Chapter 6 - Heinrich
I'm biting my lip, curling my hands into fists at my sides with the excruciatingly painful need to punch a wall.
“Fuck…” I grunt under my breath as I head to the front door. I’ve just been called away to another demon sighting on the south side of the valley.
The call might have come at the worst moment, but it's not like it was interrupting anything my conscience didn't already interrupt. There was no way I was going to take advantage of Annika, even if she'd been throwing herself at me.
I know why she did it—it was a test, to see how far I'd go. I'm not an idiot, and I've worked long enough with her to know that she doesn't make any mistakes. She wanted to see how far I'd go, and I wasn't going to give her the pleasure of proving herself right, thinking that I'm a bastard.
Just because I kidnapped her and forced her into marrying me, it doesn't mean that I'm ready to be an unscrupulous bastard with no morals. Not when it comes to her dignity and honor.
I can only hope that she sees it that way and begins to trust me. That's what I need to earn if I'm ever going to tell her the truth—her trust. It must be earned, especially after I've set myself back countless steps in that department.
How else am I going to tell her that I am a werewolf, and that she's a powerful, fire-wielding witch from a bloodline of equally powerful shapeshifters?
If it wasn't for the call from my delta, Dedrick, I might have done more than just cover her bare shoulder with my jacket.
Even if the sight of that had my inner wolf drooling with sinful thoughts, I would have done everything I could to fight it.
Because I know there's a bigger picture, much more at stake here than instant gratification, no matter how tempting it was when it was handed to me on a platter as golden as her marvelous skin.
I wouldn’t have taken advantage of her. I would have proven to her that she can trust me. I would have shown her that I can be a man of honor.
It’s not something she can believe in right away, I know. And as I step out of the house and off the porch, I look up at the full moon and sigh.
Of course, I haven’t given Annika much reason to believe that I’m not the raging lunatic she thinks I am.
While in the human world, I wear the toughest armor, which hides who I truly am underneath it all.
It’s something I had to do to remain detached from the human world while I lived a double life out there.
It’s how I could keep both my passions separated, but now, those passions bleed into one, which my inner wolf feels more strongly than any other.
To be united with my mate, the incessant pull of the mate bond dictates the way my mind operates, the way my body reacts. All I can think about is her, but I must redirect my focus when my Delta.
I just hope she gives me a chance—a chance to show her who I really am underneath all the armor. A chance to meet the real me, instead of being so jaded and resentful of me.
I pray silently beneath my breath, calling upon the Moon Goddess to help me through this trying time, and to keep my mate, my wife, safe while I’m gone to the south side of the valley. Just then, Dedrick sends me another mind link to inform me that the team has already arrived.
I turn the corner of the cabin, slipping into the shadows so Annika doesn’t see me shifting into the form of the beast that would no doubt frighten her.
I bolt through the valley in wolf form, the wind sharp against my face as I break through the tree line, paws striking stone and frostbitten earth in hard, measured strides.
The valley opens before me, wide and tense, heavy with that familiar uneasiness that settles in the air before something bad happens.
They’re already there.
Damian stands at the front of the gathering, shoulders squared, posture rigid in that quiet, immovable way he carries authority.
His presence alone shifts the atmosphere—the Red Moon alpha doesn’t command with volume, but with gravity.
Beside him, his second-in-command, James, is already scanning the ridgelines, eyes sharp, calculating angles and movement.
Dedrick steps toward me in human form immediately, his jaw tight, his scent edged with tension.
Conan stands a few paces back, arms folded, expression unreadable.
They’re not in wolf form, but their human eyes are sharp with ferocity only brought on by the heaviness of the demons.
Behind them, a small group of soldiers waits in formation, standing silent, disciplined, alert in their wolf forms.
I shift when my delta is close.
“I thought the demons were approaching,” I speculate with a frown.
“Not from here,” Dedrick says lowly as I reach him. “But the scouts picked up residual sulfur traces along the southern ridge. Everyone is prepared for a fight. Even Luna Sophie is on standby.”
Demon residue…the sulfur is strong in the air, but there’s no sight of the demons on this side of the valley.
My jaw tightens, and Damian’s eyes flick to me. “You good?”
