“Ally.” The word tasted like betrayal. “Is that what you call lying to me my entire fucking life?”
“I call it keeping you safe.”
The casual dismissal made rage burn brighter than any claw mark. “Safe from what? From knowing that the man who taught me to change oil was also a goddamn wizard? From understanding that our family's survival depended on magical alliances I wasn't trusted to know about?”
Dad's eyes flashed with Alpha authority, the kind that made lesser wolves bare their throats. “You're upset. We'll discuss this when you're calm.”
“Don't.” Command rang through my voice, surprising us both. “Don't you dare dismiss this like I'm throwing a tantrum. Don't pretend that lying to me about fundamental parts of my own life was for my own good.”
Nate moved to stand beside me, his uninjured shoulder pressing against mine. Solid. Steady. Absolutely fearless despite having just watched his boyfriend turn into a mythological creature and fight monsters.
“He trusted me with the truth,” Nate said quietly, meeting Dad's stare without flinching. “Maybe it's time you did the same with him.”
The clearing went silent except for wind through pine needles and the distant sound of something wild calling in the forest depths. Dad's gaze moved between us, calculating, weighing variables I couldn't begin to guess at.
Finally, he nodded. “We'll talk. All of us. But not here, not now. The wards need repair, and we need to figure out how they were breached.”
Gideon stepped forward, rolling his shoulders like he was working out kinks from an old injury. “I can patch them. Won't be permanent—my reserves are pretty fucking depleted after tonight—but it'll hold until I can do a proper rebuild.”
“You sure?” Dad asked, concern flickering across his features. “You look like you're about to keel over.”
“I'm fine,” Gideon said, which was clearly a lie judging by the way he swayed slightly on his feet. “Just need to borrow a little something from the forest itself.”
He moved to the center of the clearing, kneeling beside one of the ancient stones. His hands pressed flat against the granite, and I watched his magic shift, changing from the bright starfire of battle to something deeper, earthier. Power that felt like roots and rain and the slow, patient growth of centuries.
“The old bargains still hold,” he murmured, more to himself than to us. “The forest remembers.”
Light began to seep from the stone beneath his palms—not the blazing aurora of before, but something quieter, more subtle. It spread outward in gentle waves, following lines of power I couldn't see but could feel thrumming in my bones.
The broken wards began to knit themselves back together, invisible threads of protection weaving through the air like spider silk made of moonbeams. It was beautiful and terrifying and wrong all at the same time, watching magic reshape reality according to will and word and the kind of knowledge most people spent lifetimes pretending didn't exist.
When the last thread snapped into place, Gideon slumped forward, catching himself on his forearms before he could face-plant into sacred ground.
“That'll do for now,” he gasped, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool night air. “Should hold for a few days, maybe a week if we're lucky. But we need a permanent solution before?—”
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. We all knew what came after temporary fixes failed.
War. Blood.
25
TRUTHS
NATE
Ipressed myself against the wall like it might grant me the superpower of invisibility, which worked about as well as you'd expect. Every few seconds, someone would glance my way with expressions ranging from mildly curious to actively calculating whether I'd taste better grilled or fried.
The Callahan living room had been transformed into supernatural war central, complete with blood-stained pack members nursing wounds and having whispered conversations in voices too low for human ears. Someone had dragged in mismatched chairs from around the house, but most of the wolves preferred to lean against walls or hover near doorways like they were ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.
My camera hung around my neck like a lifeline, the familiar weight the only thing keeping me anchored while surrounded by people who could literally tear me apart without breaking a sweat.
Evan stood by the fireplace, shoulders locked with barely contained fury. Dried blood painted rusty streaks down his arms, and there was a cut above his left eye that made my photographer instincts itch to document what we'd survived. But this wasn't the time for artistic expression. This was the time for keeping my mouth shut and trying not to become anyone's chew toy.
The room went dead silent when Daniel walked in, every conversation dying mid-sentence like someone had hit a universal mute button. Alpha energy pressed against my skin like standing too close to a furnace, and I had to resist the urge to take a step back.
“Well,” Daniel said, surveying the room with grim satisfaction, “that was fucking educational.”
A few nervous chuckles rippled through the pack, but the tension didn't ease. If anything, it ratcheted up another notch.
