Chapter Seven
Trinity
The ghosts come at dusk.
They don’t ease in the way they usually do, drifting at the edges of my awareness like reluctant memories. They rush me all at once, a tide of voices and half-formed shapes that slam into my senses so hard I have to grab the porch railing to stay upright.
Pain flashes behind my eyes.
“They’re moving,” someone shouts.
“Too soon,” another cries.
“You have to listen...”
“Stop,” I hiss under my breath, heart hammering. “Stop. One at a time.”
It takes a moment, but they obey. They always do, eventually.
The dead don’t respect much, but they respect being heard.
I draw in a shaky breath and focus, narrowing the noise into something I can handle.
Around me, the Katu compound hums with early morning life, wolves returning from patrol, the scent of food thickening the air, the crackle of the central fire being coaxed to life.
Normal and safe. A lie I desperately want to believe.
The first ghost to step forward is a woman with dark hair and a shattered ribcage, her form flickering like a bad reflection. I recognize her immediately. She’s been with me on and off since my banishment, appearing whenever the Hunters get too close to me or the surrounding wolf territory.
She died screaming.
“They’re setting a trap,” she says without preamble. “Not a hunt. A slaughter.”
My fingers tighten on the railing. “Where?”
“South, near the old quarry,” several voices answer at once.
I swallow. “How far away is that?”
“Far enough to draw them out. Close enough to strike fast.”
Images press into my mind unbidden—an abandoned quarry, the earth torn open and reshaped by human machines long gone. I see cages in rows. Silver dust worked into pressure plates. Scent bait laced with blood and desperation.
My stomach turns.
“They know about the rescues,” I whisper.
The woman nods. “They know the pattern. They know the wolves won’t leave captives behind.”
I sag back against the porch post, nausea rising. The Katu wolves have been careful, scouting, rotating routes, and never charging in blind. But the hunters are adapting. Learning. Evolving.
“How many Hunters are there?” I ask.
“Enough. Too many,” a young male answers grimly. His throat is a ruin, the wound still raw in death. “More than before. They’re not planning to take any prisoners this time.”
My wolf snarls, rage and fear tangling tight in my chest.
“Who are they targeting?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“All of them,” he replies.
The ghosts shift, their forms rippling with agitation. They crowd closer, urgency bleeding into the air.
“They will die if you stay silent,” the woman says gently. “You know we’re right. You’ve seen this before.”
I have. Too many times.
I close my eyes, memories crashing in whether I want them to or not, packs rushing into traps because they trusted the land they knew, wolves torn apart by silver and bullets, their spirits clinging to me afterward because no one else would listen.
My own pack. “Your fault,” a cruel voice whispers and I shove it away.
When I open my eyes, the compound looks the same. Warm sunlight. Wolves laughing. I didn’t even realize I had started pacing but now Grayson’s cabin is a short distance away, the bond humming steadily, unaware of the storm gathering just beyond the trees.
I can still choose silence.
That’s the worst part. Nothing is forcing my hand. I could tell myself it’s not my responsibility. That the pack has scouts and trackers and leaders who know what they’re doing. I could tell myself that revealing the truth will change everything, and not for the better.
My old alpha’s voice echoes in my head, cold and absolute. Truth is a weapon.
I step away from the center of the compound and Grayson’s cabin and make my way toward the tree line instead, the ghosts falling into step around me like a grim honor guard. The closer I get to the boundary, the heavier the air feels, as if the land itself is holding its breath.
I stop just short of crossing. “If I tell them,” I say quietly, “they’ll look at me differently.”
“They already do,” the woman replies. “They just don’t know why yet.”
“I don’t want to lose this,” I whisper. The words hurt more than I expect. “I don’t want to lose him.” My heart breaks at the mere thought of losing Grayson.
The ghosts don’t answer right away. Finally, the young male steps forward. “You won’t,” he says, “but you might lose yourself if you don’t speak. You won’t be able to handle the guilt when someone gets killed.”
