Cal remembered seeing his grandfather when he first returned, shocked by how frail Bran had become. Remembered the tremor in the old bear’s hands, the gray pallor of his skin, the way he’d had to pause halfway through sentences to catch his breath. Cal had blamed himself—if he’d stayed, if he’d come back sooner, maybe his grandfather wouldn’t have aged so fast.
Not aging. Poison. Deliberate, patient, devastating poison.
“Magnus has been killing your grandfather.” Leo’s voice was ice. “One dose at a time.”
Cal’s hands had gone white-knuckled on the table’s edge. His bear roared for blood, for vengeance, for Magnus’s throat between his jaws. Every cell in his body screamed to shift, to hunt, to destroy.
The room had darkened at the edges. His claws were trying to push through his fingertips. For one terrible moment, Cal wasn’t sure he could keep the shift at bay.
Then he thought of Dahlia. Her steady hands cleaning his wounds. Her calm voice reading recipes while he slept in her storeroom. The way she’d made him promise to come back.
He held himself still by sheer determination.
“How long?” The words scraped out of his throat like broken glass. “How long does he have?”
“Now that we know what we’re dealing with? The healers can treat it.” Wyatt’s expression softened fractionally. “The damage isn’t irreversible—yet. But if Magnus had gotten another few months...”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.
FORTY-ONE
CAL
Cal stood. The movement was sudden enough that every man in the room tensed, hands moving toward weapons or shifting positions for combat.
He walked to the window. Looked out at Haven Shores—the quiet streets, the charming storefronts, the pale bakery two blocks away where a witch was probably stress-baking at this very moment.
“To use that trust as a weapon.” His voice was flat, controlled. The calm before a storm.
He stopped. Breathed. It took everything he had to keep still.
“Magnus isn’t a rival alpha claiming territory.” Cal turned back to face the room. “He’s a murderer. A coward who couldn’t beat my grandfather in a fair fight, so he poisoned him instead. And he’s been doing it slowly enough that no one would ever know.”
“The Regional Council needs to see this evidence.” Hux was already calculating. “If we can prove attempted murder?—”
“The evidence goes to the council.” Cal’s eyes found Wyatt’s. “Every document. Every record. I want Magnus publicly exposed before I personally tear his throat out.”
“Cal—” Theo started.
“When I challenge him, it’s not for territory anymore.” Cal’s voice dropped to a growl that made the hair rise on the back of everyone’s neck. “It’s not for the wards, or the town, or the future of the sleuth. When I face Magnus Ironwood in the challenge circle, it will be for my grandfather’s life. For every day he’s suffered because a coward couldn’t fight fair.”
Leo rose to his feet. Crossed the room. Stopped in front of Cal with the deliberate grace of a man who knew exactly how much space he occupied.
“I came to Haven Shores ready to fight the whole town.” Leo’s golden gaze was steady. “I was wrong about a lot of things. But I learned that this place—these people—are worth protecting. Whatever you need for the hearing, for the challenge, you have Castellan resources behind you. All of it.”
Theo stepped forward. “The pack stands with you.”
Hux nodded. “The pride as well.”
Wyatt inclined his head—the barest acknowledgment, but from the silent panther, it meant more than speeches.
Beck was the last to rise. He crossed to Cal and extended his hand—not a formal gesture of alliance, but a simpler offering. Friendship.
“Your grandfather helped the wolves when we needed it. Time to return the favor.” His handshake was firm, his eyes steady. “And, Cal? Dahlia’s important to all of us. She took care of this town for years when no one was looking. Make sure Magnus knows what happens when you threaten someone Haven Shores loves.”
Cal gripped Beck’s hand, feeling the moment crystallize around him. Alliance. Community. The very things Magnus claimed made shifters weak—now arrayed as a weapon against him.
A month ago, he would have rejected this support. Would have insisted on fighting alone, proving himself withoutassistance, because needing others felt too much like weakness. But Dahlia had taught him differently. Help wasn’t failure. Community was how you survived when the world wanted to tear you apart.
