That’s new. Ben’s always been economical with words, but never withholding. But, he does have history with Harper. I hopeher being here doesn’t cause a problem. I don’t need relationship shit fucking things up even more than they are now.
“The sentries reported movement along the eastern ridge. Nothing confirmed.” Ben hands me a small notepad. His handwriting is crisp, detailing times and positions. “Wyatt took a team to investigate.”
“Without authorization?” My voice stays even.
Ben shrugs. “He said you were occupied.” A razor-thin pause. “With Nova.”
I don’t react. “And you?”
“I’m here.” Simple. Direct. But not the answer to what I’m really asking.
Our conversation cuts short as shouting erupts near the storage shed. Two wolves—Jason and Eli—face off, shoulders bunched, eyes flashing amber. Jason shoves first, sending Eli stumbling backward into a stack of firewood.
I’m moving before the first log hits the ground. Ben stays a step behind me, ready but not interfering.
By the time I reach them, they’re locked in a grapple, snarling and snapping. Small crowd forming, nobody stepping in.
“Enough,” I say.
Neither breaks apart. Eli lands a solid right hook to Jason’s jaw.
I grab both by their collars, yanking them backward. “I said enough.”
They separate, breathing hard, still glaring at each other.
“He’s been skipping perimeter duty,” Jason accuses, wiping blood from his lip. “Second time this week.”
Eli’s eyes darken. “Because you keep changing the rotation without telling anyone.”
“Take it up with your lieutenant,” I tell them.
They back away, not apologizing, not acknowledging me as Alpha. Just ... moving on. The small crowd disperses, conversations resuming like I’m not standing there.
Ben watches, face expressionless. “They’re scared,” he says quietly.
“Of what?”
“Not what. Who.”
I scan the compound as the afternoon light fades. Marcus stands on the porch of the main house, talking with three wolves who used to report directly to me—Derek, Torres, and Elena. His gestures are calm, measured. Leadership posture. He’s not undermining me openly. He’s doing something more dangerous: offering what looks like better answers.
I catch fragments of conversation as I move closer, staying in the shadows.
”—organized search grid, not random patrols—“ Marcus’s voice carries authority without aggression. “We map the territory properly, mark where Jensen’s team disappeared, work outward from there.”
Derek nods, leaning forward. “Makes sense. We’ve been reactive instead of strategic.”
“Jensen’s team deserves better than hope,” Marcus continues. “They deserve a plan.”
Torres shifts his weight, glancing in my direction before looking back to Marcus. “Alpha said we’re adjusting patrol rotations.”
“Adjusting isn’t finding.” Marcus’s tone stays reasonable, factual. “Our packmates have been gone three weeks. Three weeks of adjustments haven’t brought them home.”
Elena’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t disagree. None of them do.
I watch Marcus guide the conversation—not with emotion or rebellion, but with practical solutions that make my leadershiplook reactive instead of proactive. He’s building something. Not a challenge. An alternative.
And the wolves are listening.