The truth lands heavy and undeniable. I turn back toward the compound just as voices rise near the fire—Caine’s deep and steady, Calum’s with a sharper edge threading through it. Planning voices. Measured and serious.
My heart stutters. They’re already talking about it.
The raid to save captured shifters from the Hunters.
I walk toward the center of the compound and the dining hall on unsteady legs, the ghosts retreating to the tree line but not leaving.
They never leave. They hover, they watch, and they wait to see what I’ll do with the information they have given me.
Grayson sits beside them at the table and spots me immediately. The bond flares with concern as he stands and moves toward me, stopping a foot away from me, enough to offer the space I often need but close enough to touch if I need it.
“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out, fear clogging up my throat.
Behind him, the pack has gathered. Caine is waiting at the center with Peyton beside him. Talon leans forward with her elbows on her knees and Max stands just behind them with his gaze fixed on the tree line beyond the compound.
“Scouts picked up signs of movement to the south,” Calum is saying. “Nothing confirmed yet, but it matches the pattern.”
“Hunters,” Talon says flatly.
A murmur ripples through the group.
Caine nods once. “We don’t move without eyes on the ground. If it’s a trap, I won’t risk it. We haven’t lost anyone on a raid yet and I am not about to start.”
My chest tightens painfully. “They will lose people. You already know they will,” the ghosts whisper in unison.
Grayson’s hand brushes mine, grounding and warm. He doesn’t squeeze. Doesn’t demand my attention. Just lets me know he’s there.
The woman’s voice rises in my head, firm now. “This is the moment.”
I take a breath. Then another. “I know where it is,” I say.
The words cut cleanly through the conversation. Every head turns toward me. The silence is immediate and absolute. Grayson’s fingers curl around mine before he can stop himself.
Caine studies me, his gaze sharp but not hostile. “You do?”
“Yes.” My voice wants to shake, but I force it to stay steady. “An old quarry to the south. It’s a trap, they’re waiting for you.”
“How do you know?” Calum asks.
My pulse roars in my ears. This is it. The line I can’t uncross. I look at Grayson. The bond hums, steady, patient, and unafraid.
“I ... know,” I repeat weakly.
Max’s eyes narrow, his head tilting slightly like he’s listening for something he can’t quite hear. “She’s sure.”
Grayson turns to face me fully now, concern etched deep into his features. “Trinity,” he says gently. “Whatever you need to say...”
“I can’t,” I blurt out.
The ghosts stir uneasily at the tree line, and I can’t help but turn my gaze in that direction.
Caine raises a hand, silencing the gathered members before impatience can take root. “We don’t force truths here,” he says calmly. “But if you’re bringing information that could save lives, we need to trust it.”
I nod, throat tight. “It will.”
“How many are there?” Talon asks.
“Enough to kill anyone who goes in blind,” I answer. “They’ve set silver traps and baited them with scent. There are so many cages but they’re all empty. They’re counting on wolves rushing in.”
Peyton’s gaze never leaves my face. There’s no judgment there. Only concern. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m scared,” I admit. “Not of them. Of what this means.”
Grayson steps closer then, his presence a solid wall at my side. “You’re not alone,” he says quietly.
I want to believe him. I want to fall into that promise and let it carry me. I want to let him wrap me in his strong arms and make promises he has no way of keeping but I can’t. I need to do this to save the lives of the people who have chosen to give me a chance.
The ghosts are still watching. Waiting. And I know this isn’t the full truth. Not yet.
Caine nods slowly. “We’ll adjust the plan. Scout first. No one moves without confirmation.”
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees nearly give out. The ghosts sigh as one, knowing no one is going to die.
“For now,” the woman murmurs.
As the pack breaks into smaller groups to plan and assign scouts, Grayson keeps his hand in mine. He doesn’t ask questions and he doesn’t push. But the bond hums with quiet awareness. He knows there’s more. I know there’s more.
And the dead aren’t done with me yet. This was only the first warning.