Something shifts in her expression—heat, maybe, or recognition.
“Fair enough, Alpha.”
The way she says my title makes my wolf practically purr. Not submissive. Acknowledging. Like she’s choosing to recognize my authority rather than being forced into it.
Dangerous. Everything about her is fucking dangerous.
I gesture toward the compound with my chin. “Move.”
She turns and starts walking, her pace steady despite the restraints. No stumbling. No favoring one side. She moves like a weapon—controlled, economical, ready for violence at any moment.
And I can’t stop watching the way her hips shift with each step, can’t stop breathing in her scent, can’t stop my wolf from tracking every detail like she belongs to us.
No timeline for this. Could be hours. Could be days.
But every instinct I have says it’s going to happen soon—someone will make their move against my pack.
And I need to figure out if she’s here to save us or finish what someone else started before that happens.
I need to get control of whatever the hell is happening between us before it becomes a bigger problem than the threat she’s warning about.
But as I follow her through the darkness toward Ash Hollow, one thought burns through my mind like acid:
If she’s right about the manipulation, then everything I thought I knew about leading this pack might be wrong.
And that might be the most dangerous revelation of all.
The compound comes into view through the trees—twelve cabins arranged in defensive positions around the central lodge. Home to forty-three wolves who trust me to keep them safe.
Now I’m bringing a potential threat right to their front door. Again.
I scan the perimeter as we approach. Ben repositioning in the shadows. Callum’s silhouette visible in the lodge window. Lyanna’s cabin glowing with that soft fae-touched light she can’t quite suppress when she’s working healing magic. Mateo emerging from the equipment shed, his angel bloodline visible in the way moonlight catches his features differently than pure wolves.
Ash Hollow isn’t like Shadow Peak. We’re not a traditional pack with generations of purebred wolves following ancient bloodlines. We’re built from broken pieces—Storm Ridge survivors carrying Viktor’s brand, Shadow Peak wolves who followed me into exile, lone wolves from failed packs who had nowhere else to go. Half our pack carries mixed heritage: angel traces from old Portal Guardian bloodlines, fae magic residue, hybrid energy signatures.
Most territories hide that kind of diversity. Downplay it. Keep it quiet.
We don’t. We wear it openly and build our strength from it.
I’ve always believed that makes us stronger. But watching Nova’s restrained form move ahead of me, her confident stride despite the titanium cables, I can’t help wondering if our openness also makes us vulnerable in ways I haven’t considered.
Not all supernatural factions view integration the way we do.
Ben emerges from behind the equipment shed before we clear the treeline, his posture shifting from casual patrol to full alert the moment he spots Nova’s restraints. His eyes meet mine for half a second—a silent question.
I give him the slightest nod.Contained threat. Handle accordingly.
Ben melts back into the shadows, but I know he’s repositioning. Getting eyes on us from multiple angles.
Nova doesn’t react to his presence, but I catch the tiny shift in her breathing. She knows he’s there. Knows exactly where he moved. Half-fae senses picking up what most wolves would miss.
“Expecting trouble?” she asks without looking back.
“Always.”
“Smart.” There’s approval in her voice that shouldn’t matter. “Most Alphas rely too much on dominance, not enough on strategy.”
“Most half-fae spies don’t offer tactical assessments to their captors.”
