Chapter 11
Dane
Istand motionless between them as silence fills the room. Nova doesn’t answer Lyanna’s question; her eyes lowered to the digital patterns on the screen. The air feels charged, like before a lightning strike.
“Answer her,” I demand, my voice low.
Nova’s eyes flick up to mine, then back to Lyanna. “Long enough to know that associating his true name with these traces isn’t safe.”
Lyanna nods, understanding something I don’t. Her fingers hover over one of Nova’s papers, not quite touching it. “This is old magic. Court-bound.”
“And binding,” Nova adds, tapping her screen. “The corruption in the footage isn’t digital noise. It’s residual.”
I step between them, blocking their sight lines. “Enough. I need clear answers. Who is Phil Dawson really, and what does he want with my pack?”
Lyanna doesn’t even look at me. She circles around to stand beside Nova, both of them studying the screen. “May I?” she asks, gesturing to the laptop.
Nova nods, shifting aside.
My jaw tightens. “I’m still here.”
“Yes, you are,” Lyanna says absently, her focus entirely on the screen. “And you need to listen.” She types something, fingers moving with practiced precision. “Faelan is high court. These signatures—they’re not his physical presence.”
“They’re extensions,” Nova murmurs. “Projections.”
“Like reaching through a window,” Lyanna agrees.
“Stop,” I growl, the wolf rising in my chest. “Plain language. Now.”
Nova straightens, finally looking at me directly. “He’s not crossing your borders physically. He’s sending pieces of himself—impressions, influences. Jessica Chen and Mark Sullivan didn’t just go missing. They were taken.”
“By what?” I demand.
“By whom?” Lyanna corrects, her tone mild but unyielding. “His constructs. His ... instruments.”
My patience snaps. “This is my territory. My responsibility. I need more than cryptic half-answers.”
Nova’s scent shifts—subtle notes of frustration and something sharper beneath it. Fear? My wolf tracks the change, hungry to decode her.
“We’re trying to give you answers,” she says, her voice cool. “But you have to understand what we’re dealing with before you can fight it.”
The word “we” grates against my already frayed nerves. There is no “we.” There’s my pack, and there are two outsiders in my territory.
“I don’t need to understand it to kill it,” I state flatly.
Lyanna finally looks at me, her green-gold eyes reflecting the dim light. “Yes, Alpha, you do. Because if you strike blindly, you’ll make it worse.”
Her tone is respectful, but her words contain no deference. It’s not a challenge—it’s a simple statement of fact. And that’s somehow worse.
Nova turns back to the screen, dismissing me without a word. The casual rejection of my authority burns in my chest.
I’ve had enough. This is her room, but it’s my compound. My fucking territory.
“You have until sundown to give me something actionable,” I say, voice hard. “Not theories. Not possibilities. Facts.”
Neither woman responds. They’re already deep in quiet conversation, exchanging terms I don’t recognize. Pointing at patterns I can’t decode.
I turn and stride toward the door, refusing to slam it like a child. The cold metal of the handle bites into my palm.
Behind me, Nova murmurs, “The boundary lines need reinforcement.”
I step outside, drawing in a sharp breath of clean air. The wolf in me wants to return, to assert dominance, to make them both acknowledge who rules here. But rushing back in would only prove I’ve lost control.
I need space. Need to think without the distraction of Nova’s scent and Lyanna’s quiet certainty.
Before I can take another step, Ben’s voice cuts through my mind:
You’re gonna want to get to the gate. Now.
Fuck. Now what?
I reach the gate in under a minute, deliberately slowing my steps for the last fifty yards.
Ben stands stiff-backed at the entrance, flanked by three others. Their postures tell me everything: They’re tense but not ready to attack.
Two strangers wait on the other side of our boundary.
The first one commands my attention immediately.
He’s easily 6‘5“, towering even by Alpha standards, with the kind of presence that makes other predators step back. Steel blue eyes, vivid and ancient, lock onto mine without blinking. They assess with surgical precision, like he’s seen empires rise and fall.
His stance looks casual, but I recognize the controlled stillness of a predator.
Intricate markings trace along his exposed forearms; not tattoos, but something that appears black yet shimmers with an iridescent quality in the morning light.
Ancient territorial markings. I’ve only seen anything similar on Rhonan when his elemental magic flared. Another realm. Another world entirely.
A network of scars maps his hands and forearms from decades of combat. This isn’t someone who’s lived a safe life. This is someone whose presence screams “Alpha.”
No visible weapons, but he holds himself like he doesn’t need them.
The second man hangs back slightly, half-hidden in shadow.
He’s 6‘2“ and stocky, built like a fortress with the dense muscle of someone who’s survived decades of warfare. Iron-gray hair is pulled back in a warrior’s knot, and his beard shows the same silver threading.
Deep amber eyes, almost bronze, track everything with the patience of someone who’s learned that survival depends on seeing threats before they see you.
Battle scars cross his visible skin. The most prominent cuts from his left temple to his jaw, old claw marks that never healed clean.
His right forearm bears distinctive burn patterns that look too deliberate to be accidental.
Dragon fire, maybe. I’ve seen enough of Rhonan’s family’s wildfire to recognize the signature.
He doesn’t speak—doesn’t need to. Everything about him says he’s calculating exits and weaknesses while staying positioned exactly three steps to the bigger man’s left flank.
There’s something off about his scent—not quite wolf, not quite anything I recognize. Both men carry the dust of travel, but neither shows a hint of fatigue.
