Chapter 3
Chapter three
Ryan
Every mile between me and Mai physically hurt these days, like a blunt knife twisting in my chest. My wolf paced restlessly beneath my skin, whining to turn the SUV around and head back.
Turn back, my wolf demanded. Mate needs protection. Pups need protection.
But Jase’s call had been urgent—four werewolves from a Pack I’d never heard of claiming sanctuary from a Human First Division raid.
If true, this was exactly the kind of intelligence we needed.
Reports of HFD activity had been increasing over the past few months—humans with a known hatred for Shifters being deputized into official positions, given weapons, authority, and the green light to “investigate” werewolf communities.
The Wolf Council was supposed to be monitoring the situation, but information was fragmented at best, and the Council was distracted with too many threats and not enough members or enforcers to cope with all the shit that was going down these days.
“Call Waylen,” I commanded. The system connected after three rings.
“I need background on the Thornwick Pack,” I said. “Four wolves at our eastern border claiming sanctuary from HFD raids.”
Waylen yawned loudly. “Good morning, Waylen. How did you sleep, Waylen? Would you like a raise, Waylen, for being such a fucking awesome tech wizard?”
“Waylen,” I growled.
“Yeah, I’m on it.” Waylen yawned again, but I could hear him moving out of bed and then the sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard. “Got any names?”
“Not yet. I’m heading there now. Standby for more details.”
I ended the call and pressed harder on the accelerator.
The trees blurred past as my mind sorted through the possible scenarios.
Best case: these wolves had legitimate intel that could help us prepare for the HFD if any of those fuckers thought to come here.
Worst case: they were spies or had some other agenda.
I forced myself to focus on the road ahead, even as my wolf clawed at my ribs in protest.
The eastern border of our territory came into view as I rounded the final bend in the road.
Unlike human territories with their fences and checkpoints, most werewolf Packs relied on natural boundaries and regular patrols.
Our eastern edge was defined by the Coldbrook River, a deceptively powerful waterway that curved through a steep ravine before joining Whispering Willow and the Westfall, the other two rivers that gave our territory its name.
I pulled up beside the stone bridge and had to admire Derek’s setup.
Three SUVs formed a triangle on our side—positioned to provide cover while keeping escape routes open.
Eight enforcers stood in a loose perimeter, casual but alert, their placement designed to look non-threatening while controlling every angle of approach.
According to Jase, our motion sensors had triggered an alert at dawn.
The patrol that had been sent out had found the four werewolves waiting on the far side of the bridge—they hadn’t attempted to cross without permission, which was a point in their favor.
Protocol for seeking sanctuary was ancient among werewolves; you approached a territory boundary and waited to be received, rather than trespassing. At least they understood that much.
I cut the engine and stepped out, my eyes immediately finding Derek and Jase positioned twenty feet from our visitors. Four figures huddled on the far side of the bridge—two men, two women, all with a watchful, wary look.
Derek headed my way. His face was impassive, but I knew my brother well enough to read the tension in his shoulders.
“What do we know?” I asked quietly.
“They showed up about forty minutes ago. Call themselves the Thornwick Pack, a small Pack from northern Vermont. Claim HFD raided their territory three days ago, killed eleven, and you’re looking at the only survivors.”
“Any inconsistencies in their story?”
Derek shook his head. “Not so far. The older of the two women, Sian, has a bullet wound to the shoulder.”
Jase approached with the controlled energy I’d been seeing more of since Carlito started training him.
Gone was the eager kid who used to bounce on his toes—this version moved with purpose now.
“The Thornwick Alphas are Glenn and Sian.
Jonas is their Beta, and Vera is his sister.
They've been polite, followed all instructions. Kept their hands visible, no sudden movements.”
Something in his tone made me look closer at the group. The tall one—Glenn, I was guessing—had shifted slightly, angling himself to face me. Recognition flickered in his eyes.
Alpha meeting Alpha.
I crossed the bridge with deliberate steps. Glenn straightened as I approached, but lowered his gaze. Exactly what an experienced Alpha would do in this situation—not pissing off the Alpha they needed help from.
“I’m Ryan Shaw, Alpha of the Three Rivers Pack,” I said. “I understand you’re seeking sanctuary.”
“Glenn Garcia.” His voice was deep and carried no accent.
He looked to be mid-forties, with a sturdy build and the hollowed-out look of someone who hadn’t eaten in a few days.
A long scar ran from his temple to his jaw on the right side; whatever had marked him happened years ago, not days.
His clothes were rumpled but practical: jeans and a flannel shirt with a lightweight jacket against the morning chill.
“What remains of the Thornwick Pack thanks you for hearing us.”
I drew in their scents, separating the layers. Exhaustion, fear, blood, and the lingering scent of gunpowder—all consistent with their story. Layered on top were the smells of fast food and stale coffee, suggesting a journey of quick stops and little rest.
Sian positioned herself at Glenn’s right shoulder like a seasoned co-Alpha.
She was tall, at least five foot eleven, with sharp eyes that darted continuously between me and the enforcers.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a practical braid, and she had the drawn look of someone who hadn’t slept in a bed for days.
The bandage visible beneath her torn flannel shirt had soaked through at the edges, but the blood was now dry.
Her fingers twitched occasionally at her sides—a wolf fighting the instinct to Shift when threatened.
