Chapter 20
Callum
Istare at Nyxiana as she places a diagram of fae court surveillance patterns on the central table in our Lodge. The afternoon light catches in her silver-white hair as she looks up at our gathered pack with unnerving intensity.
“Let me be clear,” she says, her voice carrying that mix of divine authority and practical urgency.
“Faelan may be dark fae operating outside the courts, but he has allies within them. If he orchestrated both the contamination and Caelynn’s murder, his court contacts are almost certainly watching Lyanna.
Monitoring whether his trap is working.”
My spine stiffens. The theoretical threat we’ve been dancing around just became concrete reality.
“How?” Ben asks, leaning forward, his attention sharpening. “What are we dealing with specifically?”
Nyxiana’s violet eyes scan the room, making sure everyone is paying attention. “Fae surveillance isn’t crude observation. It’s systematic pattern analysis across multiple dimensions.”
She gestures to different sections of her diagram, fingers emitting that faint violet glow when they touch certain symbols.
“First, magical scrying—they monitor emotional signatures, magical output, and bond formations. They can detect when a fae forms attachments to other species through changes in their magical resonance.”
A chill races through my blood. Every moment with Lyanna, every touch, every private conversation—the courts could have been watching. My hands clench against the table edge.
“Second, informant networks,” Nyxiana continues, her tone clinical.
“The courts maintain observers throughout connected communities. Anyone who’s visited Silverwood in the past month could be reporting back.
The festival would have been the perfect opportunity—strangers blending in with crowds, no one questioning unfamiliar faces. ”
Kari leans forward. “What about ward-based countermeasures? Could we establish perimeter protections?”
“Standard wards won’t work,” Nyxiana replies, shaking her head. “Fae court surveillance specialists can detect ward signatures. They’d know immediately we’re hiding something.”
Dane’s Alpha attention sharpens. “So, they’re likely already aware of Lyanna’s relationship with Callum?”
Nyxiana’s pause is answer enough. “Possibly. If they’ve been monitoring emotional signatures since the festival ...” She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t need to.
The question hits like a punch to the gut. I glance toward Lyanna, sitting beside Harper, her face composed but her knuckles white where she grips her cup of tea.
“Communication intercepts are their third method,” Nyxiana continues, moving to another diagram.
“Any magical communication, including standard pack bonds, can be monitored with the right equipment. They specialize in emotional signature tracking—they can literally sense when a fae’s loyalty is shifting.”
The courts likely already know too much. Every tender moment between us, every lingering glance, every conversation about our future—it’s all potentially compromised.
“Now,” Nyxiana says, straightening up, “let’s discuss protection measures.”
I slip past the Lodge entrance with measured steps and controlled breathing that doesn’t fool anyone. My jaw clenches so hard my teeth might crack. Once I’m out of sight, the control shatters like glass.
The training dummy never stands a chance. My fists tear through its canvas and wooden frame with brutal precision, each strike echoing my helplessness. One blow. Two. Three. The dummy’s head snaps back, its chest caves. Stuffing flies as I demolish it completely.
Not enough. Not nearly fucking enough.
I turn to the massive ponderosa at the edge of the clearing.
Ancient bark meets my fists with unyielding resistance.
The impact jolts up my arms, but I welcome the pain.
I strike again. And again. Each hit leaves smears of blood as my knuckles split open.
My wolf howls inside, demanding I shift, demanding claws and fangs, but I force him down.
This rage needs to flow through human hands.
The tree shudders with each impact but stands firm. I hit harder, splitting skin to bone.
Ben appears silently at the treeline, watching. He doesn’t approach, doesn’t speak—just stands witness to my fury, hands visible and non-threatening. I keep punishing the tree. More blood. More pain. Not enough to drown out the helplessness.
When I finally stop, my chest heaves with exertion.
My hands are destroyed. Knuckles split wide, blood dripping steadily onto the trampled earth, fingers almost certainly fractured.
Around me lies the wreckage I’ve created—three training posts in splinters, the old ponderosa wounded but unbowed, its bark now stained crimson.
Ben approaches slowly. He doesn’t ask if I’m okay. We both know I’m not.
