Chapter 2
Nova
Idon’t sleep in cages.
Never have. Never will. But I can lie perfectly still for hours, cataloging every sound that drifts through concrete walls, every scent that seeps through ventilation grates, and every vibration that travels through steel and stone.
This pack breathes wrong.
I’ve been tracking pack dynamics for fifteen years, and healthy packs have rhythms—natural ebbs and flows of tension that resolve themselves. Ash Hollow doesn’t flow. It fractures.
Three arguments in the last four hours. Not the normal kind—territorial disputes, resource allocation, typical pack friction. These are personal. Vicious. The kind that leaves wounds.
The first fight started around two AM. Male voices, one I recognize as Callum from earlier. Something about patrol assignments escalating into accusations about loyalty. It ended with footsteps storming away and a door slamming hard enough to rattle my cell bars.
The second was quieter but more vicious.
Two females, their voices carrying the particular edge that comes from old wounds being reopened.
Trust issues. Betrayal. The kind of baggage I’d expect from wolves who fled failed packs—and my research before coming here confirmed Ash Hollow took in Storm Ridge survivors alongside Shadow Peak exiles.
The third was the worst—a male voice I don’t recognize yet, steady and calm, trying to mediate between two wolves whose scents were spiking with rage and fear. Someone called him Ben. The Beta, if I had to guess, given how he positioned himself between the combatants.
Classic manipulation pressure points.
Someone’s been playing these wolves like instruments, finding exactly the right notes to make them shatter.
I shift on the narrow bench, letting my enhanced senses map the compound above. Twelve distinct heartbeats scattered across the cabins—one of them spiking faster now, breathing shifting from sleep rhythm to waking. Stress dreams, probably. The pack’s collective anxiety is thick enough to taste.
Dane’s scent is everywhere, but he’s not in the building. Still patrolling, most likely. Still running himself ragged trying to hold together wolves who’ve been programmed to self-destruct.
He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s fighting a war he can’t win. Not alone.
The door at the top of the basement stairs opens with a soft click. Footsteps descend—measured, controlled, but carrying tension in the slight drag of the left foot. Dane.
He appears at the cell bars like a shadow given form, all sharp edges and barely contained violence. His scent hits me immediately—ash and earth and something darker. Exhaustion. Frustration. And underneath it all, that same wild heat that made my wolf sit up and pay attention last night.
“Enjoying the show?” His voice is rough, like he’s been breathing smoke.
I don’t move from my position on the bench, back against the wall, one knee drawn up. Casual. Unbothered. “Your pack’s being torn apart from the inside, and you’re asking if I’m entertained?”
His jaw tightens. “My pack is fine.”
“Three fights since midnight. Callum and another male—couldn’t catch the name. Two females going at each other over old betrayals. Then your Beta stepping in before things got bloody.” I tilt my head, studying his reaction. “That sound fine to you, Alpha?”
The muscle in his cheek twitches. He heard them too. Of course he did.
“Packs fight. It’s natural.”
“Not like this.” I stand slowly, moving to the bars but staying just out of reach. Close enough to see the exhaustion etched around his eyes, the way his shoulders carry more weight than they should. “Natural pack conflicts resolve. These are designed to escalate.”
“Designed?” The word comes out flat, skeptical.
“Someone’s been feeding your wolves exactly the right triggers. Old wounds, specific fears, trust issues that should have healed by now.” I wrap my fingers around the cold titanium bars, meeting his stare directly. “How long have the fights been getting worse?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, but his scent shifts. Recognition. Fear. He’s been wondering the same thing.
“Two weeks,” he finally admits.
“And before that?”
“Things were ... settling. Healing.” His voice drops. “We were getting better.”
“Someone doesn’t want you to get better.” I lean closer, close enough that his scent wraps around me like smoke. Close enough to see the gold flecks in his gray eyes. “Someone wants you to fail.”
“Why?” The question comes out raw, like he’s been asking himself the same thing every night.
“Because broken wolves make excellent weapons. Because failed packs prove that redemption is impossible. Because some people profit from despair.” I let each word land before continuing. “Someone’s been testing your pressure points, learning exactly how to break you apart.”
His hand moves to the cell lock, fingers hovering over the mechanism. “And you just happened to show up now?”
“I’ve been tracking this pattern across three territories. Ash Hollow is the fourth. The others ...” I pause, letting him see the truth in my eyes. “They didn’t make it.”
The lock clicks open.
I don’t move. Don’t step forward or try to push past him. Just wait.
“You could be lying,” he says.
“I could be.” I keep my voice steady, matter-of-fact. “But you know I’m not.”
His scent spikes with something dangerous—not aggression, but desire. Raw, unwelcome, and impossible to ignore. My wolf responds before I can stop her, pressing closer to the surface, drawn to his dominance like metal to a magnet.
I force her back. Lock her down. Feel the loss of her warmth like losing a limb.
“You’re going to help me find whoever’s doing this,” he says. “I’m going to stop them from destroying your pack.” I step out of the cell, careful not to brush against him, though every instinct screams to move closer. “What you do after that is your choice.”
He turns and starts up the stairs without another word, expecting me to follow. I do, but I keep a distance between us. Professional, safe space.
Even though my wolf is howling for me to close that gap.
The main floor of the lodge hits me like a wall of scent and tension. Fear-sweat and barely suppressed rage. Exhaustion so deep it’s soaked into the walls. And underneath it all, something artificial. Wrong.
Like perfume trying to cover the smell of rot.
