Chapter 12
Big Papa
Most mornings, Iron Valor’s clubhouse was a shrine to hangovers and burnt coffee, but on Mondays, it woke up mean and sharp for the mandatory all-officer meet.
I rolled up just after dawn, engine ticking in the cold and sunrise fighting through a haze of wood smoke and diesel exhaust. I left Aspen at the bakery when it opened and headed back to the compound.
I walked up the steps, hands jammed in the pockets of my hoodie, because the wind out on the prairie didn’t give a shit about your pedigree.
Inside, the long main room was already alive with wolf scent and the clatter of boots on concrete.
Bronc presided from his usual spot at the head of the battered oak table.
He wore jeans, a black t-shirt that said, “MAKE IT HURT,” and his leather vest with the Iron Valor patch stitched proud across the back.
He looked every inch the Alpha: hair peppered with more silver than last year, blue eyes that could freeze a bar fight mid-swing, and a mug of black coffee that steamed like a hot spring.
Wrecker and Arsenal flanked him, both with their own mugs, both eyeing the rest of us as we filed in.
Gunner had the kitchen detail, but he’d already laid out a pile of breakfast tacos and a tray of coffee mugs.
I nodded to Bronc, squeezed in next to Wrecker, and grabbed the nearest taco.
The tortillas were buttery and grilled to perfection.
The eggs, sausage and cheese inside tasted just right swimming in salsa, and my wolf was already awake and wanting fuel.
Maddie, the only civilian at the table, hovered at the far end with her own thermos and a notebook, ready to record every word.
Bronc smacked the table to start. “Settle in. We got a week to the mating ceremony, and a list of shit to cover before then. First up, Arsenal. Security check.”
Arsenal leaned back, eyes scanning the room like he was counting possible exits.
“Ceremony will be in the clearing. The perimeter will be cleared by 3:00. But we’ll have Wrecker’s new motion sensors on every trailhead, plus two volunteers in the woods with night scopes.
If your people are on the list, their names better match their faces, or you’re not coming in. ”
Bronc gave him a slow nod. “Good. Can’t have ghosts gettin’ in. Wrecker?”
Wrecker looked up, steel-gray eyes bright under the dim bulbs.
“I’ve run every background check twice. Anyone who even smells like a threat is already flagged in my system.
I’ll sweep comms morning of, so no one’s leaking the time or place.
Security feed is clean, no signs of pack warfare coming our way, only outsiders on the invite list are the Kozlovs, Rafe, and Archon, but I’ll keep an eye on chatter. ”
I sipped my coffee, feeling the last scraps of fatigue burn off. Arsenal never missed a trick, and Wrecker could out-think a NASA mission control team, but something in Bronc’s posture said the real agenda was still circling the room, teeth bared.
“Gunner,” Bronc called. “What’s the plan for food and drink?”
Gunner grinned from his perch by the window. “Full open bar, kegs on ice. Maddie and Pearl are running the kitchen, menu’s already set. Brisket, sausage, and more sides than you can count. Veggies for the weirdos. There’ll be food for three days, so nobody goes home sober if they don’t want to.”
Bronc made a small smile and turned his gaze on me. “Big Papa. Update on your end?”
I cleared my throat, all eyes shifting my way.
“Aspen’s got the cake on lockdown. It’ll be good to go morning of.
We’ll deliver 3:00 for assembly on site.
I moved her into my place. We’re running an escort whenever she has to be in town alone, but mostly she’s locked down tight in the house.
Her familiar appeared several days ago. A prairie dog with a British accent named Oscar.
He is with her at all times—hell, the guy’s probably got more vigilance than half this room.
I trust him to sound the alarm if anything weird happens. ”
A small ripple of surprise moved through the table. Wrecker arched one eyebrow. “Moved in? That official, or just a security thing?”
“Both,” I said. “Given what went down at County Line, I’m not taking any chances. She’s a target.”
Gunner whistled low. “Yeah, about that—Arsenal, why the hell would Morgantown send muscle up here when they got their own bars and women closer to home? We got no beef with them.”
Arsenal leaned forward, voice dropping to a dangerous hush.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure. Morgantown’s Alpha is a greedy bastard, but he’s not dumb.
He doesn’t let his dogs off the chain without reason.
I ran the plates of the guy who grabbed Aspen at the bar—nothing in the system, but I bet my left nut he’s a paid runner.
