Chatter ripples through the room. I watch the council members glance at one another. Suspicion has already started to spread like poison through their ranks.
“This could be a trick,” one of the Llewelyn representatives points out. “A convenient way to sow discord among the allied packs.”
“It could be,” I agree. “But ask yourselves why Thornridge always seems to know exactly where your patrols will be and when. Ask yourselves how they’ve managed to evade every search party you’ve sent after them. Mordaunt is clever, but he’s not omniscient. He’s getting help from someone on the inside. I’m willing to bet he befriended someone during the time you held him captive. That’s probably how he escaped to begin with.”
The silence that follows is heavy with implications nobody wants to voice. I can see the council members running through mental lists of who might be capable of such betrayal.
Oren breaks it by asking, “What about Bastian’s personal vendettas?”
“Bastian has a particular hatred for anyone connected to his father’s failures. Raegan Blacklock humiliated him when she rejected him and exposed his infiltration of Llewelyn. He’s been nursing that grudge ever since, talking about how he’ll make her pay when he gets the chance.” I glance at Reeyan, who has gone still at the mention of his mate’s friend. “He also blamesWyn Lemay for ruining his operation. The two of them have unfinished business as far as Bastian is concerned.”
“And now he’ll have a grudge against you,” Oren observes.
“When he finds out I’ve defected, he’ll take it as a personal betrayal. We were…not friends, exactly, but we worked together for years. He trusted me with operations I shouldn’t have been part of. That trust made me valuable to him, and my defection will make him furious.”
“Operations like what?”
The question comes from Ash, and it’s the first time she’s spoken since the meeting began.
“Reconnaissance. Surveillance. Identifying targets for future attacks. I helped plan the assault that killed three of your border patrol wolves last spring. I scouted the terrain and marked the weak points in your defenses. I told them exactly where to strike and when.”
The temperature in the room plummets. Caelan’s hand finds mine beneath the table, and she threads her fingers through mine and squeezes tight.
“You’re confessing to war crimes,” Oren observes.
“I’ll confess to everything I did as part of Thornridge. I’m not asking for forgiveness. I don’t deserve it, and I’m not foolish enough to expect it. What I’m offering is the chance to use what I know against the pack that turned me into a weapon.”
The room goes quiet as the council members absorb my words. I can feel their judgment pressing down on me, heavy as stone.
Oren eyes me before he turns to look at his mate. Some unspoken communication passes between them, and Ash rises from her chair.
“I’d like to verify his intentions,” she announces to the room. “With your permission.”
The question is directed at me, not the council. Ash approaches with caution, giving me every opportunity to refuse.
“How does it work?” I ask.
“I’ll place my hands on your temples and reach into your mind. It’s not pleasant, and I won’t be able to see everything, but I can read the truth behind your words. If you’re hiding something, I’ll know.”
My wolf bristles at the thought of letting a stranger into my head, but I tell him to settle. This is my only chance to prove myself. If I refuse, they’ll never trust me, and Caelan will suffer for my cowardice. I’m the one who offered this option, after all.
“Do it.”
Ash circles behind my chair and places her hands on either side of my head. Her fingers are cool against my skin, and when she closes her eyes, I feel something brush against my consciousness. It’s not painful, exactly, but it’s deeply uncomfortable, like someone rifling through drawers I’d rather keep locked.
Images flash through my mind faster than I can track them. The night I met Caelan, her laugh cutting through the noise of the bar. The moment I recognized her as my mate and my wolf howled with a certainty I couldn’t deny, though I certainly tried. The terror I felt when Bastian revealed his plans for her.
Deeper than that, memories I haven’t let myself examine in years. My father’s body lying broken in the dirt while Crassus stood over him. My mother’s hand clamped over my mouth as she whispered at me not to make a sound. Jonas’s face the day he told me he wanted to be just like the Thornridge warriors when he grew up, without understanding that those warriors had murdered our father.
The guilt. So much guilt it threatens to drown me. Every mission I completed, every target I identified, and every wolf who died because I was too much of a coward to walk away.
Ash withdraws her hands, and I heave out a breath as I fight against slumping over. My heart pounds against my ribs as the psychic returns to her seat beside Oren, stone-faced.
“Well?” Matriarch Lydia demands. “What did you see?”
Ash takes her time answering, and when she finally does, she looks right at me.
“His desire to protect Caelan is real. It’s not fabricated. He recognized her as his mate and acted on instinct to keep her safe, even knowing it would cost him everything he had with Thornridge. His guilt about Thornridge’s actions runs deep. He’s been carrying it for years, long before he met your niece. The weight of it is…considerable.”
