Chapter 20 #2
She nods, seemingly satisfied, and moves to join the other wolves preparing for tomorrow’s summit. Over her shoulder, I see Lithia watching me. Her gaze is steel as she stares, her face blank. That vague unease returns, a whisper of knowledge that I’m missing something.
Forcing myself to turn away, I go in search of my alpha.
Night finds Ryker and me in our chambers, finalizing preparations for the summit.
He’s selected five wolves to accompany us—Lithia, naturally, along with Elias and three elite fighters I’ve come to know during training sessions.
Zella has been added as a last-minute addition to the party at my request, assigned specifically as my personal guard.
“I still don’t like this,” Ryker admits as we prepare for bed. “Taking you into potential danger goes against every instinct I possess.”
“Yet you agreed,” I observe, watching him pace like his wolf form would, powerful and predatory even in human skin.
“Because your reasoning is sound.” He stops, turning to face me fully. “And because our bond is stronger together than apart. If anything happens, if Thaddeus tries something unexpected...”
“We’ll face it together,” I finish for him, approaching to place my hands on his chest.
His arms encircle me, drawing me against the solid wall of his body.
“You should try to seek a vision tonight,” he suggests, his voice rumbling through his chest against my ear. “See what you can of tomorrow’s summit. Any advantage we can gain...”
I nod, though fatigue pulls at my limbs after a day of preparation and planning. “Will you anchor me?”
“Always.” The single word carries layers of meaning between us.
We move to the bed, arranging ourselves—Ryker seated with his back against the headboard, me nestled between his legs, my back to his chest, his arms encircling me.
“Ready?” he asks, his lips at my temple.
I nod, closing my eyes and reaching for our bond. It responds instantly, his power flowing into me through the claiming mark. Anchored in his strength, I extend my gift outward, seeking glimpses of what awaits us at tomorrow’s summit.
The vision comes slowly, fragmented at first, less clear than if I was within the Well. It’s a clearing in neutral territory, wolves from multiple packs are gathered. I push deeper, trying to see beneath the diplomatic veneer to the Grand Alpha’s true intentions.
Images flash faster—Thaddeus’s eyes fixed not on Ryker but on me.
I push harder, seeking clarity, trying to see if there’s a moment when diplomacy will give way to violence.
The vision blurs, resistance pushing back against my probe as if something or someone is actively shielding these particular futures from my sight.
Pain spikes behind my eyes, the familiar warning that I’m reaching my limits despite Ryker’s anchoring presence. I try to withdraw gently, but the vision clings to me with unusual tenacity, dragging me deeper despite my resistance.
A new scene forms—unfamiliar stone walls, silver chains, a small chamber lit by torchlight. I see myself, bound and isolated, cut off from the bond by silver’s deadly influence. The image is so vivid, so immediate that it feels less like possibility and more like inevitability.
Then, strangely, the vision shifts once more—but instead of seeing, I hear. A woman’s voice, familiar yet distorted by the vision’s haze, speaking words I can’t quite grasp.
“It ends here.”
With a gasp, I wrench myself free, returning to the present with jarring suddenness. Ryker’s arms tighten around me as I tremble with the aftermath of forced withdrawal.
“Kitara?” he asks, concern evident in his voice.
“I’m okay.” I fold forward, breathing deep. “Just tired.”
He rubs my back gently as I try to calm.
“It’s a trap,” I manage through ragged breaths. “The summit is definitely a trap. Thaddeus wants me, not peace.”
Ryker’s growl vibrates through his chest against my back. “Then we don’t go.”
“No.” I turn in his arms, needing to see his face. “We must. There’s something else happening, something I couldn’t quite see. If we don’t go tomorrow, we won’t end this.”
His gaze searches mine. “You truly believe this is important enough to risk your safety?”
“I think so.” I struggle to articulate the certainty I feel despite the vision’s fragmentation. “The prophecy, Ryker. Tomorrow might be when you confront Thaddeus.”
His expression hardens, determination replacing concern. “Then we prepare accordingly. Double guards, additional precautions.”
The image of myself in chains flashes through my mind again, disturbingly vivid. “If we’re separated?”
“We won’t be,” he says with absolute conviction. “No matter what happens, I will find you. I will always find you.”
