My entire family had gathered including my brothers, their mates, and even Becken, Aunt Inla, and Jessi’s grandmother, who we all just called Grannie.
“Sit,” Dungar said, his voice carrying the authority of both sheriff and eldest brother. He pointed to two empty chairs that had been left for us.
Tressa settled beside my chair as Allie and I took our seats. The weight of so many eyes on her made Allie sit straighter, her hands folding carefully in her lap.
It was time to figure out how to keep my mate safe.
Humans might have their syndicates and their weapons, but they knew nothing of the unbreakable bonds forged through generations of orc warriors who’d survived the harshest conditions by standing together.
For the first time since learning of the danger hunting Allie, I felt not just protective, but confident. These were my people. This was our land. And anyone who threatened what was ours would learn exactly what that meant.
Chapter 15
Allie
So many eyes on me made me nervous. I’d never been the center of attention for an entire family before, especially not under circumstances like these. My hands trembled in my lap as I tried to meet each gaze without flinching.
Dungar commanded the head of the table like the natural leader he was, his sheriff’s badge catching the morning light. The other brothers sat with their mates, creating a solid wall of support that was comforting yet made me feel more exposed. These people barely knew me, and here they were, gathered at dawn because they were worried I was in danger.
The silence stretched until Sel rose and disappeared into the kitchen with Holly. Within moments, he returned carrying a large tray loaded with steaming mugs, the scent of something herbal and soothing filling the air.
“Tea and breakfast,” he announced. He passed mugs around the table. When he placed one in front of me, I lifted it, the pottery toasty warm in my cold fingers.
Holly appeared from the kitchen, carrying an enormous platter that made my stomach growl despite my anxiety. Delicate fruit tarts with glazed berries, flaky croissants thatlooked like they’d been painted with butter, cinnamon rolls the size of my fist, and what appeared to be some kind of orc pastry I didn’t recognize but looked incredible.
“Eat,” she said, setting platters in various locations on the tables. “I don’t care how nervous you are. An empty stomach won’t help anyone think clearly.”
She had a no-nonsense way about her that reminded me of the best kind of teacher, someone who cared enough to be bossy. As if to prove her point, she selected one of the pastries and placed it on a napkin in front of me.
“That’s a honey cake,” she said. “Sel’s specialty. You’ll love it.”
The simple kindness in her gesture made me want to cry. Here I was, bringing danger to their peaceful town, and they were feeding me and offering comfort like I was a beloved family member instead of a stranger with a target on her back.
I took a small bite of the honey cake, and the sweet, delicate flavor was the perfect distraction. Around the table, the others were also reaching for pastries, and the atmosphere gradually turned less formal, more like a family breakfast than a plan for possible war.
Dungar waited until everyone had finished eating before speaking. “Allie, I need you to tell us everything you know, especially about these people. Names, descriptions, how they operate, what resources they have.”
I took another sip of tea, using the moment to gather my thoughts. The warm liquid helped steady my voice.
“First, I have to confess something.” My shoulders curled forward until I realized what I was doing and straightened them. “My real name is Allison Wilson. I used a fake name with you, and I apologize. But I did it to protect myself. But I prefer Allie.”
I found acceptance in their faces, which made it easier to keep going.
“Will Carmichael is the leader of the people after me. He runs a business called the Vexalar Syndicate. They’re not street criminals or petty thieves. They’re organized, well-funded, and have contacts everywhere. Government, law enforcement, private security firms.”
Greel leaned forward, his usually stoic expression focused entirely on me. “How many people?”
“I don’t know exactly. Will travels with at least two bodyguards, and he can call in more when needed. They have access to military weapons, surveillance equipment, probably vehicles that can’t be traced.” I paused, remembering the black SUVs that had appeared outside my apartment building the week after my father’s funeral. “They’re not amateurs.”
“What do they want from you specifically?” Becken asked from where he leaned against the counter, his arms crossed on his chest and his expression more thoughtful than threatening.
“From what I discovered in the few papers he left behind, my father was forging art for them. They think he has the originals. Stolen artwork that’s worth millions.” I set down my mug with hands that were steadier than they’d been minutes ago. “When Dad died, Will decided I must know where they’re hidden.”
“And do you?” Aunt Inla asked, her weathered face kind but serious.
“No. I went through everything in his apartment after the funeral. If there were stolen paintings or sculptures hidden somewhere, I would’ve found them or evidence they existed.” The old pain of my father’s rejection mixed with my current fear. “My dad and I weren’t close during the years before his death. He pushed me away, stopped taking my calls, acted like I was a burden. Now I understand why.”
Hail’s fingers found mine under the table and squeezed them.
