“Know of him,” Lyanna corrects, her gaze traveling back to Nova with renewed interest. “As do you, apparently. Though you call him something else.”
Nova’s shoulders straighten. “Phil Dawson.”
The pieces crash together with sickening clarity. Faelan. Here, in my compound, wearing a human face. Speaking to my wolves. Planting seeds of discord and walking away while I stood there like a fool, letting him leave unharmed.
“Fuck! You knew,” I say to Nova, heat rising under my skin. “You knew who he was when he was here.”
“I suspected,” she counters, not backing down. “I wasn’t sure until I saw this.” She gestures to the laptop.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, knuckles white with restraint. I step closer until we’re breathing the same air. My jaw locks, muscles working beneath the skin as I stare down at her.
“What else?” The words scrape out, barely controlled.
Nova doesn’t flinch. Only the slight dilation of her pupils betrays any reaction to the rage pouring off me. Her spine stays straight, her chin level, though I catch the subtle quickening of her pulse at her throat.
“Nothing relevant to this,” she says, voice steady despite the murderous heat I know is visible in my eyes.
She holds my gaze, refusing to look away or step back. Her hand remains on the laptop, fingers steady.
“Your anger won’t solve this, Alpha.”
The room stays silent for a long moment, the revelation settling over us like dust after an explosion. Faelan—the ancient fae who nearly destroyed us three months ago—had been walking through my compound. Speaking to my wolves. Sitting at my table.
“How long?” I ask, my voice cutting through the quiet, sharp and controlled. “How long was he here as Phil?”
“Three visits over two weeks,” Nova answers. “Each time planting seeds, testing responses, mapping your pack dynamics.”
My fist hits the wall. “And none of us saw it. Not one fucking person caught it.”
“That’s not your failure,” Nova says firmly. “That’s his skill.”
Lyanna moves around us, picking up Nova’s papers and studying them. Her fingers hover over the symbols without touching them. “These are old tracking wards. Fae bloodline markers.”
Nova doesn’t respond, but I see the confirmation in her stillness.
Lyanna turns back to us, but her focus is entirely on Nova. “How long have you been hunting him?”
I stand between them, suddenly aware I’m outside a conversation I should be controlling. Two women with knowledge I don’t have, speaking a language of magic and vengeance I can’t translate.
Nova turns away from both of us, her focus dropping to the digital patterns on the screen. The silence stretches, heavy and deliberate.
Chapter 11
Dane
Istand motionless between them as silence fills the room. Nova doesn’t answer Lyanna’s question; her eyes lowered to the digital patterns on the screen. The air feels charged, like before a lightning strike.
“Answer her,” I demand, my voice low.
Nova’s eyes flick up to mine, then back to Lyanna. “Long enough to know that associating his true name with these traces isn’t safe.”
Lyanna nods, understanding something I don’t. Her fingers hover over one of Nova’s papers, not quite touching it. “This is old magic. Court-bound.”
“And binding,” Nova adds, tapping her screen. “The corruption in the footage isn’t digital noise. It’s residual.”
I step between them, blocking their sight lines. “Enough. I need clear answers. Who is Phil Dawson really, and what does he want with my pack?”
Lyanna doesn’t even look at me. She circles around to stand beside Nova, both of them studying the screen. “May I?” she asks, gesturing to the laptop.
