Chapter 1 #2
And I need to figure out if she’s here to save us or finish what someone else started before that happens.
I need to get control of whatever the hell is happening between us before it becomes a bigger problem than the threat she’s warning about.
But as I follow her through the darkness toward Ash Hollow, one thought burns through my mind like acid:
If she’s right about the manipulation, then everything I thought I knew about leading this pack might be wrong.
And that might be the most dangerous revelation of all.
The compound comes into view through the trees—twelve cabins arranged in defensive positions around the central lodge. Home to forty-three wolves who trust me to keep them safe.
Now I’m bringing a potential threat right to their front door. Again.
I scan the perimeter as we approach. Ben repositioning in the shadows.
Callum’s silhouette visible in the lodge window.
Lyanna’s cabin glowing with that soft fae-touched light she can’t quite suppress when she’s working healing magic.
Mateo emerging from the equipment shed, his angel bloodline visible in the way moonlight catches his features differently than pure wolves.
Ash Hollow isn’t like Shadow Peak. We’re not a traditional pack with generations of purebred wolves following ancient bloodlines.
We’re built from broken pieces—Storm Ridge survivors carrying Viktor’s brand, Shadow Peak wolves who followed me into exile, lone wolves from failed packs who had nowhere else to go.
Half our pack carries mixed heritage: angel traces from old Portal Guardian bloodlines, fae magic residue, hybrid energy signatures.
Most territories hide that kind of diversity. Downplay it. Keep it quiet.
We don’t. We wear it openly and build our strength from it.
I’ve always believed that makes us stronger. But watching Nova’s restrained form move ahead of me, her confident stride despite the titanium cables, I can’t help wondering if our openness also makes us vulnerable in ways I haven’t considered.
Not all supernatural factions view integration the way we do.
Ben emerges from behind the equipment shed before we clear the treeline, his posture shifting from casual patrol to full alert the moment he spots Nova’s restraints. His eyes meet mine for half a second—a silent question.
I give him the slightest nod. Contained threat. Handle accordingly.
Ben melts back into the shadows, but I know he’s repositioning. Getting eyes on us from multiple angles.
Nova doesn’t react to his presence, but I catch the tiny shift in her breathing. She knows he’s there. Knows exactly where he moved. Half-fae senses picking up what most wolves would miss.
“Expecting trouble?” she asks without looking back.
“Always.”
“Smart.” There’s approval in her voice that shouldn’t matter. “Most Alphas rely too much on dominance, not enough on strategy.”
“Most half-fae spies don’t offer tactical assessments to their captors.”
She glances over her shoulder, and for a moment that unreadable mask slips. Something almost like amusement flickers across her features.
“Most Alphas don’t smell like they want to fuck their captives.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Heat explodes through my chest, part rage, part lust, and entirely unwelcome. My step falters for half a second before training kicks in.
“Careful.” My voice drops to barely above a whisper. “You’re walking a very thin line.”
“Am I?” She turns to face me fully, taking a step closer despite the restraints. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re the one having control issues.”
She’s right. Every breath pulls her scent deeper into my lungs.
Every movement she makes has my eyes tracking like a predator watching prey.
And the way she’s looking at me now—head tilted, eyes bright with challenge—makes my wolf want to pin her against the nearest tree and show her exactly what kind of control issues I have.
Instead, I force myself to step back.
“Secure holding is in the basement of the main lodge,” I say, voice carefully neutral. “Reinforced walls. No windows. Single entry point.”
Her eyebrows raise slightly. “Planning to interrogate me?”
“Planning to keep my pack safe.”
“From me?” She sounds genuinely curious. “Or from whoever’s been manipulating them for months?”
Both. Definitely both.
Callum appears on the lodge porch as we approach, his entire body radiating tension. His eyes lock onto Nova’s restraints, then shift to me with barely concealed accusation.
Since when do we take prisoners?
Since tonight. Since her.
“Callum,” I say as we reach the steps. “Secure holding. Full protocols.”
His jaw tightens, but he nods. “Yes, Alpha.”
Nova descends the steps without hesitation, her movements fluid despite the restraints. Like being captured is just part of the job.
