The floorboards creak as I shift my weight. Just a slight adjustment, but Rafe’s eyes track the movement. Alpha recognizing Alpha, even when both are off-balance.
“She told us what she’s doing,” Lyanna says. Her voice softens. “That’s something.”
Is it? Or is it just enough rope to keep us still while she walks into fire?
I look down at my hands, steadier than they should be. I’ve sent wolves into danger before. Set perimeters. Calculated acceptable losses. This is different. This isn’t about pack hierarchy or territory defense. This is about a woman who looked me in the eye and told me exactly how she plans to die.
And I let her walk out.
“She’s been preparing for this since birth,” Rafe says. “Whether she knew it or not.”
I turn, stare him down. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
He doesn’t flinch. “No. Just means you can’t stop it.”
“Watch me,” I growl.
His expression doesn’t change, but something shifts in his eyes.
“She’ll cut you out if you try to control her,” Lyanna warns.
“I’m not trying to control her,” I snap. “I’m trying to keep her alive.”
The words land harder than I intend.
Rafe tilts his head slightly. “Are you?”
I stare at him. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means there’s a line,” he says. “Between protection and possession. Between fear and control.”
I don’t answer. The clock on the wall ticks, each second an accusation.
“Forty-eight hours. Then she hunts. Which means I have forty-seven to find another way.”
I straighten, authority settling back into place. It’s familiar. Necessary. “Keep this contained. No one else hears about her plan until I decide how to handle it.”
Lyanna nods. Rafe just watches.
I head for the door, each step precise. Controlled. My hand closes around the knob, cold metal against skin that runs too hot.
I step outside, let the night air hit my face. But even here, I catch traces of honey-citrus-magic retreating into the dark. Fainter now. Moving away.
But not gone. Not yet.
I scan the perimeter—force of habit—cataloging shadows, scent traces, movement in the trees. Anything to channel the surge of restless energy burning under my skin.
I don’t trust. I breathe deep, letting the morning air dilute Nova’s lingering scent. It doesn’t work. Even with the distance she’s put between us, I can still track her path through the forest—that bright, wild signature cutting northeast toward the boundary line.
Wyatt approaches from the barracks, shoulders squared. “Alpha.”
“Double the watch,” I say, voice steady. “Four-hour rotations, six positions instead of four.”
“Think you could get hold of Serena and Rhonan?” Wyatt asks. “Her fae heritage would help with magical disturbances, and his tactical training would be useful for coordinating defenses.”
I shake my head. “They’re tied up with the Briarwood diplomatic crisis. Royal bloodlines make them essential for those negotiations.”
Wyatt nods grimly. “Then we work with what we have.”
