He wasn't wrong. But he wasn't entirely right either.
“How far does your territory extend?” Rafe asked, breaking the tension with a question that felt carefully timed.
“Three miles in each direction from the pack house. Covers most of this section of forest, parts of town proper.” I gestured toward the barely-visible ward marks carved into trees at regular intervals. “Gideon maintains the protections. Keeps most threats out.”
“Most?”
“Nothing's perfect. Determined things still get through.” I stopped at a particularly old oak, checked the sigil carved into its bark. Still glowing faintly. Subtle enough that humans wouldn't notice, bright enough that anything supernatural would recognize the warning. “But it's enough.”
Rafe studied the mark with interest that felt genuine. “I've never seen wards like these. Ash Hollow used different magic. More aggressive.”
“Gideon's style is containment over aggression. He believes in boundaries that teach rather than punish.”
“Teach.” Rafe's voice went soft, almost wistful. “That's a nice thought. That boundaries could be lessons instead of walls.”
We walked in silence for another twenty minutes, circling north where the forest grew thickest. Alaric ranged ahead, checking ward markers with the kind of methodical efficiency that would serve him well as a Beta someday. If he ever learned to temper the arrogance with patience.
That's when I heard it. A sound that didn't belong. Not animal, not wind. Something deliberate and close, moving through underbrush with purpose.
My wolf surged to attention. I threw an arm out, stopping Rafe mid-step.
“What—” he started.
I covered his mouth, shook my head. Listen.
The sound came again. Closer. Footsteps maybe, or something that mimicked footsteps. Crunching through dead leaves with weight that felt wrong for the rhythm.
Alaric appeared at my side, silent as shadow. His eyes had gone gold, wolf pressing close to the surface.
“I smell something,” he breathed. “Wolf, but wrong. Like it's been dead and brought back.”
Rafe's heart rate spiked so fast I could hear it. Fear flooded his system sharp and immediate, and he grabbed my arm with fingers that dug in hard enough to bruise.
“They found me.” His voice cracked. “Daniel, they found me.”
The sound stopped. Just cut off mid-pattern, leaving silence so complete it felt manufactured.
Alaric's eyes swept the tree line, body coiled for a fight. “Could be a distraction. Something trying to draw us out.”
“Or nothing at all,” I said, though my wolf didn't believe it. “Rafe. Back to the pack house. Now.”
“Don't leave me alone.” His grip on my arm tightened. “Please. What if they're waiting between here and there? What if they?—”
“I'll go with him.” Alaric's voice was flat, reluctant. “You check the perimeter. Make sure nothing crossed.”
I hesitated. Alaric was capable. More than capable. But there was something about leaving Rafe with him that felt like setting up a conflict I'd have to deal with later.
“Go,” Alaric said, and there was something in his expression that surprised me. Not hostility. Something closer to understanding. “I'll keep him safe.”
It was the closest thing to acceptance I'd heard from him since Rafe arrived.
“Perimeter first,” I said. “Then straight back. Don't stop for anything.”
Alaric nodded, already moving. He grabbed Rafe's arm, not gently but not cruelly either, and started pulling him toward the pack house.
“Come on, stray. Let's see if you can keep up.”
I watched them go. Rafe moved fast, almost running, fear making his steps uneven. But he stayed with Alaric, didn't argue, didn't try to break away and hide.