I nod once in response. “Where were they spotted?”
James gestures toward the slope. “South ravine. Near the old stone markers.”
Of course, it would be there—the most ancient ground, old magic lines, weak borders between realms, places where the veil between worlds thins.
The research team only suspects that the portal might be hidden somewhere out there, but we’ve swept the area already and found nothing.
Still, the demons seem to linger there for some reason, and the research team has only discovered the deeply buried fire magic in the ground, from the ashes of the Ashclaw Pack, who’d been wiped out of existence bythe demons decades ago.
A screech rips through the air, and we all become alert, moving in sync toward the ravine. No unnecessary words are spoken before we collectively shift back to wolf form, no theatrics are performed. We’re just compelled by instinct and the natural hierarchy that exists amongst us.
The forest thickens as we descend, tall pines, dark undergrowth, the kind of terrain that swallows sound and sight alike, blurring our senses into one focal point—the enemy. The air changes the deeper we go, becoming heavier, metallic. Charged. It feels like walking into a held breath.
My wolf instincts stir under my fur, restless, alert, predatory. This isn’t our first rodeo, but something feels different because it’s been weeks since their last attack, since we faced them in this part of the valley.
We fan out instinctively. James signals with a nod of his furry head, Damian slows, Dedrick shifts position to my left, and Conan falls into step at my right.
The soldiers spread behind us, but as we slow down, waiting, nothing comes, and an eerie silence falls over the valley—too quiet, unnerving.
There’s no attack, no movement, no ambush. Just silence. Too much silence.
The sulfur scent lingers, faint but unmistakable, fresh because they’d just been there, their traces left without presence.
“They were here,” Conan mutters when he shifts back to human form, stating the obvious.
Damian crouches in human form, pressing his palm to the ground. His jaw tightens. “Not anymore.” He turns to us, and I take back my human form, feeling a cold shiver travel down my spine.
It’s wrong. All of it is wrong. Demons don’t scout the area and retreat. They don’t test borders. They don’t probe. They invade, as they have been doing for the past three years. Which means this wasn’t a hunt. It was reconnaissance, and that’s worse.
“They came here for something, and they left,” I say, stroking my chin thoughtfully.
“Perhaps they found what they came for…” Damian laments, a wave of dread washing over all of us.
Especially me.
And when Damian meets my eyes, I know we share the same thought.
His mate, Sophie, was being tracked in the city by the demons, and he’d saved her when he found her. The demons seemed to know where to find her even before her magic was unleashed, as if they had a way to trace the descendants of the Ashclaw Pack.
“We need to consult with the council,” I say with a firm nod. “We’ll do it in Silver Stone.”
There’s a silent concession amongst the alphas, even Conan, who usually puts up some resistance.
There’s a certain void in his eyes as he stares ahead blankly, barely there, even if he’s standing here in physical form.
I can only hope that he’s finally decided to stop being resistant to the ritual to find his fated mate.
But with the residue of the demons hanging like a dark cloud over the valley, now doesn’t seem like the right time for the ritual when the demons could strike at any given moment.
What’s most important is keeping ourselves safe—especially Annika, since she still doesn’t know the truth about me, or about her. If the demons came, perhaps they gathered intel on her.
And I need to protect her at all costs, especially until her dormant magic emerges and she’s able to use her own powers to protect herself. But even after that.
***
The council chamber is heavy with presence and history; stone walls, built many decades ago, carved runes, old pack sigils embedded in the architecture like scars that never healed.
Everyone is there.
My father, Elder Mortimer, stands at the head of the chamber, his posture as rigid and unyielding as the mountains themselves. My father doesn’t sit unless he has to, especially when we’re in Silver Stone territory, authority carved into his spine.
Beside him, Elder Joel—Damian’s uncle—leans on his staff, eyes sharp, calculating, ancient intelligence behind them despite being the youngest of the elders on the council.
Elder Bernard, Conan’s grandfather, sits heavily in his chair, age etched into his face, but power still coiled beneath the surface.
And near the center, surrounded by scrolls, data tablets, maps, and sigil diagrams, stands Amos—the head of our research team—with the other researchers.