He waits until my breathing steadies before speaking. “If it helps, I’d have done the same. Some threats don’t have throats to tear out.”
“Surveillance.” I spit the word like poison. “Magical signatures. Court informants. They’re watching her—watching us—and I can’t do a goddamn thing about it. I’m supposed to protect her, but how do I fight something I can’t see?”
“Not with your fists,” Ben says quietly, glancing at my shredded hands.
“There’s nothing to fight,” I growl. “No enemy to track. Just politics and magic and—“ I slam my fist into the tree one more time, welcoming the sharp pain.
“She needs you sharp right now, not feral,” Ben says. “The gamma who coordinates security systems courts can’t penetrate. The strategist who builds protection protocols. Not just the wolf who wants to bleed for her.”
“What happens when we get our hands on Faelan?” I ask, voice low and dangerous.
Ben’s eyes harden. “Then you can go feral. I’ll help hide the body.” His voice drops. “But right now, we prove what he did and break the tribunal corruption. Smarter than our enemies. Then we destroy him.”
The rage still burns, but Ben’s words give it direction.
Ben surveys the wreckage—training dummy in pieces, three posts in splinters, blood on the ancient pine. “You know, most wolves just go for a run when they’re pissed off.” He nudges a chunk of destroyed post with his boot. “But sure. Murder the equipment. That works too.”
Despite everything, my mouth almost twitches toward a smile.
Later that evening, our Lodge’s main room transforms into a covert operations center. The core team gathers—Dane, Nova, Ben, Nyxiana, Derek, Kari, and Harper. Lyanna sits near me, close but not touching, her notepad filled with the day’s legal findings.
The smell of hot coffee and tension fills the air as Nyxiana locks the door behind Derek, who enters carrying several devices.
“The standard wards are operational,” Nyxiana announces, her silver hair catching the lamplight. “But they’ll only mask our general presence, not specific communications.”
I nod, still tasting rage at the back of my throat. The threat is invisible but no less real.
Dane’s eyes flick to my hands—the torn knuckles barely scabbed over; fingers still swollen. He doesn’t comment, but I see recognition in his gaze.
“So we create a secondary network,” Derek says. “One that redirects through civilian channels where they won’t be watching.”
The door opens and Toby Reed enters, carrying a metal case.
The pack’s tech specialist moves with the quiet confidence of someone who’s survived years as a rogue by being smarter than his enemies.
He sets the case on the table and flips it open, revealing a series of small silver discs etched with circuitry that seems to shimmer between technological and magical.
“These are what we need,” Toby says, lifting one of the discs. “Modified scramblers—my own design. They don’t block magical communications; that would be too obvious and they’d know we’re hiding something. Instead, they subtly alter the emotional signature.”
Dane leans forward. “Walk us through it.”
“Standard fae surveillance tracks emotional resonance,” Toby explains, his fingers tracing the hybrid circuitry.
“When you’re worried, angry, in love—it creates a specific magical frequency they can read.
These discs intercept that signal and flatten it.
Makes everything read as mundane. Boring. Not worth watching.”
“Making our communications read as mundane,” Kari adds, studying the disc formation with tactical precision.
Nyxiana places her hand over one of the discs, her fingers emitting that faint violet glow. “Court surveillance specialists track pattern shifts in emotional resonance. When you discuss Lyanna or the marriage situation, these will mask the intensity.”
The implications sink in. Every moment of connection with Lyanna, every conversation about our future, could be weaponized against us. We need to hide not just our words but our fucking feelings.
“Code phrases,” I say, focusing on solutions instead of the rage still simmering beneath my ribs. “Words that sound ordinary but signal specific situations.”
Derek nods, already taking notes.
Nyxiana pulls out a map of pack territory with civilian locations marked. “I’ve established magical relay points across the territory. Messages can be passed without direct contact between parties.”
“The pack should never discuss the tribunal evidence or Caelynn’s murder in any location that might be watched,” Nyxiana warns, her violet eyes intense. “Information compartmentalization is essential.”
Dane’s Alpha authority settles over the room. “Every pack member needs briefing on this. Tonight.”
“I’ve prepared security protocols,” Harper says, her efficiency impressive.
