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Kault is a cold, desolate place ten months of the year. For two months, we have a passable growing season. During that time, we grow as many crops as possible, then there’s a huge push to preserve and store them for the rest of the long, long winter ahead. Right now, we are in that winter.

It seems we are always in that winter.

“I don’t want to refer to it as Gavyn’s pack,” I spit, shaking my head and feeling, for a moment, like my father. “I’m not going to validate that fucking traitor.”

“There are enough of them now that it doesn’t make sense to call it anything else,” Zade says, with a note of sympathy in his voice, even though it’s not my pack Gavyn dissented from.

Brack sits quietly, his face stony. Gavyn left the Western pack under Brack’s father’s rule, near the end, when the man was drunk off brandy half the time and drunk off ale during the other half. You can say what you want about the man, but he drank very cheaply.

When I say nothing, Denvil weighs in, “I agree with you about the man being a fuckin’ weasel, Aug. It’s not enough for him to pull the whole dissenter act. Apparently, he’s got to look the fuckin’ part, too. Bald head, tattoos and all.” Glancing at Brack, Denvil says, “No offense.”

“None taken,” Brack says, and even if he had taken offense, I’m not sure any of us would be able to tell the difference. As always, his face is impassive. “Semantics aside, we need to figure out what to do about the theft. As far as we can tell, we’re all targets, but the Northern pack is taking the brunt of it.”

I bite my tongue. Last week I was locked up in my room, keeping myself from going to the omega crying out into the void for me. Now, I’m back in the meeting room and hearing that my pack is losing more supplies than the others.

“Why is that?”

Zade looks cautious. “Based on what we could find out, it seems like there might be some…dissenters in your ranks, as well. Although rather than just going out to Gavyn’s pack, they’re sympathizing with him, staying here, and helping him with the theft. That must be why he’s targeting North borders and supply houses so aggressively.”

“Well, then,” I say, a rush of the same adrenaline I felt when I put gum in Denvil’s hair flooding into me. “We’ll just have to hit Gavyn where it hurts. Doesn’t the bastard have a son?”

Their eyes widen, but I stay standing, hands on the table.

As the alpha son of a strong alpha king, I am more than aware of the fact that his son would be the worst thing for the man to lose.

The other three continue to stare at me, their thoughts written all over their faces—we agreed that we would not be our fathers, Augustus.

“Relax, I’m not saying we kill the fucker,” I say, waving my hand as though kidnapping an infant is simple. “I’m just saying we show Gavyn that we’re in charge. That we can take what we want, when we want. Make him bring something in exchange for the kid. A…sacrifice for the moon goddess festival, something like that. I mean, it’s fucking stupid to have him bring one of our goats that he probably stole, but you know. Making him obey.”

A strong alpha makes them obey.

My father’s first tenet of being an alpha, of being the king. I’m not sure if he truly believed it, but the idea was that forcing another shifter to carry out your will would strengthen your ability to compel them and others. Show the natural order: your leadership, your dominance.

The guys just stare at me, and I sigh, knowing it’s a hard sell. “Our only other option is full-out war, and I would rather not push that lever until I can sniff out the fuckers who think betraying their pack is an option.”

Zade is the first to relax his shoulders, tipping his head back and forth as though in thought. “It could work. As long as we all agree that we’re not going to hurt the baby.”

“Of course not,” Brack says, though it’s not an agreement with the plan.

“Unless you count him having to listen to Aug’s rants as a form of harm,” Denvil laughs, shaking his head and crossing his arms. “Yeah, I say we do it. Better than losing a bunch of our own in a fight or having to take out all his. Not really wanting a pile of dead shifters, but South sure as shit ain’t taking back the fuckers that left.”

“Great.” I open my tablet, shoot off a message to the guys who handle the more delicate operations, ask them to find me Gavyn’s location, figure out the exact coordinates of that baby’s cradle. Then, looking back up at the guys, “You guys want to go on another outing? For old times’ sake?”

Zade grins, clearly remembering the days when we were our fathers’ errand boys, sent out to retrieve a hostage or take out a rowdy group of dissenters. They used to be much more fragmented, much more on the outskirts of the packs back then.

Luckily for us, Gavyn came along and had the bright idea to unify them all, making them a much bigger problem in our ass.

“I don’t know,” Brack says, frowning and glancing down at his laptop, as though it contains a long list of items he has to get done that will keep him from having any fun. “How long do you think it will take?”

“Like stealing candy from a baby!” Denvil says, laughing again at his own joke. “What—couldn’t be more than a few hours? In and out at night.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” I agree, eyes on Brack. He still seems reluctant about the plan, but I can tell he doesn’t have anything better for me.

“Fine.” He relents, running his tongue over his teeth and flashing a rare grin in my direction. “But I am taking point on this one.”

Chapter 3 - Mylah

I come gasping awake from the dream—just like I knew I would—but for some reason, I’m not able to suck air into my lungs.