“Alpha,” Ben nods as I approach. “They asked for you by name.”
I don’t acknowledge him, keeping my focus locked on the strangers. “My territory’s closed to visitors.”
The broad-shouldered man doesn’t react. No shift in posture, no flash of irritation. Just steady, measuring eyes.
“This territory’s been breached,” he says finally. His voice is deep, roughened at the edges. “We’re here to help you close it.”
My hackles rise. We don’t need help. We don’t ask for it. And we sure as hell don’t accept it from strangers who show up unannounced.
“My pack handles its own problems,” I state flatly.
No argument. No attempt to convince me. He just stands there, patient as stone. Behind him, the leaner man shifts slightly, and something about the movement catches my attention. Too fluid. Too controlled.
A cold wind cuts through the trees. The wolves at the gate edge closer, scenting the air, reading the energy between us. The compound has gone silent—everyone’s watching, waiting for my response.
“You have a name?” I ask.
“Rafe.” No last name. No explanation. His companion doesn’t offer anything at all.
Rafe takes a single step forward—not crossing the boundary. “We tracked the breach from the north. It’s not the first we’ve seen.”
I study him carefully. No swagger. No challenge. Just certainty—the kind that comes from knowledge, not arrogance. My wolf recognizes something in him: power held in check. And he’s not from around here. As in, not from this realm at all.
“How’d you find us?” I demand.
“Followed the disturbance.” Again, minimal words. No defensiveness. “Your wards are good. But what’s breaking through is better.”
The second man—still unnamed—shifts his weight again, and this time I catch a better look at his face. Sharp features, eyes that miss nothing. His gaze flicks beyond me, toward the compound, assessing.
Gravel crunches behind me as more pack members approach. I don’t turn. I can smell their unease, their curiosity. Their readiness to move if I give the signal.
“You’re not the first pack we’ve warned,” Rafe adds. “Won’t be the last.”
The wind shifts, carrying a hint of their scents toward me. Beneath the travel dust and forest air, I detect something unexpected. Something old. Not fae, but ... something else. Something that makes my wolf pause.
I step forward until we’re face to face, separated only by the invisible line of my territory. He doesn’t back up. Doesn’t challenge. Just meets my gaze steadily, without aggression or submission.
“Then start talking,” I say, voice low.
Rafe’s eyes move past me, focusing on something in the distance. “Not here.” He looks toward Nova’s shack.
And I realize he’s already guessed who’s inside.
I cut across the compound with Rafe and his silent companion on my heels. Their footsteps are deliberate, almost too even. Like they’re measuring each stride.
“You have two minutes to convince me this is worth my time,” I say without turning back.
Rafe lets the silence hold. The wolves we pass stop their tasks, bodies tensing as they smell the air. Wyatt’s fingers flex at his side. Mateo shifts into Ben’s shadow. Even Marcus, who’s been resistant lately, straightens his spine when they walk by.
“Keep moving,” I order the pack. No one argues.
Rafe walks three paces behind me. Not deferential—tactical. His companion—Ansel, he finally named him—maintains an exact distance. Too exact. They move through my territory like they’ve studied the layout and memorized the sight lines.
My wolf bristles under my skin. These aren’t just strangers. They’re something else.
What a fucked up morning.
Frost crunches under our boots as we round the Lodge toward Nova’s cabin. The morning air is sharp enough to crystallize our breath. I scan the perimeter, making mental notes of who’s where, who’s watching, who reacts.
Then Kari appears from between the supply shed and the armory.
She stops mid-stride. Not a stumble—a full shutdown. Her body goes rigid, shoulders locked.
Her scent changes instantly. The usual notes of pine and amber vanish under something acrid—like burnt metal. Her pulse spikes; I can almost hear it from here.
I move before I can think, stepping into the space between them. Not aggressive, just ... present. A barrier.
“Kari,” I acknowledge, keeping my tone neutral.
She doesn’t respond. Her eyes never leave Rafe’s face, pupils constricted to pinpoints. Her jaw sets hard enough that I hear her teeth grind.
Rafe goes still. Not tense—worse. Like he’s recalibrating. He studies her, gaze trailing over her face, her stance, her clenched fists. Not like he knows her personally. More like he recognizes a species he hasn’t encountered in decades.
“On your way,” I tell her, my voice leaving no room for argument.
Kari blinks once. Twice. Her focus snaps back like a rubber band. Without a word, she turns on her heel and walks away—too fast, her movements too jerky. Not fleeing. Retreating with purpose.
Beside Rafe, Ansel hasn’t moved. Hasn’t even looked at Kari. But something’s changed in his posture—a subtle shift of weight to the balls of his feet. Ready. Alert.
I file away the interaction. Questions for later. Right now, I need to get them contained.
“This way,” I say, gesturing toward Nova’s shack.
The path feels too long. The air between us is thick with unasked questions. Every wolf in sight has stopped what they’re doing, tracking our movement. Watching. Waiting. I can almost hear their thoughts: Who are these men, and why is our Alpha leading them deeper in?
I reach Nova’s door first, rapping my knuckles against the metal. No answer needed—I push it open, standing aside.
Rafe steps through the entrance without hesitation. Ansel stops outside and takes a guard position.
Nova looks up sharply from her laptop, tension radiating from her in waves. Beside her, Lyanna turns slowly, her expression unsurprised.
“I see you’ve found our visitors,” she says, her voice unnervingly calm.
I walk in last, pulling the door closed behind us with a decisive click.