“Three tiers based on information sensitivity. Pack members only discuss Level One information in communal spaces. Level Two restricted to secure locations. Level Three ...” she meets my eyes, “Level Three only with designated team members using full encryption.”
“Level Three is Caelynn’s murder evidence and the tribunal strategy,” I clarify.
Ben marks locations on the map. “Information flow mapped to prevent accidental leaks through casual conversation.”
Nyxiana demonstrates a magical technique, her hands creating intricate patterns that shimmer briefly in the air. “This encryption weave masks magical communications. Learn it, use it for anything concerning Lyanna or the tribunal.”
We spend the next hour memorizing code phrases, secure locations, and encrypted channels.
“Networks are active,” Harper finally confirms, looking up from her tablet. “Toby’s encryption is holding across all channels. Every pack member has been briefed through the pack bond and assigned their information clearance level.”
The unfairness burns, but Lyanna matters more than principle right now. We’re building walls against an enemy that watches from shadows, that turns love into a political crime.
But we’re ready for them.
I lead Lyanna down the secluded pathway to my cabin, checking our surroundings twice before unlocking the door. The ward stones Kari and Nyxiana installed—with Toby’s monitoring sensors woven through the magical framework—glimmer with soft violet light as we cross the threshold.
“Full spectrum protection,” I explain, gesturing to the stones placed at precise intervals around the room.
“Nyxiana’s divine elements, Kari’s tactical positioning, and Toby integrated detection tech that alerts me if anything tries to breach.
Magical dampening, sound barriers, emotional signature scramblers. Nothing gets in or out.”
Lyanna walks the perimeter slowly, her healer’s fingers tracing the air above each ward stone. The violet light pulses gently in response to her magic, like they recognize her.
“These are ... remarkably thorough,” she says, her voice losing that careful, measured quality I’ve grown used to hearing whenever we’re in public. “Nyxiana’s divine elements paired with Kari’s tactical positioning.”
Her shoulders visibly drop as she completes her inspection. The rigid posture she’s maintained for days softens, like she’s finally set down a heavy weight.
“They’re solid,” she confirms, turning back to me with the first genuine smile I’ve seen since the ultimatum arrived. “We’re actually alone.”
I nod, relief washing through me. “Harper coordinated a diversion at the Lodge. Anyone watching will see normal pack operations for the next three hours.”
Lyanna steps closer, her eyes suddenly narrowing as she notices my hands. She reaches out, gently turning my palms upward to reveal the torn knuckles and purple bruising. Her fingers trace the dried blood and swollen joints.
“Callum ... what happened?”
I pull back instinctively, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Training. It’s nothing.”
Her eyes—those perceptive forest-green eyes that see through every defense I’ve ever constructed—hold mine. “This isn’t training damage. This is rage.” Her voice softens. “You did this after the surveillance briefing, didn’t you?”
I look away, jaw tightening. “I needed the outlet.”
Lyanna’s hand touches my arm gently. Within these walls, for the first time since her sister’s death notice arrived, we don’t have to pretend. Don’t have to maintain the careful distance, the neutral expressions, the casual indifference when we pass in hallways.
Here, we’re just us. Not a fae noble under surveillance and a pack gamma with a duty to protect. Just Lyanna and Callum.
She whispers, her fingers sliding down to carefully take my battered hand. “We’ll find the proof we need for the tribunal.”
I turn my hand in hers, threading our fingers together despite the damaged knuckles. “We will. But there’s something else you need to know.”
Her eyes search mine, already bracing for more pressure.
“Rhonan heard back from his brothers,” I say, needing her to know everything we’re coordinating. “Jarvald confirmed the delegation is en route. Evren leads it—he’s Prince Korren’s direct representative. They could arrive any day now.”
Her breath catches slightly. “Actual representatives. Not just messages and ultimatums—people expecting my compliance.”
“Rhonan says Evren’s reputation is … complex. Loyal to dragon law above politics.” I meet her eyes. “That might work in our favor if we approach this right.”
“Which is why these wards matter.” I gesture to the glowing protection around us. “Whatever happens tomorrow, tonight we have this. Privacy. Truth.” I pull her close, and she melts against me, her head finding the curve of my shoulder. “We’ll face them together.”