Chapter 6
Nova
Iwatch Phil’s shadow disappear down the path. His scent lingers; polished cedar and something artificial underneath, like overripe fruit. Dark court glamour always smells like decay to me. They layer it with charm and precision, but the rot clings underneath—for those who know what to smell for.
Dane stands rigid beside me, every muscle locked tight. His anger runs deep, but it’s the calculation beneath that catches my attention. He’s measuring the damage, same as I am.
“You should go back inside,” I say. “They need to see your face right now.”
His jaw tightens. “And what will they see?”
“That’s up to you.”
Through the windows, I track movement like reading a battlefield map.
Marcus hasn’t moved from his spot near the kitchen, but his posture has shifted; weight on his back foot now, arms folded across his chest. Not confrontational, just slightly disconnected.
Two younger wolves hover nearby, mirroring his stance unconsciously. Pack dynamics are contagious like that.
The molecular structure of loyalty is changing in real time.
“Phil’s manipulation is working, but it’s surface-level,” I observe, keeping my voice neutral. “Three wolves are questioning the decision to let him leave, but they’re waiting for your explanation. The rest remember why they chose to follow you in the first place.”
Dane’s gaze snaps to mine. “And how do you know that?”
“Because I’m not pack. I’m not looking through pack eyes.” I nod toward the lodge. “Look at Mateo’s hands. He’s been clenching and unclenching his fists since Phil left. He wants to believe you, but Phil planted doubt.”
Inside, Mateo paces a tight line near the window, conflicted energy pouring off him in waves.
“You don’t know my wolves.”
“I know people.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “I know manipulation. That’s what Phil specializes in—finding natural fissures and applying pressure. He didn’t create anything new today. He just found what was already broken.”
Dane’s scent shifts, heat spiking through his natural forest-pine smell. My wolf presses against my skin. I ignore her.
“What’s your point?” he asks.
“My point is that you have a high fae—high dark fae—running psychological warfare on your pack. This isn’t just territorial maneuvering. This is something else.”
His shoulders tense. The space between us shrinks another inch without either of us moving.
“Phil left a trail,” I continue. “I can track it through the wards, see where it leads.”
“And why would you do that?”
I look past him to the scattered wolves inside, the uneven rhythm of their movements, the subtle cracks forming in their cohesion.
“Because high fae don’t waste time on wolf packs without a reason. If he’s here, there’s something bigger at play.”
In the silence that follows, I catch Marcus watching us through the window. His eyes slide away when I meet them, but the calculation in them remains.
Dane exhales slowly. “You’re sure he’s high court?”
“I spent most of my life reading fae signatures. He’s hiding it well, but yes. The markers confirmed it.”
The night air thickens around us. Behind Dane’s eyes, I see him piecing it together—the territory, the timing, the slow erosion of trust.
“He’ll be back soon with a new angle,” I say. “Now that he knows we’re onto him, he’ll accelerate.”
The air between us shifts as Dane’s control finally fractures. Not violence—worse. Command.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growls, voice dropping to that dangerous Alpha register that vibrates in my bones. “You’ve been here less than one day and suddenly you’re the expert on my pack?”
My wolf bristles at his tone, but I keep my face neutral. “I’m not critiquing your leadership. I’m telling you what I see.”
“What you think you see.“ He steps closer, using his height now. “This isn’t some diplomatic mission or spy game. These are my wolves. My territory.”
“And yet a high fae just walked through your front door and started peeling them away.” I don’t back up, don’t lower my gaze. “What exactly is your plan here, Dane? Wait for him to come back stronger?”
His scent spikes—pine and amber and something darker. Anger, but also something else. Frustration that I’m right.
“Because I’ve fought this war before,” I say, softer now. “Not here. Not with wolves. But fae manipulation works the same everywhere. He’s isolating targets, planting doubts, and testing reactions.”
The door to the lodge creaks open. Mateo stands there, caught in the middle of our standoff. His eyes dart between us, radiating uncertainty. He opens his mouth, closes it, then backs away without speaking.