“Someone’s been in here recently,” I say, stopping just inside the doorway. “Someone who doesn’t belong.”
Dane freezes. “When?”
I close my eyes, filtering through the layers of scent. Pack members. Familiar wolves. And there—something else. Clean clothes and expensive cologne, and the faint chemical tang of hair product.
“Yesterday afternoon. Maybe early evening.” I open my eyes, finding him watching me with laser focus. “Male. Well-groomed. Not pack.”
“We don’t get visitors.”
“You do now.” I move toward the main room, following the foreign scent trail. It leads to the central seating area, lingers around the kitchen, and circles back to what looks like a planning table. “He spent time here. Comfortable. Like he belonged.”
“That’s impossible. I would have—“
“Were you here yesterday afternoon?”
His silence is answer enough.
“He came when you were out. Talked to your wolves. Friendly conversation, probably. Helpful suggestions. Maybe brought supplies or offered resources.” I track the scent to a chair by the fireplace—the foreign smell is strongest here. “He sat right there for at least an hour.”
Dane’s scent shifts to pure Alpha rage. “Who let him in?”
“Someone who trusted him. Someone who thought he was helping.” I turn to face him, seeing the realization dawning in his eyes. “Someone who’s been trained to see him as an ally.”
The front door opens, and a wolf walks in—the same one I heard mediating last night. He stops short when he sees me standing free in the main room.
“Ben,” Dane says, and the name clicks into place. The Beta.
Ben’s hand drops automatically to his knife, eyes flicking between me and Dane. Everything about his posture screams hypervigilance; this is a wolf who learned the hard way that strangers bring danger.
“It’s fine,” Dane says, though his voice carries enough edge to cut glass. “Ben. Yesterday afternoon. Who was here?”
Ben’s eyebrows furrow. “Just pack. Why?”
“Think harder.” Dane’s tone brooks no argument. “Anyone else? Visitors? Someone offering help?”
“No one gets past the perimeter without authorization,” Ben says, confusion clear in his voice. “You know that.”
I shake my head. “The scent trail says someone was here. Someone who doesn’t belong to the pack.”
Ben’s face goes dark with suspicion, but before he can respond, rapid footsteps echo from the hallway. A young wolf appears—early twenties, dark hair, moving with barely contained energy that screams golden retriever with fangs.
“Alpha, I heard—“ He stops mid-sentence when he sees me, his entire body shifting to alert.
“Mateo,” Dane’s voice is carefully controlled. “Yesterday afternoon. Was there someone at the compound while I was out?”
The young man’s face goes through a series of expressions—confusion, realization, then crushing guilt. “Phil. I brought Phil Dawson. But he’s not—I mean, he’s been helping—“
“Helping how?” My question cuts through his stammering.
Mateo’s eyes flick between me and Dane, clearly unsure whether he should answer. Dane nods once, giving permission.
“He’s been ... I’ve been running into him in Silverwood for weeks.
At the hardware store, the diner. Always friendly, you know?
Asks how the pack’s doing, if we need anything.
” Mateo’s voice gets smaller with each word.
“Yesterday he said he had some construction materials he could let us have cheap, so I thought ...”
“You thought you’d bring a stranger to our home.” Ben’s voice is deadly quiet.
“He’s not a stranger! He’s been nothing but helpful. He understands what we’ve been through, how hard it is to start over—“
“What exactly has he been saying?” I interrupt before this turns into a full confrontation.
I look at Dane, seeing my own realization reflected in his face. “Someone’s been playing the long game with your pack. And yesterday, he came to check his work.”
The door opens again, and Callum enters with two other wolves I don’t recognize. They all stop when they see me, tension spiking immediately.
“Why is she out of the cell?” Callum’s voice carries accusation and barely leashed aggression.
“Because she’s going to help us find the bastard who’s been manipulating our pack,” Dane says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“We don’t need help from some fae spy—“
“You need help from someone who knows how this works,” I interrupt, keeping my voice level. “Someone who’s seen what happens when manipulation campaigns succeed.”
“And what happens?” The challenge comes from one of the wolves behind Callum—young, aggressive, looking for a fight.
I meet his stare directly. “The pack tears itself apart. Wolves who’ve bled together turn on each other. Trust becomes impossible. And everyone walks away convinced that healing was never really an option.”
The silence that follows is heavy with recognition. These wolves have been dancing on the edge of that exact scenario.
“So what do we do?” Ben asks quietly.
I look at Dane, letting him make the choice.
He straightens, decision made. “We find Phil Dawson. And we make sure he never manipulates another pack again.”
The agreement in the room is instant and unanimous. Whatever doubts they have about me, they all want answers about the man who’s been playing games with their healing.
Dane straightens, Alpha authority settling around him like armor. “Full pack meeting. One hour. Everyone who’s not on essential patrol.” His voice carries the tone that bears no arguments, no exceptions. “We’re going to find out exactly how deep this goes.”
The wolves file out quickly, the tension in the room shifting from suspicion of me to something much more dangerous—the realization that they’ve been played.
But as I watch Dane take command, as I feel the pack’s energy shift from fracture to purpose, my wolf stirs restlessly beneath my skin. Not because of the mission ahead.
Because of the way he looks when he leads. The authority that settles around him like armor. The way his scent—pine and raw power—reaches me even from across the room.
Stop.
I force my wolf still, lock that awareness down tight. I’ve spent decades learning to read people without letting them read me. One Alpha with a commanding presence isn’t going to undo that.
I came here to stop a manipulation campaign. Nothing more.