“Yes, brother,” Sawyer adds.
“Good.” Archer nods. “Eight p.m. sharp. Meet at the large rock on the far end of campus.”
He lowers his hood. Short red curls catch the candlelight, glowing like embers. “These better be your best recruits. Our fathers are breathing down my neck.”
“We’ve got your back brother,” I say.
“We understand how important this initiation is,” Thatcher states.
“The alphas we selected will strengthen the Wolves,” Sawyer confirms.
The Wolves have ruled the shadows of Greywood for sixty years. An elite, alpha-only secret society founded on power, affluence, and legacy.
As legacy Wolves, the expectations placed on us are higher. Heavier. We aren’t just inducted, we’re forged. Trained by Special Operatives, alphas who taught us how to fight, survive, and eliminate threats without hesitation. We are expected to be combat-ready at all times. Sometimes that means rooting out corrupt, vile scum involved in heinous crimes like sex trafficking. Other times, it means going head-to-head with rival societies willing to spill blood for dominance. There are twenty secret societies across the United States.
The Wolves are ranked number one. Everyone wants our position. Holding it means our hands don’t stay clean.
As part of our initiation, we dismantled a drug-smuggling and sex-trafficking operation embedded in Greywood. The message was clear. No one deals fentanyl in our town and lives to repeat it.
That was the night we stopped being boys. We’ve been killing our enemies since we were eighteen. And the price of wearing the wolf has always been the same:
do what must be done or become the next problem.
Last year’s recruits proved corrupt. The former president was forced out, and Archer was sworn in to clean up the rot.
Initiation night, we all wear wolf-head masks with long, exaggerated snouts. The pledges can’t tell us apart as we watch them all night.
It keeps them honest.
I turn and slide the candle into its iron wall holder.
Sawyer yanks off his hood. “May I be dismissed?”
“Yes,” Archer says.
Sawyer grins. “Perfect. I’ve got class with Harper.”
My snarl rips free before I can stop it. “What the fuck, Sawyer? You’re not supposed to interact with her. She’s our enemy.”
He steps into my space. At six-five, I’m used to towering over most men—but Sawyer’s six-six now, his presence solid, unyielding. Just a couple of years ago, he was shorter than me.
“I stood by you in high school,” he says quietly. “But something in my soul says we went too far.”
“Last time I checked,” I snap, “Harper was my omega.”
The words taste bitter now.
“She told the entire school I cheated,” I continue. “She didn’t ask. She accused.”
“I want to make things right with her,” Sawyer says.
I shove both palms into his massive chest. His linebacker build barely shifts, but it’s enough.
He growls and fists my robe, yanking me close. “Make it right, Dustin,” he snarls. “She’s our fucking mate.”
A dark laugh rumbles from my chest. “You don’t know that.”
Anger burns hot in my veins.