The certainty in his voice should comfort me, but the lingering impression of that final vision—me alone, bound in silver, cut off from our bond—haunts me as we prepare for sleep.
As Ryker’s breathing deepens beside me, sleep eludes me.
I stare into the darkness, turning over fragments of the vision like puzzle pieces that refuse to form a coherent whole.
The woman’s voice in that final moment nags at my memory—familiar yet strangely distorted, speaking of duty and necessity.
Whose voice? What duty? What ending?
The questions circle without resolution until exhaustion finally claims me, dragging me into uneasy dreams of silver chains and severed bonds.
Dawn breaks clear and cold over the Shadowmist territory, the mountain peaks catching first light while the valleys remain shrouded in shadow. Our preparations begin early—weapons checked and secured, final strategies confirmed.
Ryker stands before me in his full alpha regalia—black clothing of the finest materials, gold symbols of the Shadowmist Pack gleaming at his throat and wrists. Power radiates from him in almost visible waves, his authority absolute and unquestioned.
“Here,” he says, presenting me with a bundle wrapped in soft leather. “For you.”
I unwrap it to find a dagger unlike any I’ve seen before. Its blade seems to shift between silver and shadow depending on how light falls across its surface, its hilt carved with the same runes that mark Ryker’s shoulder.
“Shadow silver,” he explains as I examine it with reverent fingers. “Extremely rare. Lethal to wolf-kind when in our blood stream but doesn’t cause the burning reaction of pure silver when touching our skin.”
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur, testing its balance in my hand.
“And deadly, in the right hands.” His fingers close over mine around the wooden hilt. “Zella tells me you’ve become quite skilled with blade work during your training.”
Pride warms me at his acknowledgment of my progress. I’ve thrown myself into combat training with single-minded determination, driven by the knowledge that I cannot rely solely on others for protection in the coming conflict.
I’m not the best, but I can hold my own if required.
“Keep it concealed but accessible,” he instructs. “Use it only if absolutely necessary, but without hesitation if that moment comes.”
I nod, understanding both the gift and the responsibility it represents. The dagger disappears into a specially designed sheath at my waist, hidden by the folds of my dress but ready to hand if needed.
The clothing chosen for me makes its own statement—a fitted dress in the Shadowmist colors of black and silver, but cut to allow freedom of movement unlike the restrictive garments typically worn by Alpha Females.
The claiming mark at my throat remains deliberately visible, a clear declaration of my status and protection.
“Ready?” Ryker asks as our final preparations conclude.
I reach for our bond, drawing strength from his unwavering presence. “Yes.”
But neither of us moves right away.
He steps in close, hands finding my waist as his forehead lowers to mine. We stand there for a long moment, breathing in sync, hearts aligned. His thumbs trace soft circles through the fabric at my hips, grounding me with his touch.
Then he kisses me.
It’s not rushed, hungry, or desperate. This is no goodbye kiss. It’s a promise, a reminder that I’m not facing this alone, and neither is he.
When we part, his forehead finds mine again. We don’t speak. We don’t need to.
We descend to the den’s main entrance where our escort awaits—Lithia and Elias in formal attire that doesn’t quite conceal the weapons they carry.
The three elite fighters—Thorn, Vex, and Ash—and Zella, are dressed more practically in clothing designed for quick movement rather than ceremonial impression. More wolves follow—our extra guards.
“Alpha Female,” Zella greets me with a respectful nod. “I’ll be at your side throughout the summit. Just signal if you need anything.”
Our journey to the neutral meeting ground takes several hours, moving through territories that border multiple packs. The location—an ancient clearing marked by standing stones—has historically served as meeting ground for pack negotiations and treaties.
As we approach, the scents of other wolves reach us—Moonclaw, Red River, Grayback, and others I don’t recognize, all mingling in the clearing ahead. Ryker’s posture shifts subtly, his entire being radiating the controlled power that makes him such a formidable alpha.
“Stay close to me,” he murmurs, his hand finding mine for a brief, reassuring squeeze. “Watch everything. Trust no one except our own.”
The clearing opens before us, revealing a scene much like my fragmented vision—wolves from multiple packs arranged in careful formation, tension vibrating in the air despite the ostensible peaceful purpose of our gathering.
At the center stands Thaddeus, his white hair gleaming in the midday sun, power rolling off him in waves matching Ryker’s own.