Chapter 2 Alden
ALDEN
The calf's been dead less than four hours.
I can tell by the blood—still tacky, not fully congealed. The flies haven't found it yet. Just crows circling overhead, waiting for us to leave.
Sam stands to my left, arms crossed, jaw tight. Tomas and Kelsey flank the carcass, both in a half-crouch, reading the scene. Kiren stands idly by. All enforcers are wound tight, waiting for my call.
I move closer, boots silent on pine needles.
The throat's torn clean through—one strike, deep enough to sever the windpipe. But the body's intact. No feeding marks. No drag pattern. The kill happened here, and whoever did it walked away.
"Message kill," Tomas says.
"Yeah." I crouch beside the carcass, press two fingers to the exposed muscle. Still warm. "Recent."
Kelsey circles the perimeter, nose in the air, tracking scent trails. She stops ten feet out and looks back at me. "Three different paths leading away. All wolf."
"Converging or diverging?"
"Diverging. Like they split up after."
I stand, wipe my hand on my jeans, and lean in close to the wound. The scent hits me before I'm ready for it—familiar, layered beneath the copper tang of blood.
Pack-born. Not a rogue. Not an outsider. One of ours.
Sam steps closer. "Alden?"
"It's pack." My voice comes out flat. Controlled. "Male. Young, maybe mid-twenties."
Silence drops like a stone.
Tomas swears under his breath. Kieran goes still, his hand drifting toward the knife at his hip.
Sam doesn't move. "You sure?"
"I'm sure."
He exhales through his nose, slow and deliberate. "What are your orders?"
I straighten, scan the tree line. The forest is too quiet—no bird calls, no rustle of smaller prey. Everything's gone to ground.
"Burn it. Now. Before a hiker stumbles across it or the scent carries downwind." I turn to Tomas. "How far are we from the boundary?"
"Two miles, maybe less."
Too close.
"Kelsey, get a patrol on the eastern perimeter. Double rotation until further notice. Anyone crosses that boundary, I want to know about it before their second step."
She nods and shifts, fur rippling over skin in a blur of motion. She's gone before the transformation completes, a gray streak disappearing into the underbrush.
I look at Sam. "You take the western side. Same protocol."
"What about the council? They'll want answers."
"They'll get them when I have them." I glance back at the calf.
Sam scrutinizes me for a moment, then nods. "Copy."
Tomas is already gathering dead wood, piling branches in a loose pyramid around the carcass. He works fast, efficient, pure muscle memory. I help him stack the larger logs, then pull a lighter from my pocket and flick it open.
The flames catch quick, snapping through dry wood. Smoke rises thick and black, carrying the scent of burning hair and flesh. I watch until the fire's too hot to stand close, then step back.
Tomas wipes soot off his hands. "You think it's Gideon's doing?"
"I think someone wants me to think that."
"But you don't."
"Gideon's not stupid enough to kill livestock on our own land." I turn away from the fire. "This is someone else. Someone’s trying to force my hand."
"Or someone testing how far they can push before you break."
I don't answer. Just watch the flames consume the evidence.
Sam shifts his weight. "What happens if it escalates?"
"It already has." I meet his eyes. "Three human kills in six weeks. Now this. Whoever's doing this isn't hiding anymore. They're making a statement."
"Then we find them and end it."
"We will." I start back toward the trail, smoke trailing behind me. "But first we lock down the perimeter. No one in, and no one out. Not until I know who I'm hunting."
Tomas falls in beside me, Sam a few steps behind. The forest stays silent around us, shadows stretching long between the trees.
I don't look back at the fire.
By the time we reach the compound, the calf will be ash.
And someone in my pack will be waiting to see what I do next.
The stone clearing sits at the heart of pack territory—ancient granite slabs arranged in a rough circle, worn smooth by generations of wolves who've stood here before me.
Moss creeps up the north-facing stones. The air smells like rain and wet earth, heavy with the promise of a storm rolling in from the ridge.
The council's already gathered when I arrive.
Gideon Rourke stands at the far end, arms crossed, silver threading through his dark hair.
He's built like a brawler—broad shoulders, scarred knuckles, a jaw that's been broken twice and set crooked both times.
His eyes track me as I enter, cold and calculating.
He's been angling for Alpha since my father died, and every meeting is another test I have to pass.
Beside him, Matriarch Brynn Calder leans against her staff, her white braid draped over one shoulder.
She's old enough to remember when this territory was half its current size, back when the pack barely survived winter.
Her face is lined deep, but her gaze is sharp as broken glass. Nothing gets past Brynn.
Three other elders fill out the circle—Marek Wilco, Lydia Townsend, and Ronan Webb. All of them watching. Waiting.
I take the Alpha’s place at a central stone pillar and meet their eyes one by one.
"The calf's been dealt with," I say. "Burned. No evidence left."
"And the scent signature?" Brynn's voice is graveled, roughened by decades of winter air.
"Pack-born. Male. Young."
Silence drops like a guillotine.
Gideon's the first to break it. "Then we hunt him down and end this. Tonight."
"We don't know who it is yet."
"Does it matter?" Gideon steps forward, boots grinding against stone. "Three humans are dead. Livestock mutilated on our own land. Every day we wait, we risk exposure."
"Rushing in blind gets more wolves killed," I say. "We track. We confirm. Then we move."