They wanted to see what would happen if they pushed our buttons. ”
“Testing boundaries,” Bronc growled, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Next time, we break a few.”
“Next time, there won’t be a warning,” I promised. My wolf didn’t like the idea of anyone laying hands on Aspen. My human side liked it even less.
Bronc’s gaze flicked to Wrecker. “Status on the green jacket man?”
Wrecker cleared his throat. “I wanted to wait until we were all together before I brought this news.”
I leaned back in the creaky chair, the smell of burnt coffee and gun oil thick in the air, as Wrecker slapped the grainy photo of that damn symbol onto the table. My knuckles went white around the edge of the wood. “Spit it out,” I growled, though the dread pooling in my gut already knew.
“Demonic tracking sigil,” Wrecker said, voice like gravel. “Old. Nasty. Burns a trail straight to whatever poor bastard it’s latched onto.” The scar on my jaw twitched. “Maltraz had to have sent him. Why? That’s the big question.”
“That Verdant Hollow Wyrdmother must have something on him.” My teeth ground hard enough to spark.
Maltraz was her dog now, sniffing out Aspen like she was some prize to drag back.
That green-jacketed bastard at the bakery hadn’t just been passing through—he’d marked her.
Left a breadcrumb for hell itself to follow.
Arsenal leaned back, calculating. “It was just a matter of time. We just have to step up patrols. Maltraz isn’t stupid enough to come at us himself. We’re not letting anyone who doesn’t belong get to any of our people.”
“Oscar seems to think the real enemy won’t show up until they think Aspen’s vulnerable. Right now, we’re a locked gate. They’re probing for weak links.”
Arsenal shrugged. “So we become a wall. Simple.”
“Simple until it isn’t,” I said. “There’s another variable. The grimoire.”
That got everyone’s attention. Wrecker shut the laptop and stared hard at me. “She still has it?”
“She’s never let it out of her sight. Until now. Now, it’s at my house, in a safe when she’s not trying to get it open. Then the rodent is on guard even when she sleeps. But it’s waking up. There’s a pulse to it, like a heartbeat. Some mornings, it vibrates so hard she can’t keep it on the shelf.”
Maddie spoke up for the first time, eyes shining with curiosity. “Does it talk to her? Or is it more like a magic 8-ball—shakes and gives a cryptic hint?”
“She says it feels like her mom trying to warn her, but nothing concrete. No voices, just instincts. Seems like her magic has been locked up, and there’s a chance the grimoire is the only thing standing between her and whatever’s hunting her.”
Bronc rubbed his chin. “Is there a risk it could fall into the wrong hands?”
I shook my head. “Not unless someone can break the safe, outsmart Oscar, and get past a territory full of trained killers. Then there’s still the matter of who the hell her father is.”
Gunner let out a slow, “Well, shit.”
Wrecker looked at me, calculating. “You think her old coven knows, so they want to take her out because of it?”
“I think that coven leader is pissed that she doesn’t know, but she mostly just wants to get her hands on that book.
But it wouldn’t surprise me if they wanted her bloodline too.
But fuck us. Since that’s a worst-case scenario situation, and we’re Iron Valor and we deal almost specifically in worst-case situations—I’d say the odds are likely that’s how the chips will fall. ”
Arsenal grunted, then asked the queen mother of dumbass questions. “Have you asked her who her father is?”
I looked at him like he’d grown a second head.
“Are you serious right now, dude? I thought I’d explained that her mother didn’t fucking tell her!
The only thing she knows is that he wasn’t a witch, and she suspects he was supernatural.
He’s ‘other’ whatever the fuck that means.
But if even that information gets out, it puts a bullseye on her forehead. Is that clear enough for you?”
My patience was at an end.
Arsenal put his hands up in surrender. I love my brothers, all of them. But Arsenal was the most bullheaded and most hard assed of all of us. He sometimes acted like his shit didn’t stink, and he was always the quickest to judge and be suspicious, especially of the women that had joined our pack.
Bronc’s voice was gentle but absolute. “Well, just be ready cuz I got a nagging feeling that now that the demons might have helped locate her, they might be scared of that bitch Wyrdmother. We just need to be on guard for whatever she might send our way.”
Arsenal leaned in, voice flat and final. “So, what do we do?”
I locked eyes with Bronc, then Arsenal, then around the whole table. “We keep her safe. We watch every road, every shadow, every oddball who comes near the territory. And if anyone tries to take her—witch, demon, or otherwise—they answer to me first.”