Dane watches him retreat, and something in his expression hardens.
“Phil’s not just targeting you,” I say, feeling a trickle of cold certainty. “He’s pulling wolves one by one. Creating private conversations. Individual doubts.”
Dane runs a hand through his hair, jaw working. “You sound awfully confident about someone you claim you don’t know.”
“I know the pattern.” I cross my arms. “Dark fae thrive on destabilization. And they’re patient. Whatever he wants from Ash Hollow, he’s been planning it for months.”
The space between us seems to shrink again. His shoulders lower a fraction as he recalculates.
“I can track him,” I say. “His magic leaves a signature. I can follow it back, see where it leads, what he’s really after.”
“And in return?”
“Stop treating me like the enemy in front of your wolves.” I tilt my head. “If you want my help, I need them to see you trust my intel—not undermine it with silence.”
He studies me, eyes glinting gold in the fading light. Heat crawls along my spine as my wolf responds to his proximity.
“And why should I trust you?” The question isn’t accusatory now. Just blunt.
“You shouldn’t,” I answer honestly. “But right now, neither of us can afford not to use every advantage.”
Dane’s gaze holds mine, searching. I feel the weight of his calculation—what he risks by letting me loose versus what he loses by trying to contain me.
He doesn’t agree. But he doesn’t shut me down either.
And somehow, that silent impasse feels more dangerous than any argument.
I don’t wait for an answer from Dane. I’ve never waited for permission in my life, and I don’t intend to start now. I turn toward the lodge. Phil’s scent will still be fresh inside—I can trace exactly where he stood, who he targeted, how he moved through the room.
The door creaks as I push it open. Inside, every head swivels in my direction. The energy shifts immediately, a prickling wall of distrust and suspicion that hits me like a physical wave.
Every heartbeat in the room, elevated stress hormones thick in the air. I catalog each wolf automatically: Marcus is still rooted near the kitchen but leaning away from me now, while Mateo’s nervous energy radiates from across the room like a heat shimmer.
A red-haired wolf—Kari, I think her name is—straightens from where she’s leaning against the wall. Her eyes narrow. “Convenient timing,” she mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Phil leaves, you follow.”
I ignore her, focusing instead on the traces Phil left behind. His scent still lingers. The signature of dark fae glamour.
I follow it across the room, noting the places where it pools stronger. The chair beside Marcus. The doorframe where he paused. The table where his hand rested while he spoke to the younger wolves.
“What is she doing?” someone asks.
I kneel by the fireplace, where Phil’s scent mingles with ash and wood.
The traces are clearer here, concentrated.
I let my fae senses extend, reading the emotional residue like fingerprints on glass.
Satisfaction. Control. The particular pleasure predators feel when prey walks willingly into range.
He stood here the longest, facing the group, measuring reactions.
“She’s tracking,” Dane’s voice comes from behind me. I didn’t hear him enter, but his scent fills the space immediately—sharp pine and amber heat that makes my wolf stir uncomfortably close to the surface.
Callum steps forward, arms crossed. “Tracking what? He’s gone.”
“His pattern,” I say, standing. “Where he lingered, who he focused on. Dark fae leave traces, especially when they’re using persuasion.”
I move to the center of the room, where the scent paths converge in an unmistakable pattern.
“He started here. Then moved to Marcus. Spent almost two minutes there.” I trace the invisible line with my finger.
“Then the fireplace, where he could see everyone’s reactions. Then to Mateo, just briefly.”
Marcus shifts uncomfortably. “What’s your point?”
“My point is he didn’t move randomly. He targeted specific wolves—ones with influence or uncertainty.
He created a web.” I tap the chair where his scent pools strongest—the same spot he occupied during yesterday’s visit, and where he lingered again today.
“And he coated every word with subtle glamour.”
“That’s bullshit,” Kari says. “I would have sensed magic.”
“Not this kind. It’s below the surface, designed specifically to influence without detection.”
I turn to face all of them now. “Look at where he stood. First beside Marcus, then with clear sight lines to Callum and the exit. He positioned himself to read reactions while appearing non-threatening.”
