“Things were ... settling. Healing.” His voice drops. “We were getting better.”
“Someone doesn’t want you to get better.” I lean closer, close enough that his scent wraps around me like smoke. Close enough to see the gold flecks in his gray eyes. “Someone wants you to fail.”
“Why?” The question comes out raw, like he’s been asking himself the same thing every night.
“Because broken wolves make excellent weapons. Because failed packs prove that redemption is impossible. Because some people profit from despair.” I let each word land before continuing. “Someone’s been testing your pressure points, learning exactly how to break you apart.”
His hand moves to the cell lock, fingers hovering over the mechanism. “And you just happened to show up now?”
“I’ve been tracking this pattern across three territories. Ash Hollow is the fourth. The others ...” I pause, letting him see the truth in my eyes. “They didn’t make it.”
The lock clicks open.
I don’t move. Don’t step forward or try to push past him. Just wait.
“You could be lying,” he says.
“I could be.” I keep my voice steady, matter-of-fact. “But you know I’m not.”
His scent spikes with something dangerous—not aggression, but desire. Raw, unwelcome, and impossible to ignore. My wolf responds before I can stop her, pressing closer to the surface, drawn to his dominance like metal to a magnet.
I force her back. Lock her down. Feel the loss of her warmth like losing a limb.
“You’re going to help me find whoever’s doing this,” he says. “I’m going to stop them from destroying your pack.” I step out of the cell, careful not to brush against him, though every instinct screams to move closer. “What you do after that is your choice.”
He turns and starts up the stairs without another word, expecting me to follow. I do, but I keep a distance between us. Professional, safe space.
Even though my wolf is howling for me to close that gap.
The main floor of the lodge hits me like a wall of scent and tension. Fear-sweat and barely suppressed rage. Exhaustion so deep it’s soaked into the walls. And underneath it all, something artificial. Wrong.
Like perfume trying to cover the smell of rot.
“Someone’s been in here recently,” I say, stopping just inside the doorway. “Someone who doesn’t belong.”
Dane freezes. “When?”
I close my eyes, filtering through the layers of scent. Pack members. Familiar wolves. And there—something else. Clean clothes and expensive cologne, and the faint chemical tang of hair product.
“Yesterday afternoon. Maybe early evening.” I open my eyes, finding him watching me with laser focus. “Male. Well-groomed. Not pack.”
“We don’t get visitors.”
“You do now.” I move toward the main room, following the foreign scent trail. It leads to the central seating area, lingers around the kitchen, and circles back to what looks like a planning table. “He spent time here. Comfortable. Like he belonged.”
“That’s impossible. I would have—“
“Were you here yesterday afternoon?”
His silence is answer enough.
“He came when you were out. Talked to your wolves. Friendly conversation, probably. Helpful suggestions. Maybe brought supplies or offered resources.” I track the scent to a chair by the fireplace—the foreign smell is strongest here. “He sat right there for at least an hour.”
Dane’s scent shifts to pure Alpha rage. “Who let him in?”
“Someone who trusted him. Someone who thought he was helping.” I turn to face him, seeing the realization dawning in his eyes. “Someone who’s been trained to see him as an ally.”
The front door opens, and a wolf walks in—the same one I heard mediating last night. He stops short when he sees me standing free in the main room.
