice cracked, just slightly, but I heard it. “Twenty thousand to take out specific targets. Your mate and children were at the top of the list.”
I felt Lina’s hand slip into mine, grounding me before I could lose it completely. The twins pressed closer to her other side, sensing the growing tension in the room.
“There’s more,” Noah said, and the way he looked at me made my stomach drop. He pulled out another set of papers, these ones older, yellowed at the edges. “I found these in a hidden compartment. They go back years. Knox... there’s more.”
I took the papers with hands that wanted to shake. Financial records. Correspondence. All dated seven years ago. My eyes caught on a familiar date, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe.
“The attack seven years ago,” Noah said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Blake’s death. Alderic was behind that too.”
The papers fell from my numb fingers. Blake. My baby brother. The one who always laughed too loud, who played pranks on the senior council members, who could make anyone smile even on their worst day. Blake, who died screaming my name while I fought to reach him through a wall of rabid rogues.
Blake, whose death I’d blamed myself for every single day since.
The rage that filled the room was suffocating. My father’s eyes flashed wolf-gold, the first sign of lost control I’d seen from him in decades. My mother’s claws extended, delicate hands becoming weapons. But their fury was nothing compared to the inferno burning through me.
Memories flooded back, each one a fresh wound. Blake at twenty-one, excited about his first patrol as a full pack warrior. Blake teasing me about being too serious, too Alpha, too everything. Blake the morning of that last patrol, stealing bacon off my plate and grinning when I growled at him.
“Just us three,” he’d said. “Like when we were kids. What could go wrong?”
Everything. Everything had gone wrong.
“I’ll kill him,” I snarled, and my voice wasn’t human anymore. “I’ll tear his throat out with my teeth. I’ll make him beg for the mercy I’ll never give.”
“No.”
Everyone turned to stare at Lina. She stood there, holding our children close, looking every inch the Luna she was meant to be.
“We do this right,” she said, her voice steady. “Legal. Public. So everyone knows what he is. So there’s no doubt, no question, no way for him to spin it into martyrdom.”
“The human wants to play politics while my son’s killer walks free?” My father’s voice was dangerous.
“He killed family,” Lina continued, meeting his gaze without flinching. “He tried to kill our children. Death is too easy. Too quick. I want him to lose everything first. His position, his respect, his daughter’s future. I want him to know what it feels like to have everything ripped away.”
My father studied her for a long moment, then slowly nodded. “Death makes him a martyr. Exposure makes him nothing. And nothing is what he deserves to be.”
