CHAPTER 4 - THE LAW OF THE PACK
A bloodcurdling howl echoes through the forest, shaking the glass windows of Chloe’s room and sending a primal chill down her spine.
The sound does not taper off like a normal animal's cry; it vibrates in a shifting chord of multiple voices, heavy with a dark, ritualistic authority that makes my teeth rattle.
I drop the book I had been mindlessly staring at onto the charcoal sheets.
Outside, the pitch-black canopy of the Silver Ridge woods seems to lean closer to the compound, the wind carrying a heavy scent of wet pine, ancient dust, and a suffocating surge of dominant energy.
The lock on my door doesn’t just click this time; it drops with a heavy, metallic groan that sounds like an executioner’s axe striking wood.
Marcus stands in the doorway. He isn’t wearing his casual gear anymore. He is dressed in a structured, charcoal-colored tactical coat with the silver crescent crest of the pack pinned firmly to his lapel. His amber eyes are dead serious, completely devoid of the faint pity he showed me last night.
Get up, Chloe, Marcus says, his voice flat, formal, and tight. The elders have arrived. The council is sitting in the lower chamber to inspect the human variable.
I roll off the bed, smoothing down my oversized graphic tee. I’m exhausted, my skin feels gritty, and my glasses keep slipping down my nose, but I refuse to let him see me tremble. Inspect me? What am I, a defective piece of Amazon merchandise? Do I need to bring a receipt?
Marcus doesn’t smile. He doesn't even blink.
This isn't a joke. Your life depends entirely on how you behave in the next ten minutes.
If you open your mouth and deliver one of your little collegiate punchlines to Elder Vance, he will authorize your execution before you can finish the sentence. Walk.
He doesn't touch me, but the sheer wall of his physical presence forces me out into the cold stone hallway.
The air inside the compound has changed.
It feels dense, heavily charged with an ancient, oppressive power that makes it physically difficult to draw a full breath.
We descend a winding spiral staircase made of rough-hewn rock, going deeper into the subterranean foundations of the pack house until we reach a massive arched doorway guarded by two massive men who look like they chew iron for breakfast.
The doors swing open, and the scent hits me first. Woodsmoke, old parchment, and a bitter, chemical tang that smells like burning silver.
The chamber is a wide amphitheater built from dark river stone.
At the center stands a heavy wooden table, and seated behind it are three older individuals whose eyes carry the same unsettling, gold-flecked hue I saw in Ethan.
At the far side of the room, leaning carelessly against a stone pillar with a half-empty glass of amber liquid in his hand, is Ethan.
He looks terrible. His black hair is a chaotic mess, his dark t-shirt is wrinkled, and the shadows under his stormy gray eyes are bruised and deep.
But the moment I step into the room, his head snaps up.
The air between us instantly snaps tight, that invisible, treacherous wire connecting my chest to his pulling until my ribs ache.
The scent of cedarwood and winter forest explodes across my senses, fighting the stale dust of the room.
He doesn't move to help me. He just watches me with a dark, tormented gaze, his jaw clenching so hard the muscle rhythmically twitches.
The man in the center of the panel, Elder Vance—a severe-looking man with silver hair and a face carved from granite—slams a heavy palm onto the table. Marcus. You brought the civilian.
She is here, Elder, Marcus says, stepping to the side and forcing me to stand alone in the center of the stone floor.
Vance’s golden eyes bore into me, scanning my face with total detachment. A completely unremarkable creature. No magic, no silver blood, no allegiance to the Nightshade. Just a stray animal picked up from a human settlement by a reckless boy who cannot keep his hands off the bottle.
I cross my arms, my fingers digging into the cotton of my sleeves. Unremarkable? Wow. And here I thought the hospitality in the mountains was supposed to be world-class. My name is Chloe. And your 'reckless boy' is the one who broke federal kidnapping laws to bring me here.
A collective gasp ripples through the shadows of the room where other pack members are watching from the upper tiers. Marcus shifts his weight, his hand twitching near his side, while Ethan’s glass stops halfway to his mouth.
Silence, human, Vance growls, a wave of pure, crushing dominant energy rolling off him. It feels like an invisible hand slamming into my chest, forcing the air out of my lungs, making my knees wobble. I refuse to fall. I dig my heels into the stone, staring right back at him.
