Page 16

"We need to talk to Rhys," Phoenix said as we headed back to our vehicles. "If there's a rogue silver-skin, he may be able to give us some idea who."

I nodded, but something about this felt wrong. "I didn’t think we left any that would feel they needed revenge. What if it's not the silver-skins? What if it's something else entirely?"

Phoenix's gaze was troubled. "Like what? There's no scent."

I didn't have an answer, just an uneasy feeling crawling up my spine. I pulled out the bear carving from my pocket, studying it again. "Whatever it is, it has something to do with bears.” The wooden carving seemed to grow heavier in my hand. I couldn't shake the feeling that this was connected to my father somehow—to the damage he'd done, the deals he'd made, the enemies he'd created. But my father was dead, and all of those who'd worked closely with him were too.

"We should get back," Phoenix said, his gaze sweeping the tree line. "I want extra patrols on all borders tonight."

I nodded, pocketing the bear figure. "I'll organize my bears."

Phoenix raised an eyebrow. "Your bears?"

The words had slipped out naturally, surprising even me. I hadn't claimed leadership, not really. Not until now. "Yes," I said, more firmly. "My bears."

A small smile crossed Phoenix's face, there and gone in an instant. "Good. We'll meet at the packhouse in an hour. Bring Isla—I want her tactical assessment." He huffed. “Not that she’d let Rhys out of her sight.”

As I drove back toward the packhouse, my thoughts kept cycling between the gruesome scene we'd just left and Danny waiting for me at Phoenix's. Danny, with his bruised face and sharp tongue. Danny, who'd told me to be safe before I left.

The memory of his worried expression made something warm unfurl in my chest, even amid the horror of the day. I dialed Isla's number, putting her on speaker as I drove.

"Simeon called me. I’ll be there in ten." Her strained voice filled the truck cab. She’d been out on a supply run, which was the only reason she hadn’t been with the pack.

“Phoenix wants Rhys there.” She was silent for a heartbeat.

“Which means Ben and obviously Matthew. I’ll get a sitter for Callie.” She hung up, and I continued to the packhouse. When I arrived, I noticed immediately that there were now double the number of shifters guarding it. As I approached, I saw Draven, Phoenix's dad, directing more wolves to patrol areas.

"Draven," I called, walking over to the former alpha.

He turned, his expression grim. "Bayer. Phoenix called ahead. I've doubled security around the perimeter." His eyes flicked to my pocket where the wooden bear carving made a slight bulge. "He mentioned it might be bear-related."

I nodded, appreciating his discretion. "We're meeting in an hour.”

“Matthew's already here." He paused, studying me. "Your bears are uneasy. They can sense something's wrong, even though we haven't told them yet."

My bears. There it was again. The acknowledgment sent a strange mix of dread and responsibility through me.

"I'll speak with them after the meeting," I said, feeling the weight of leadership settling on my shoulders. "Where's Emery? And Danny?"

Draven's expression softened slightly. "Kitchen. Emery's been baking since he got word about the attack. Danny's helping him." His lips quirked. "Well, 'helping' might be generous. He's mostly sitting there looking pale and eating cookie dough."

I felt a surge of protectiveness. "He should be resting. He has a concussion."

Draven arched a brow. "I'd like to see you try to stop him from being near Emery right now. Boy's been through a shock." He glanced toward the house. "Besides, Emery's keeping an eye on him. Says he's worried about more than just the concussion."

I nodded, understanding the subtext. Emery was perceptive about the people he cared for. If he was worried about Danny's emotional state, there was good reason.

"I'll check on them before the meeting," I said, already moving toward the house.

The scent of fresh baking hit me as soon as I entered—cinnamon, vanilla, chocolate. Comfort smells. Emery always baked when he was stressed or worried. The sound of voices led me to the kitchen, where I paused in the doorway, taking in the scene.

Emery was at the counter, flour dusting his arms as he rolled out what looked like cookie dough. Danny sat on a stool at the island, his face still pale except for the vivid bruise blooming across his eye and cheekbone. He had a small blob of cookie dough on his finger and was about to pop it into his mouth when he spotted me.

"That's got raw eggs in it," I said without thinking.

Danny rolled his eyes and deliberately licked the dough off his finger, maintaining eye contact with me the entire time. "I like to live dangerously."

Emery's face brightened, but Danny's expression was harder to read—defiance certainly, but something else too, maybe relief.