Jonas stood to Glenn’s left—young, maybe twenty-five, but positioned like a bodyguard. His lean frame coiled with nervous energy, every line of his body screaming readiness for violence. The muddy sneakers and worn jacket said refugee, but his stance said soldier.
The girl, Vera, hovered close to Jonas’s side.
She looked barely out of her teens, but the family resemblance between her and Jonas was unmistakable in their shared cheekbones.
Her blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she kept one hand gripped in the fabric of her oversized hoodie.
Her eyes never quite settled on any one thing, constantly moving, and when they passed over me, there was a flicker of something—not quite fear, something more calculated—before she quickly looked away.
Interesting.
“Tell me what happened.”
Glenn swallowed. “We are… were a small Pack, only fifteen of us. We kept to ourselves in the mountains, away from humans. Three nights ago, they hit us without warning.” His voice tightened.
“Six SUVs rolled into our compound at 3 a.m. Thirty humans in tactical gear, HFD insignia, armed with silver bullets and flash-bangs.”
“They surrounded the main house while most of us were sleeping,” Jonas added, his voice bitter. “No warrants, no questions. Just opened fire through the windows.”
“Nine of our Pack were killed in the first few minutes,” Glenn continued. “The rest of us scattered into the woods. We managed to regroup at our emergency meeting point, but Rosemary and Asher were shot trying to reach it.”
Their story aligned with other reports we’d been hearing—HFD’s shift from monitoring and surveillance to active hunting. Sam’s latest intel from the Wolf Council painted the same picture across the northeast.
“Why come here, to Three Rivers?” I asked, watching their reactions closely.
“Word travels,” Sian said, stepping forward slightly.
There was a quiet authority in her movement, not challenging but making it clear she was Glenn’s equal, not his subordinate.
“Three Rivers has a reputation for strength, but also fairness. We’ve heard that you and Mai Parker actually listen before making judgments.
” She met my eyes directly for a brief moment—Alpha to Alpha—before dropping her eyes.
“These HFD fuckers, did you ID any of them?” I asked, getting to the point.
“Patches on their tactical vests. Shield with a red diagonal line through a wolf silhouette. Their commander spoke through a megaphone after the first volley of rounds. Called himself Morrison. Said he wanted us to know exactly who was ‘cleaning up the problem.’”
Morrison. The name had appeared in three separate Wolf Council reports Sam had sent me. Former military, anti-Shifter extremist, newly promoted to run HFD’s northeast operations.
This was escalating fast.
My wolf growled inside me, urging me to get back to Mai. The thought of closing the Three Rivers down, of holing up at the Alpha House until the pups were born, sounded fucking awesome, but we had to know what we were up against if the HFD found its way here.
“Wait here.” I jerked my head to Derek and Jase and strode back across the bridge.
“Thoughts?” I asked them when we were out of earshot.
Derek crossed his arms. “Story lines up with the intel we’ve been getting. HFD’s gotten bold. That wound on Sian’s shoulder—it’s not healing right. Silver, for sure.”
“They’re beat to shit,” Jase added. “And the timing matches what Sam told us about Morrison’s movements. He thinks Morrison’s hitting smaller Packs first, testing his operation before going after bigger territories.”
Bigger territories. Like Three Rivers. I glanced back at what was left of the Thornwick Pack, weighing the options.
Having four witnesses to an HFD raid could be valuable.
The Wolf Council needed concrete evidence of these attacks, and Mai and I needed to know exactly what we might be facing in the future.
“Alright. We let them stay, but they don’t go anywhere without an escort, and they tell us everything they know about HFD.”
I crossed back to the refugees. Glenn and Sian straightened as I approached, hope and wariness warring with each other in their expressions.
“Three Rivers will give you temporary shelter,” I said. “You’ll stay in our guest housing until we decide on your formal request for sanctuary.”
Relief flooded Glenn’s face. “Thank you. We—”
“I’m not finished,” I cut him off. “There are conditions. You don’t leave the guest quarters without an escort. You tell my intelligence team everything—and I mean every fucking detail—about the HFD, their weapons, their tactics. You follow our Pack rules without question while you’re here.”
“We understand,” Sian said before Glenn could respond.
I nodded to Jase. “Get them settled.”
Jase stepped forward. “You’ll follow my car. Stay directly behind me.”
The Thornwick wolves headed back to their battered Honda Civic. Glenn hesitated at the driver’s door, looking back at me with an expression that was part gratitude, part something else I couldn’t quite read.
I watched as they piled in—Glenn driving, Sian beside him, Jonas and Vera in the back. Jase slid into his SUV and pulled a tight U-turn on the bridge. Two of our enforcer vehicles fell into formation behind the Civic as they crossed into Three Rivers territory, effectively boxing them in.
The small convoy disappeared around the bend in the road. Derek stayed beside me, silent but watchful.
“Update Waylen,” I said once the sound of engines had faded. “I want everything he can find on the Thornwick Pack and Morrison’s attack. And I want eyes on them twenty-four seven.”
He nodded.
“And keep an extra watch on the girl, Vera. Something’s off with her scent.”
“Noticed that too,” Derek muttered. “Could be fear, could be something else.”
“Just—” I ran a hand through my hair. “Keep it tight.”
A pulse through the mate bond made my head snap up—a flutter of unease from Mai. Not pain, not fear, but something that made my wolf snarl.
“Go,” Derek said, reading my face. “I’ve got this handled.”
I was already moving toward my SUV. “Call if anything changes with our guests.”