Which means she’s done this before. The confidence in her movements, the way she’s assessing my holding cell like she’s rating a hotel room—she’s not some desk analyst. She’s field-trained. Experienced. Lethal.
The realization should worry me more than it does.
The thought makes my wolf snarl with something that feels disturbingly like jealousy.
I follow her inside, hyperaware of every wolf who stops to stare, every heartbeat that spikes with tension. The compound feels different with her in it—charged, like the air before a storm.
The basement stairs are narrow, forcing us into a single file. Nova goes first, her scent filling the enclosed space until it’s all I can breathe. Honey and citrus and wild magic that makes my skin feel too tight.
The holding cell is exactly what it sounds like: reinforced concrete walls, titanium bars, and a single bench. Built for containing shifted wolves who’ve lost control.
Nova examines it with professional interest. “Impressive. Most packs don’t invest in proper containment.”
“Most packs don’t need it.”
She turns to face me, and suddenly the cell feels too small. Too intimate. Like we’re sharing space meant for one.
“And you do?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications. Do I need containment for rogues? For threats? Or for Alphas who can’t control themselves around half-fae spies who smell like everything they’ve ever wanted?
“I need to keep my pack safe,” I repeat.
“From external threats. I get that.” She takes a step closer, and my wolf practically purrs at the decreased distance. “But what about internal ones? What about the manipulation that’s been happening right under your nose?”
Her eyes drop to my mouth again—deliberate this time, no pretense of accident. When she looks back up, her pupils are wider. Her lips part slightly, breath coming faster.
She can smell my desire just like I can smell hers.
“The restraints,” I manage.
She extends her hands without breaking eye contact. The titanium cables fall away with a soft click, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back. Just watches me with those impossibly violet eyes like she’s waiting for something.
Gold flecks catch the cell’s harsh lighting, making her irises shimmer like gemstones.
Her lips part slightly as she breathes, full and dark against pale skin.
There—a thin white scar cutting through her left temple, mostly hidden by the fall of her hair.
My fingers twitch with the urge to trace it, to find out what put that mark there.
The hunger in her gaze mirrors what’s clawing through my chest.
I should leave. Lock the cell. Put distance between us until I can think clearly again.
Instead, I step closer.
“Someone’s manipulating my pack,” I say quietly.
“Someone’s manipulating your pack,” she agrees.
The stone in her pocket pulses brighter, casting purple shadows across the concrete walls. Someone’s been playing games with my pack, pushing them toward a fracture that could destroy everything I’ve built.
But right now, all I can think about is the way she’s looking at me. Like she knows exactly what kind of effect she’s having, and she’s been waiting for me to admit it.
“This—“ I gesture vaguely at the charged air between us. ”—doesn’t change anything.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Before I can answer, she reaches up and traces one finger along my jaw. The touch is light, barely there, but it sends electricity straight through my nervous system.
My hand moves without conscious thought, catching her wrist. Not to stop her—to hold her there, to keep her touching me.
Her pulse jumps under my thumb. Fast. Irregular. She’s not as unaffected as she pretends.
“You should be afraid of me,” I say.
“Should I?” Her voice is barely a whisper. “Or should you be afraid of what happens when you stop fighting this?”
Silence stretches between us. Her eyes drop to my mouth. Stay there. Neither of us moves.
The stone pulses again, brighter now, and reality crashes back.
Someone’s been manipulating my pack.
I release her wrist and step back, putting the cell bars between us before I do something irreversible.
“Get some rest,” I say, my voice more abrasive than I’d like. “Tomorrow morning, we figure out who’s been pushing my pack toward destruction.”
She nods, but her eyes stay locked on mine. “And if you don’t like the answers?”
“Then we deal with the truth anyway.”
Dangerous territory for an Alpha who’s built his life on keeping everyone at arm’s length.
But as I walk away, leaving her in that cell with purple light pulsing through the darkness, I can’t shake the feeling that she’s not the real threat here.
The real threat is what happens when I have to choose between protecting my pack from manipulation and protecting myself from her.
Because right now, I’m not sure which choice would destroy me more.