She reaches slowly into her jacket—I tense, ready to grab her wrist—but she only pulls out a small, black stone. It pulses with faint, purple light, rhythmic like a heartbeat.
“This detects emotional manipulation. Someone’s been amplifying your pack’s trauma, pushing them toward a breaking point.” Her eyes stay locked on mine. “The next major conflict won’t just be another fight—it’ll shatter everything you’ve built.”
“Who sent you to track us?” My voice comes out rougher than intended, but I need to know.
“No one sent me. The portal near Silverwood surged three weeks ago—destabilizing the realm boundary.” She doesn’t flinch under my stare. “I’ve seen what happens when boundaries fail. I came to investigate before it gets worse.”
“So you’re what—a freelance tracker?”
“Former fae spy. Now independent.” No apology in her voice. “I track realm destabilization and manipulation patterns. Your territory’s showing both.”
My jaw tightens. “And when you figure out what’s happening?”
“Then I stop it.” Simple. Direct. “If I can. I’ve encountered signatures like this before—three other territories over the past year. All collapsed before I could intervene. I won’t let that happen again.”
“Three other territories.” The implication sinks in. “You’re saying this is a pattern.”
“I’m saying someone’s been perfecting their technique.” Her eyes meet mine steadily. “And your pack is their fourth target.”
The stone pulses brighter, and my wolf goes absolutely feral. Not from threat—fromlust. Like every cell in my body recognizes her on some level that bypasses logic entirely.
I lean closer, using every inch of my size advantage. She barely reaches my chin, but she doesn’t shrink back. Instead, she tilts her chin up to maintain eye contact, and the movement exposes the long line of her throat. My wolf fixates on the pulse point there, steady and strong despite being cornered by two hundred pounds of pissed-off Alpha. “And I’m supposed to trust some half-fae spy who breaks into my territory in the middle of the night?”
“You’re supposed to ask yourself why your pack’s been falling apart despite your best efforts.” Her gaze drops to my mouth for half a second—so quick I almost miss it—before snapping back up. “Why every conflict escalates faster than it should. Why trust feels impossible even between wolves who’ve bled together.”
My hand is still braced against the tree, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from her skin. Close enough to catch the way her pulse jumps when I lean in another inch.
“You could be the one causing it.”
“I could be.” Her chin tilts slightly, bringing her face closer to mine. “But then my stone wouldn’t be reacting to residue; it would be reacting to me directly.”
I glance at the stone still pulsing in her palm. I don’t know how the damn thing works, but her logic makes sense. If she were the threat, why would she be pointing it out?
“Who?” The word comes out rough, dangerous.
“Someone who knows exactly which wounds to press on. Someone who’s been studying your pack, learning their triggers.” She pauses, violet eyes searching my face. “Someone who wants to prove that broken wolves can’t be fixed.”
The accuracy of that statement makes my chest tight. Because that’s exactly what I’ve been afraid of—that all my efforts to build something better are doomed because we’re all too damaged to trust, too scarred to heal.
“My name is Nova,” she continues quietly. “I track artificial pack conflicts. And right now, your territory is showing every sign of active psychological manipulation.”
I push back from the tree, putting distance between us before I do something stupid. Like find out what she tastes like. Like believe every word she’s saying because she smells like everything I’ve been missing.
“You’re coming with me.” I pull the reinforced restraints from my belt—titanium-core cables that can hold a shifted werewolf. “Hands.”
She looks at the restraints, then back at my face. Her eyes widen for half a second. Her lips part slightly before pressing together again.
“Is that really necessary?”
“You’re an unknown entity who infiltrated my territory and claims someone’s been manipulating my pack.” I step forward again, cables ready. “Yeah, it’s necessary.”
She extends her hands without argument, wrists pressed together. The casual compliance bothers me more than resistance would have.
The titanium cables click as they lock around her wrists, but she doesn’t test them. Doesn’t even look down at them. Just keeps watching my face with those unreadable violet eyes.
“This won’t hold me if I want to leave,” she says conversationally.
“Then don’t want to leave.”