“So what?” Callum challenges. “He came, talked, and left.”
“He mapped your weaknesses,” I counter. “Every pause, every touch, every conversation was strategic. This wasn’t a casual visit. It was reconnaissance.”
“And how exactly would you know that?” Marcus asks, voice edged with suspicion.
“Because I’ve spent my life reading fae movements.” I meet his gaze directly. “And he moved exactly like someone gathering intelligence before an attack.”
The room falls silent. Dane steps closer, his presence shifting the energy again. I feel his heat at my back without turning.
“If she’s tracking him so well,” Kari says, “how do we know she’s not working with him?”
I almost laugh. “If I were working with him, I wouldn’t be pointing out his strategy. I’d be reinforcing it.”
I straighten my spine, scanning the circle of wolves. Their expressions range from open hostility to uncomfortable uncertainty. None of it matters. I didn’t come here to make friends.
“Phil left emotional imprints on each of you,” I say, voice clinical. “It’s a dark fae technique—amplifying what’s already there. Like pressing on a bruise you didn’t know you had.”
I point to Marcus without looking at him. “Resentment activation. He touched your shoulder twice, stood in your space. Made you feel seen when no one else has.”
Marcus shifts, shoulders tensing. “You don’t know what—“
“Mateo,” I continue, cutting him off. “Misplaced responsibility. He spoke quietly to make you lean in, mentioned how hard it must be carrying the weight of your mistake. Reminded you that you’re the one who let him in.”
Mateo’s face pales. He takes a step back.
“Kari, defensive posturing. He never approached you directly because you’re naturally suspicious. So he worked around you, making you feel excluded from private conversations. Now you’re compensating by attacking the outsider.” My eyes meet hers steadily. “Me.”
Kari’s lips pull back slightly, not quite a snarl. “I don’t need manipulation to be suspicious of you. That comes standard with anyone who isn’t pack. Call it a survival instinct I can’t afford to ignore.”
I don’t flinch. “You’ve been talking to him for weeks. Sharing information. Letting him get close. Today he walked in like he owned the place, and half of you nodded along. I’m not your problem.”
My gaze sweeps the room. “Phil is playing a long game. This was reconnaissance—testing who responds to what pressure. He’ll be back, and next time he’ll know exactly which buttons to push.”
I feel Dane’s presence behind me—close, but not aligned. He’s letting me speak, but he’s not backing me. The gap between us is deliberate, a clear signal to his pack: She’s not with me.
My wolf bristles, a flicker of heat crawling up my spine. Stupid animal instinct. I don’t need his protection.
Callum steps forward, arms crossed. “And we’re supposed to just take your word for all this? You’ve been here, what, one day?”
“You don’t have to take my word for anything,” I say. “But I’ve tracked fae manipulation patterns for years. This is textbook destabilization—find the cracks, widen them slowly, then offer a solution to problems he’s creating.”
“Convenient that you’re the only one who can see these patterns,” Marcus says.
I don’t waste energy responding to that. Instead, I turn to face the group directly.
“Phil touched the table seven times. Paused at the doorway. Adjusted his stance every time someone shifted position. He wasn’t here to help—he was mapping your reactions.” I gesture toward the spots where his scent lingers strongest. “The glamour is subtle, but it’s there. Emotional amplification.”
The silence stretches. I can feel doubt rippling through the room, but underneath it, recognition. They know I’m right, even if they don’t want to admit it.
I wait for Dane to speak, to add weight to what I’m saying. The silence from him is deafening.
Fine. I don’t need his validation.
“Check your wards tonight,” I say, moving toward the door. “And tomorrow, check each other. Ask what thoughts feel heightened, what certainties suddenly appeared. That’s how you’ll know I’m right.”
I pause at the threshold, hand on the doorframe. “Phil will be back. And next time, he won’t just be gathering intelligence.”
Without waiting for their response, I pull the door open and step outside. The cool night air hits my face, washing away the stifling tension of the lodge.
I don’t look back to see if Dane follows. I already know he won’t.