Chapter 3 #2
“Then we use his overconfidence against him,” I continue, letting command settle into my voice. “He thinks he knows us. But he only knows our past wounds, not our current strength.”
“This is his fault!” Marcus points at Mateo. “Bringing that bastard here—“
“We all talked to him!” Elena shoots back. “We all fell for it!”
“Some of us didn’t,” Callum snarls. “Some of us remember what security means—“
“Enough!” My commanding voice booms through the chaos, but it takes longer than it should for quiet to return. Too long.
Nova watches from her position against the wall, her expression unreadable. She’s seeing exactly what she warned about—a pack tearing itself apart.
“Fighting each other is exactly what he wants,” I say, forcing my voice to carry calm authority. “Right now. This moment. This is his endgame.”
“So what do we do?” Ben asks.
The question hangs in the air. Every pair of eyes is on me, waiting for an answer I’m not sure I have.
“We stop him,” I say finally. “We draw Phil Dawson out and make sure he never manipulates another pack.”
“How?” Kari’s voice is practically flat. “If he’s been this careful, this systematic, he’s not going to walk into a trap.”
I look at Nova, hating that I need her expertise, hating that my pack needs outside help to survive. But hating the truth doesn’t make it less true.
“He already thinks he’s winning,” Nova says, stepping forward. “That’s his weakness. He’ll want to check his work—see if the cracks are spreading.” Her gaze slides to Mateo. “And if he doesn’t show on his own, we have a contact who can invite him back.”
Mateo’s face drains of color. “You want me to—“
“I want you ready,” Nova says. “If we need to draw him out, you reach out like nothing’s changed. Tell him the pack’s struggling. That you need to talk.” Her voice softens slightly. “But my bet? He’ll come on his own. Men like Phil can’t resist watching their work unfold.”
“And when he shows up?” Marcus challenges.
Nova’s smile is as sharp as a blade. “Then you remind him why it’s dangerous to hunt broken wolves. You might be fractured, but you’re not defenseless.”
The energy in the room shifts. Not unity—we’re too damaged for that—but purpose. Direction. A target for all the rage and frustration that’s been building.
“Walk me through the plan,” Callum says, Gamma instincts kicking in. “Mateo contacts Phil. Then what?”
Nova moves to the tactical map spread across the table. “Phil’s overconfident. He walked right into your compound yesterday—he thinks he owns this place.” She taps the lodge. “He’ll come back. Men like him can’t resist checking their work. The question is whether we’re ready when he does.”
“So we wait?” Kari’s skepticism bleeds through.
“We prepare. Cover every approach. When he shows up—and he will—he walks into a net he doesn’t see coming.” Nova traces the perimeter roads. “Meanwhile, we need to understand his surveillance setup. He’s been watching from somewhere.”
I study the map, already seeing the tactical layout. “Tomorrow at dawn, Nova and I sweep the eastern perimeter—that’s where the motion sensors keep triggering. Ben, Wyatt—you’re on standby in case Phil shows while we’re out. Callum coordinates defense from here.”
Marcus straightens from his position along the wall. “And we’re just supposed to trust her? She shows up one day, points fingers, and suddenly she’s running operations with our Alpha?”
“She’s not running anything,” I say, keeping my voice level. “I am. She’s providing intelligence that we need.”
“Or she’s providing exactly what Phil wants us to hear.” Marcus doesn’t back down. “Convenient that she’s the only one who can see these ‘patterns.’ The only one who knows how to stop him.”
Nova doesn’t flinch. “You’re right to be suspicious. In your place, I’d question everything too.”
Marcus blinks, clearly not expecting agreement.
“But here’s what you need to understand.” Her voice carries quiet steel. “If I wanted to destroy your pack, I wouldn’t need elaborate manipulation campaigns. I’d just wait for you to do it yourselves.”
The brutal honesty hits like a slap.
“You’re already fracturing. Already turning on each other.” Her gaze sweeps the room. “I could walk away right now, and Phil would still win. Because you’re doing his work for him.”
The silence stretches, uncomfortable and revealing.
“So trust me or don’t,” Nova finishes. “But stop pretending your suspicion is protecting you. Right now, it’s just another weapon pointed at your own pack.”
Marcus’s jaw works, but he doesn’t respond. Can’t respond, because she’s right.
“Mateo.” I turn to the young wolf, who’s been shrinking into himself throughout this exchange. “Can you do this? Contact Phil, set up the meeting?”
He swallows hard, but straightens. “I helped get us into this mess. Let me help get us out.”
It’s the kind of accountability we need right now. A start.
“Nova and I sweep the eastern boundary at dawn,” I announce. “Everyone else—heightened alert. Phil could show up anytime. Mateo, be ready to make contact if we need you to draw him out. Questions?”
No one speaks.
“Dismissed.”
The room empties slowly, wolves filing out in tight clusters, conversations resuming in hushed tones the moment they’re past the door. The fractures are still there. Still widening.
But now we have a direction. A plan. Something to fight besides each other.
Nova remains against the wall until we’re alone. The silence between us feels different now—charged with something I don’t want to name.
“That went better than expected,” she says.
“Half my pack still thinks you’re the enemy.”
“Half your pack is looking for any enemy that isn’t themselves.” She pushes off from the wall, and I track her movement without meaning to. “That’s not about me. That’s about guilt.”
She’s right. Again. It’s becoming a pattern I’m not sure I like.
“You need somewhere to sleep that isn’t a cell,” I say. The words come out gruffer than intended. “There’s an empty cabin on the south side. Small, but it locks from the inside.”
Something shifts in her expression—surprise, maybe. “Trusting me with freedom of movement?”
“Trusting you to be smart enough not to run.” I hold her gaze. “Tomorrow at dawn. Eastern perimeter.”
She pauses at the door, glancing back. The light catches the silver threading through her violet hair, the sharp intelligence in those impossible eyes.
“I’ll be ready,” she says. “Men like Phil can’t resist checking their work. We’ll find his surveillance setup.”
Then she’s gone, and I’m left with the ghost of honey and citrus and the uncomfortable realization that I’m already looking forward to tomorrow.