“Tell Ben to take the northeast post.”
His expression flickers—uncertainty, then understanding. The northeast quadrant faces the hills where Nova disappeared.
“Ben’s good,” Wyatt says. “Quiet. Observant.”
“That’s why I want him there.”
We don’t say her name. The pack’s been watching the dance between us since she arrived—the tension, the clash, whatever the hell happened in my cabin. They know the northeast post means Nova.
Wyatt nods again and turns away, already mentally rearranging assignments.
I roll my shoulders back, trying to release the knot of tension between my shoulder blades. It doesn’t budge.
Footsteps approach—deliberate, unhurried. Ben. He stops beside me, no greeting, just a slight dip of his chin.
“Northeast quadrant,” I say.
“Yes, Alpha.” His voice is low, measured. Two words that carry a complete understanding. Ben isn’t like the others. Doesn’t need explanations or reassurance. Just clear orders and space to execute them. He shifts his weight, ready to move out.
“If she needs backup,” I add, “she won’t ask for it.”
He gives a single nod.
The lodge door opens behind us. Heavier footsteps. Slower. Rafe.
Ben slips away silently, heading toward his post. I don’t watch him go. My attention locks onto Rafe’s approach—the measured stride, the way he claims space without effort. He’s not pressing dominance. But he’s not yielding either.
Every Alpha instinct in me bristles.
Rafe stops at a careful distance. His eyes scan the forest line, the same as I did moments ago.
“Nice territory,” he says. “Defensible. Good sightlines.”
“You move like this place already belongs to you,” I say, tracking his movements.
He doesn’t react to the edge in my voice. Just shrugs. “Old habits.”
“You don’t walk into another Alpha’s stronghold without naming your stake.” I take a step closer. “So let’s hear it. Who the fuck are you, anyway?”
Rafe meets my stare, calm as winter steel. “Someone who’s already watched this play out once. Who knows what it looks like when Faelan wins.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one that matters right now.” His voice stays neutral, but I catch the brief flare of something ancient in his eyes. “I’m not your rival, Alpha. I’m your reminder: The world gets smaller if we don’t stop him here.”
The air between us crackles with unspoken challenge, but neither of us shifts stance. This isn’t a brawl. It’s a cold read. And Rafe isn’t backing down.
“You’re Drakorian,” I say, noting the subtle differences in his stance, his scent. Something about him reads different from Rhonan—older, harder. “Border pack?”
His jaw tightens slightly. “North range. You know about the realm.”
“Enough.” Serena and Rhonan’s stories have given me a basic understanding—dragons, wolves, fae existing in uneasy balance. But this wolf carries something heavier than diplomatic knowledge. “Border packs kept peace where territories overlapped, right?”
“When peace was an option.” He crosses his arms.
I step back, giving him space but not turning away. “So what brought you here? Through the portal?”
His face hardens. “Faelan. Or rather, what he did.”
