“And destroying wolf packs proves their point.”
“Especially packs like yours. Redemption stories. Second chances. Proof that broken things can heal.” I face him again, letting him see the growing certainty in my eyes. “You’re not just a target. You’re a symbol.”
The implications settle between us like stones. This isn’t about Ash Hollow specifically. This is about what Ash Hollow represents.
“The other three territories,” I say quietly. “They were like yours. Mixed communities. Outcasts building something new. Proof that broken wolves could heal.” I meet his eyes. “Someone’s been systematically destroying that proof.”
“So what do we do?” Dane asks.
“We prove him wrong.” The words come out fiercer than I intended. “We make sure your pack survives. We show that healing is possible.”
“Even if it costs you?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
“This kind of fight changes you. Marks you. Makes you a target for the same factions that are hunting us.” His gray eyes search my face. “Are you prepared for that?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications I’m not ready to face. Because he’s right. Getting involved—really involved—means burning bridges. Choosing sides. Abandoning the careful neutrality that’s kept me safe for years.
“I’m already involved,” I say quietly.
“No. You’re observing. Participating temporarily. There’s a difference.”
“And what would real involvement look like?”
His scent shifts, something dangerous and hungry rising to the surface. “Staying. Fighting. Becoming part of what we’re building instead of just documenting it.”
The offer hangs between us like a challenge. Like a door I could walk through if I’m brave enough to abandon everything I thought I knew about myself.
Before I can answer, movement flickers in the treeline below. A human figure, moving with purpose toward the compound. Male. Well-dressed. Moving like he has every right to be there.
Phil Dawson. Coming to check his work, just like I predicted.
“There,” I breathe, pointing.
Dane follows my gaze, his entire body shifting to predator mode. “Bold bastard.”
Phil crosses the compound perimeter like he owns it, heading directly for the main lodge. No stealth. No concealment. The confidence of a man who thinks he’s already won.
“He’s not even trying to hide,” I observe.
“Because he thinks we’re too fractured to notice.” Dane’s voice carries lethal promise. “Time to prove him wrong.”
We’re too far away to intercept before he reaches the lodge, but Dane’s eyes flash with sudden focus—the look of an Alpha reaching through pack bonds.
Ben. Visitor approaching main lodge. Phil Dawson. Do not engage alone.
I can’t hear the response, but I see the moment it comes through—Dane’s shoulders tense, his scent spiking with frustration.
“Ben’s acknowledging, but Phil’s already at the door,” he growls. “Too late to stop the approach.”
“But not too late to end this.” I watch Phil Dawson walk into Ash Hollow like he’s coming home. “He’s going to offer to save them from themselves.”
Chapter 5
Dane
Ihit the steep decline at full speed, boots sliding on loose gravel as I take the hunter’s path down. My pulse hammers in my ears—not from exertion, but from rage. The audacity of this man walking into my territory, my home, after whatever he’s been doing to my wolves.
