Chapter 3
Dane
The command room in the Lodge fills like a storm gathering pressure.
All the wolves on patrol are filing in, their scents a chaos of confusion, anger, and barely contained aggression. Some sit. Others pace the perimeter, unable to stay still. The smart ones position themselves near exits.
They all know something’s coming. They just don’t know what.
I stand at the head of the table, letting my gaze sweep across faces I’ve fought beside, bled with, and built this place for.
Ben takes his usual position at my right—my Beta, my second, the wolf who’s stood beside me since the beginning.
Callum claims the seat to my left, our Gamma—volatile as hell, but fiercely loyal when it counts.
Kari settles across from them, her intelligence specialist’s mind already working through scenarios before I’ve said a word.
These wolves chose to follow me. Chose to believe in what we could build together. Now I have to tell them we’ve been under attack for weeks without knowing it.
The rest of the pack filters in—those not on essential patrol taking their places in the hierarchy we’ve built together.
Kevin from the kitchen. Mateo from maintenance.
Elena, sharp-eyed and naturally suspicious.
The structure we’ve built isn’t just about ranks—it’s about every wolf knowing their role, their contribution.
The weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders, familiar and grounding.
I brought them all here—wolves from Shadow Peak, survivors from Storm Ridge, lone wolves from failed packs, and the packless who had nowhere else to go.
I promised them safety, healing, and a fresh start.
And despite Phil’s interference, we’ve delivered on that promise.
But as I look at them now, I don’t see fragile wolves ready to shatter. I see survivors who’ve already proven they can handle the truth; who trust me to lead them through it.
Nova stands against the far wall, arms crossed, violet eyes tracking every wolf who enters.
From this angle, I can see how she reads the room: head tilted slightly, those impossible eyes cataloging every tell, every shift in posture.
She’s memorizing faces, calculating exit strategies.
All while looking completely relaxed against the wall.
She’s positioned herself where she can see everyone but stay out of the immediate line of fire. Smart. When this explodes—and it will explode—she doesn’t want to be in the center of it.
Reyna slips in, slightly out of breath from morning patrol. She nods to me—the report that’s never late, always precise. “North and west perimeters clear, Alpha. No breach signatures. Derek’s rotating in now.”
I nod once. The pack’s daily operations continue, even in crisis.
Ben’s already pulled out his tablet, tracking reports against yesterday’s patterns. “Jensen’s team was on the eastern perimeter when they disappeared,” he says quietly. “Three weeks ago. Same rotation Torres has today.”
The room gets colder. Three wolves missing—Jensen, Tomas, and Kira—and we still have no answers.
Marcus enters last, closing the door behind him with deliberate precision.
His gaze sweeps the room—not checking in with me the way my wolves usually do, but cataloging.
Taking stock. He positions himself against the back wall, arms crossed, stance that says he’s here to listen but reserves the right to disagree.
“We have a problem,” I start, no preamble, no easing into it. “Someone’s been manipulating this pack. Systematically. For months.”
The reaction is immediate. Voices rise in protest, denial, and confusion. Callum’s scent spikes with rage. Kari goes perfectly still, her hand drifting toward her knife.
Marcus’s voice cuts from the back wall. “The missing wolves.” He doesn’t move from his position, but his tone carries authority earned through years of service.
“Jensen, Kira and Tomas. They disappeared three weeks ago during a routine border patrol. We’ve found no trace.
No scent trail. Nothing.” His eyes meet mine steadily.
“And now you’re saying someone’s been working against us from inside?
We need answers, Alpha. The pack deserves to know what we’re facing. ”
Nova doesn’t move from her position, but I catch the subtle shift in her stance—weight settling on the balls of her feet, ready to move fast if this goes sideways.
Her violet eyes track the most agitated wolves, calculating response times, measuring threats.
Half a dozen conversations start at once.
“Enough.” My voice cuts through the chaos, Alpha command backing every syllable. The room goes silent. “You’ll listen. Then you’ll talk. In order.”
I nod toward Nova. “She tracked the pattern here. Three other packs showed the same signs. They didn’t survive.”
“What signs?” The question comes from Elena, a newer pack member with sharp eyes and a naturally suspicious nature.
