Now Caelan is sitting beside me at the long wooden table, looking about as nervous as I feel. She hasn’t said much since we arrived, but her presence is the only thing keeping me in check as I face down an assembly of pack leaders who have every reason to distrust me.
Oren Blacklock occupies the head of the table. I’ve heard stories about the Grayhide alpha for years, mostly from Thornridge wolves who spoke his name like a curse. He took over his pack after killing his own father, Jerrod, and transformed Grayhide from an enemy territory into one of the strongest allies in the valley. He’s younger than I expected, maybe mid-twenties, but there’s nothing youthful about the way he’s inspecting me like a bug under a microscope. His blue eyes are cold and assessing, the eyes of a leader who has learned to make hard decisions and live with the consequences.
To his left sits a woman with dark curly hair. Ash Fields-Blacklock, his mate and the luna of Grayhide Pack. She’s the psychic I’ve heard about, the one who inherited her abilities from an elder named Beth. I’ve been trying not to look right at her since we walked in, because she hasn’t stopped watching me, and something about her gaze makes me feel like she’s already peeling back my defenses layer by layer.
Across the table, another alpha commands attention despite his relaxed posture. Dorian Fields, leader of the Ambersky Pack and Ash’s older brother. He’s built like a tank, and he’s scowling in my direction like he’d like nothing more than to snap me in half. Something tells me he wouldn’t break a sweat doing it. His mate, Kira Argent, is beside him. She’s the only person in the room who hasn’t looked at me like I’m something scraped off the bottom of her shoe. I’ve heard she has psychic abilities too, something called clairaudience that lets her hear things others can’t. Between her and Ash, I have to assume that any lie I might consider telling would be detected before it left my mouth.
The Llewelyn delegation is harder to read. Matriarch Lydia Thornwick presides over them. She’s Caelan’s aunt, which makes this whole situation even more awkward. The older woman hasn’t acknowledged her niece once since we entered, and Caelan has been avoiding her in return. The rift between them is obvious, and I hate knowing that I’m the cause of it.
Reeyan sits near his mate, Sera, who positioned herself as far from me as the table allows. The pack historian has been scribbling notes since the meeting began, documenting everything I say for future reference. He’s the one who helped Sera break the curse on the Llewelyn pack, and his knowledge of pack history and territorial conflicts makes him valuable in ways that go beyond his relationship with my mate’s sister.
Several other wolves fill the remaining seats. Council members, advisors, and warriors whose names I don’t know but whose hostility I can feel attacking me from all sides. A man with red-gold hair and green eyes sits near Kira, and the family resemblance tells me he must be her brother, Emin Argent. He serves on Oren’s council, according to the intelligence I gathered during my years with Thornridge.
My wolf snarls inside my chest, demanding I bare my teeth and remind these people that I’m not some cowering omega begging for scraps. My instincts and very nature beg me to meet their dominance with my own, to make them understand that I’m a threat worth respecting, but I keep my hands flat on the table where everyone can see them.
Caelan’s safety depends on these people accepting me. If that means swallowing my pride and playing the supplicant, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.
“Let’s start from the beginning,” Oren commands. “You claim to be a Thornridge defector with valuable intelligence. I want specifics.”
“Thornridge is currently operating from a hidden compound in the eastern mountains, about forty miles from the Llewelyn border. The terrain is brutal, mostly cliff faces and narrow passes that are easy to defend. Mordaunt chose it because it’s nearly impossible to assault with conventional forces.”
“How many wolves?”
“Roughly sixty combat-ready fighters, plus another thirty support personnel. Casters, healers, and scouts.” I pause before adding, “That number has dropped significantly since your last engagement with them. Mordaunt lost a dozen wolves in the failed attack on Llewelyn territory and the smaller squabbleswe’ve had since then. Morale has been deteriorating ever since. Wolves are starting to question whether his obsession is worth dying for.”
Dorian folds his massive arms on the table. “And Mordaunt himself? What’s his condition since he managed to escape our prison?”
“Wounded and refusing to admit it. He hasn’t fully recovered, but he won’t let anyone see him as weak. His son Bastian has been handling most of the day-to-day operations while Mordaunt focuses on planning the next assault.”
“Which is?”
“The Amanzite reserves in Grayhide territory, as you might expect. That’s always been his primary objective.” I glance at Oren, who gives nothing away. “Mordaunt is obsessed with those reserves. He believes controlling them will give Thornridge the power to dominate every pack in the region. Everything else, every attack, every infiltration, every manipulation, has been a means to that end.”
“Including infiltrating Llewelyn,” Matriarch Lydia interjects. “Bastian’s little scheme with your mate’s friend Raegan.”
The accusation hangs in the chamber, and I force myself to meet the older woman’s eyes. “Bastian prefers manipulation to direct combat. He spent months studying the valley’s pack dynamics before he made his move on Raegan. He learned of the exchange program, identified vulnerabilities, and positioned himself as a student who wanted to build bridges between territories. When that failed, and his cover was blown, he started looking for other weaknesses to exploit.”
“And he found one in my niece.”
“Yes.” There’s no point in sugarcoating it. “Bastian recognized Caelan as Llewelyn royalty the moment he saw the surveillance photos from the bar. He wanted me to seduce her, gain her trust, and use that connection to destabilize the alliance between your pack and the others.”
“Why you?”
“Because I was already involved with her. Bastian didn’t know about the mate bond, but he knew I’d slept with a Llewelyn woman, and he saw an opportunity. In his mind, I’d already done the hard part by getting close to her.” I let out a breath through my nose. “According to protocol, I should have reported her the moment I realized she was from an enemy pack. The fact that I didn’t tell Bastian everything he needed to know about my priorities.”
Oren taps his fingers against the table, filling the silence with the rhythm. “Walk me through the supply chains. Where does Thornridge get its resources?”
“There are three main routes. The first runs through the northern passes to bring in weapons and equipment from outside contacts. Mordaunt has connections with arms dealers who don’t ask questions as long as the payment clears. The second is a network of smugglers who operate in the border towns, moving everything from food to ammunition through channels the allied packs haven’t discovered yet.”
I pause, weighing how much to reveal about the third route. This is the information that could either save me or get me killed, depending on how the council reacts.
“The third is a mole inside one of your allied territories.”
That gets a reaction. Several council members audibly gasp, and Dorian narrows his eyes to dangerous slits. Emin Argent curses his breath.
“Which territory?” Dorian demands.
“I don’t know. Mordaunt keeps that information close. He only shares it with Bastian and a handful of trusted lieutenants. What I do know is that supplies have been flowing to Thornridge from inside the alliance for at least six months. Someone is feeding them information about patrol schedules and defensive positions.”