"Track." Gideon spits the word like it's poison. "You've been tracking for six weeks, Alden. Meanwhile, the humans are closing in. State wildlife brought in a biologist. She's already been to the boundary."
Brynn shifts her weight, staff tapping once against stone. "Is this true?"
"The sheriff mentioned it," I admit. "She's documenting predator behavior. Standard protocol for wildlife attacks."
"Standard protocol puts her twenty feet from our territory." Gideon's voice rises, sharp enough to cut. "And you're doing nothing to stop it."
"I'm managing the situation."
"You're failing border control." He turns to the other elders, playing to the crowd.
"Hunters slip through our patrols. Humans camp on our doorstep.
And now one of our own is killing livestock like it's open season.
" He swings back to me. "This is what happens when an Alpha prioritizes diplomacy over strength. "
Marek clears his throat. "Gideon's not wrong about the borders. We've had three breaches in the last month alone."
"Small breaches," I say. "Hikers, lost campers. No one's pushed deep enough to see anything they shouldn't."
"Yet." Lydia Townsend steps forward, her red hair pulled back tight. She's younger than the others, barely forty, but her voice carries weight. "What happens when this biologist decides to cross the boundary? When she finds tracks we can't explain?"
"Then we redirect her."
"Redirect." Gideon laughs, bitter and sharp. "You mean let her walk away with evidence? With photos and GPS coordinates and enough data to bring federal wildlife down on our heads?"
"I mean we don't slaughter a state employee and trigger a manhunt that ends with this pack in crosshairs." I hold his gaze. "We're not starting a war over one human."
"We're already in a war!" Gideon slams his palm against the stone. "Someone in this pack is ripping through livestock and humans like there's no consequence. And instead of hunting him down, you're worried about protecting some outsider scientist who doesn't belong here."
"I'm worried about protecting this pack."
"Then act like it." Gideon steps closer, close enough I can smell the adrenaline coming off him in waves. "Execute the rogue. Lock down the borders. Remove the human threat before she brings more. Or step aside and let someone with the stomach for leadership take over."
The clearing goes dead quiet.
Brynn taps her staff twice. "Gideon. That's enough."
"Is it?" He doesn't look away from me. "How many more bodies before it's enough, Matriarch? How many more mistakes before we admit this Alpha isn't fit to lead?"
Ronan shifts his weight. "The rogue's a pack member. We can't execute him without a trial. It's our law."
"Law doesn't matter when the pack's at risk," Gideon snaps.
"Law is what separates us from rogues," I say, voice low and steady. "We follow it, or we're no better than the killer we're hunting."
Gideon opens his mouth to argue—
And then the wind shifts.
It's subtle. Just a thread of air curling through the trees, carrying scent from the valley below. But it hits me like a freight train, and everything else—council, Gideon, the argument—fades to background noise.
Female. Human. Unfamiliar.
But underneath that, something else. Something that sinks claws into my chest and pulls.
My wolf surges forward so hard I have to lock my knees to stay upright. My instincts scream at me to shift, to run, to find the source of that scent and claim it before someone else does.
Mate.
No.
Not possible.
I force my breathing steady, but my hands are shaking. I curl them into fists and shove them into my pockets.
Brynn's watching me, her eyes narrowed. "Alden?"
"Meeting's over." My voice comes out rougher than I intended. "We'll reconvene tomorrow."
"Over?" Gideon stares at me. "We haven't decided anything."
"I've decided." I turn away, already moving toward the tree line. "Double the patrols. No one crosses the boundary without my authorization. Dismissed."
"Alden—"
I don't stop. Just shift mid-stride, fur rippling over skin, and sprint downhill before anyone can follow.
The scent pulls me like a leash.
I run hard, cutting through underbrush and dodging low branches, nose locked on the trail. It's stronger now, clearer. Fresh enough that she passed through within the last hour.
The terrain drops steep, and I slow near the ridge overlooking the valley. A rental cabin sits near the main road. The cabin stops me.
No lights. No smoke. Just a single truck parked out front, state wildlife decal on the door.
Her scent is everywhere, but she’s not inside.
My human form takes over again, and crouches low, breathing hard. My chest feels too tight, my pulse hammering against my ribs. Every nerve in my body is screaming at me to go down there, to see her, to know.
But I don't move.
Because if I'm right—if she's really my mate—then everything just got a hell of a lot more complicated.
Behind me, footsteps crunch through the brush. Sam appears at my shoulder, breathing hard, still in wolf form. He shifts, settling beside me.
"What the hell was that?" he asks quietly.
I don't answer. Just stare down at the cabin and try to get my pulse under control.
Sam follows my gaze, then goes still. "Alden. Tell me that's not—"
"It is."
He swears, low and vicious.
I stand, brush dirt off my jeans, and turn back toward the compound. "No one hears about this. Not yet."
"You can't just ignore it."
"Watch me." I start uphill, forcing my legs to move. "We've got a rogue to find and a council ready to tear itself apart. The last thing I need is a fated mate complicating everything."
"Fate doesn't care what you need."
I know.
That's the problem.
Shifting again, I head in the direction of her scent, where it’s stronger. She’s close by, on the Blackmoore property. I come to the pine tree, my wolf-eyes catching sight of her. The beast salivates, and I rein him in by shifting back to human.
I know I shouldn’t, but move from the trees to where this human woman, with the most delectable, indescribable scent, is crouched on the ground with a measuring tape.