Nova pushes off from the wall, moving to where everyone can see her. “Escalating conflicts that don’t resolve naturally. Trust breaking down faster than trauma would explain. Fights that get personal instead of staying pack business.”
Murmurs ripple through the room.
“Someone’s been feeding you triggers,” Nova continues, her voice matter-of-fact. “Learning your individual wounds and pressing on them. Making you doubt each other, doubt your place here, doubt whether you can ever really move past what broke you.”
“That’s bullshit.” Marcus pushes off from the back wall, his voice carrying the edge it’s had for weeks. “Our problems are real. We don’t need some outside influence to have trust issues.”
“You’re right,” Nova agrees, surprising him. “Your problems are real. That’s exactly what makes you vulnerable. Manipulation works best when it builds on existing wounds.”
I watch the room, reading faces, scenting the air. Some wolves are nodding, pieces clicking into place. Others look skeptical, defensive. A few—too many—smell angry.
“Some of you already know pieces of this.” I let that land before continuing. “Mateo. Tell everyone what you told me about Phil.”
Mateo’s face goes red, but he stands. “There’s this guy I’ve been running into in Silverwood. Phil Dawson. For weeks now. He seemed... He understood what we’ve been through. Always asking how the pack was doing, if we needed anything.”
“And yesterday you brought him here.” Ben’s voice is awfully low.
“He offered construction materials. Cheap. I thought I was helping—“
“You brought a stranger into our home.” Callum’s scent spikes with fury. “Without authorization. Without security clearance.”
“He wasn’t a stranger! He’s been nothing but helpful—“
“Helpful how?” Kari’s voice cuts through Mateo’s protest. “Specifically. What kind of help?”
Mateo looks around the room, desperate for support that isn’t coming. “He listened. When I told him about the fights, about how hard it’s been to settle in, he understood. He said it was normal for packs like us to struggle with trust.”
The silence that follows is heavy with implication.
“Packs like us?” I repeat.
“Broken packs. Failed packs.” Mateo’s voice gets smaller. “He said most packs that form from refugees don’t make it. That the trauma runs too deep.”
Nova nods like she expected this. “Classic destabilization technique. Validate the fear that you’re doomed to fail, then provide ‘understanding’ while the problems get worse.”
“You’re saying he caused our problems?” Elena asks.
“I’m saying he amplified them. Made them worse than they had to be.” Nova’s gaze sweeps the room. “How many of you have talked to Phil Dawson?”
My blood goes cold as hands slowly rise. One. Three. Five. Six.
Six wolves. Half the pack present in this room.
“Jesus Christ,” Callum breathes.
“Different approaches for different personalities,” Nova continues, her voice clinical. “Mateo got validation and understanding. What did the rest of you get?”
The stories that follow make my jaw clench tighter with each one. Phil offering sympathies about difficult leadership decisions. Phil suggesting that some pack members weren’t pulling their weight. Phil wondering out loud if exiled wolves could ever really trust each other again.
Seeds of doubt. Perfectly placed. Precisely targeted.
“He knew things,” Wyatt says, his voice strained. “About Shadow Peak. About what happened before. Things only pack would know.”
“Because he’s been collecting information for months,” Nova explains. “Every conversation, every admission, every vulnerability you shared. He’s been building a psychological profile of this pack.”
“To what end?” Ben’s question is sharp, focused.
Nova’s eyes find mine before she answers. “To prove that redemption is impossible. That broken wolves can’t be fixed. That packs like yours are doomed to fail.”
The words hit like physical blows because they’re my deepest fear made manifest. That all of this—Ash Hollow, the healing, the second chances—is just an elaborate form of self-delusion.
“Why?” The question comes from someone in the back, but it echoes what we’re all thinking.
“Because proving broken things can’t be fixed serves certain interests,” Nova says simply.
“Because hope threatens existing power structures. Because if packs like yours succeed, it challenges everything certain factions believe—fae courts that think bloodlines should stay pure, supernaturals who see mixed communities as abominations.”
The room erupts into angry voices, but I raise my hand once—sharp, decisive—and silence falls immediately. The response is automatic, trained.
“Phil targeted us because we’re proof his worldview is wrong,” I say, my voice carrying to every corner of the room. “We took broken wolves and built something stronger than most legacy packs. That threatens people who profit from failure.”
Ben nods grimly. “He’s been studying our weak spots for months.”