Too close.
"Kelsey, get a patrol on the eastern perimeter. Double rotation until further notice. Anyone crosses that boundary, I want to know about it before their second step."
She nods and shifts, fur rippling over skin in a blur of motion. She's gone before the transformation completes, a gray streak disappearing into the underbrush.
I look at Sam. "You take the western side. Same protocol."
"What about the council? They'll want answers."
"They'll get them when I have them." I glance back at the calf.
Sam scrutinizes me for a moment, then nods. "Copy."
Tomas is already gathering dead wood, piling branches in a loose pyramid around the carcass. He works fast, efficient, pure muscle memory. I help him stack the larger logs, then pull a lighter from my pocket and flick it open.
The flames catch quick, snapping through dry wood. Smoke rises thick and black, carrying the scent of burning hair and flesh. I watch until the fire's too hot to stand close, then step back.
Tomas wipes soot off his hands. "You think it's Gideon's doing?"
"I think someone wants me to think that."
"But you don't."
"Gideon's not stupid enough to kill livestock on our own land." I turn away from the fire. "This is someone else. Someone’s trying to force my hand."
"Or someone testing how far they can push before you break."
I don't answer. Just watch the flames consume the evidence.
Sam shifts his weight. "What happens if it escalates?"
"It already has." I meet his eyes. "Three human kills in six weeks. Now this. Whoever's doing this isn't hiding anymore. They're making a statement."
"Then we find them and end it."
"We will." I start back toward the trail, smoke trailing behind me. "But first we lock down the perimeter. No one in, and no one out. Not until I know who I'm hunting."
Tomas falls in beside me, Sam a few steps behind. The forest stays silent around us, shadows stretching long between the trees.
I don't look back at the fire.
By the time we reach the compound, the calf will be ash.
And someone in my pack will be waiting to see what I do next.
The stone clearingsits at the heart of pack territory—ancient granite slabs arranged in a rough circle, worn smooth by generations of wolves who've stood here before me. Moss creeps up the north-facing stones. The air smells like rain and wet earth, heavy with the promise of a storm rolling in from the ridge.
The council's already gathered when I arrive.
Gideon Rourke stands at the far end, arms crossed, silver threading through his dark hair. He's built like a brawler—broad shoulders, scarred knuckles, a jaw that's been broken twice and set crooked both times. His eyes track me as I enter, cold and calculating. He's been angling for Alpha since my father died, and every meeting is another test I have to pass.
Beside him, Matriarch Brynn Calder leans against her staff, her white braid draped over one shoulder. She's old enough to remember when this territory was half its current size, back when the pack barely survived winter. Her face is lined deep, but her gaze is sharp as broken glass. Nothing gets past Brynn.
Three other elders fill out the circle—Marek Wilco, Lydia Townsend, and Ronan Webb. All of them watching. Waiting.
I take the Alpha’s place at a central stone pillar and meet their eyes one by one.
"The calf's been dealt with," I say. "Burned. No evidence left."