Vance looks past me, his gaze landing on Ethan with absolute disgust. This is the future of our bloodline?
A boy who allows a human to speak with such insolence in our sacred chamber?
Your father is dying in the upper quarters, Ethan, and you are down here playing house with a broken toy.
The law is absolute. The secrecy of the Silver Ridge pack cannot be compromised by a civilian.
She must be mind-wiped using the elder extraction, or she must be disposed of permanently.
The extraction will liquefy her brain, Marcus steps in, his voice controlled but tight. She is entirely human, Elder. Her nervous system cannot withstand the psychic pressure of a pack-level wipe. It would kill her.
Then she dies, Vance says simply, as if he's deciding to clear a patch of weeds. A minor loss to ensure the safety of our borders.
My stomach drops into a freezing void. They aren't negotiating. They are literally discussing my murder right in front of me, and the terrifying part is that nobody in the room looks surprised. This is their world. Brutal, ancient, and entirely devoid of human empathy.
I look over at Ethan, expecting him to join in on the condemnation.
After all, he told me just hours ago that I was a mistake, a fragile burden he wished he could throw into the snow.
He has spent the last year throwing his life away because some girl named Cynthia broke his heart.
He doesn't care about his pack, and he certainly doesn't care about me.
He's a broken leader, a shadow of an Alpha who has lost the respect of every single person sitting at that table.
But then, Ethan sets his glass down on the stone ledge. The glass doesn't shatter, but the sound of it hitting the stone is like a thunderclap in the silent room.
He steps away from the pillar, moving with that lazy, lethal grace that makes my heart do a dangerous, stupid flip. The alcohol haze in his eyes is completely gone, replaced by a cold, sharp silver that looks like polished steel.
She stays, Ethan says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that commands the entire room.
Vance scoffs, leaning back in his chair. You do not dictate terms to this council, boy. You are a prince without a crown, a broken heir who hasn't completed a single successful border run in six months. Your opinion is irrelevant.
Ethan stops right next to me. He doesn't look at me, but his arm brushes against mine, and that single touch sends a scorching wave of heat through my entire body, anchoring my shaking knees. He towers over the room, his broad shoulders blocking out Vance’s view of me completely.
I am the Alpha heir of the Silver Ridge, Ethan says, his voice dropping into a register that vibrates through the soles of my shoes, making the stone floor tremble.
My blood carries the mandate of the moon goddess.
And under the old laws—the laws written before you crawled into those council chairs—I am invoking the right of personal protection.
Vance stands up, his chair screeching against the stone. Personal protection? Over a stray human? On what grounds?
On the grounds that she belongs to me, Ethan growls, his stormy gray eyes flashing a brilliant, blinding gold that illuminates the dark corners of the theater.
His inner wolf is suddenly right at the surface, his teeth bared in a silent, lethal warning.
I brought her across our borders. She is my responsibility, my property, and my charge.
If anyone in this room wants to touch her skin, they will have to tear my throat out first to do it.
The silence that follows is deafening.
I look up at the side of Ethan’s face, my mind reeling.
He hates me. He told me I was a mistake.
His wolf might recognize me, but his human mind wants nothing to do with me.
He is protecting me out of sheer, stubborn arrogance, a prideful Alpha instinct that refuses to let anyone touch something he considers his mess to clean up.
And yet, the primal, possessive weight of his words makes something deep inside my chest ache with a terrifyingly sweet heat.
Vance stares at Ethan for a long, agonizing moment, his own golden eyes measuring the raw, volatile power vibrating off the younger man. He looks at the way Ethan’s hand is hovering just an inch away from my waist, ready to pull me behind him if a single guard moves.
Vance looks down at the other two elders, a silent conversation passing between them, before he lets out a cold, breathy hiss.
You are playing a dangerous game, Ethan, Vance says, his voice laced with venom. You think your blood protects you from accountability. But your father is not here to save you this time. If we grant this reprieve, it is temporary.
Name the terms, Ethan barks, his posture unyielding.
The Nightshade spy is still out there, Vance says, a dark, twisted smile creeping onto his granite face.
Our border codes are still being leaked.
If the real traitor is not caught by the next full moon, your personal protection will mean nothing.
The council will declare this human an active threat to the sovereignty of the pack.
She will be executed, and you will be stripped of your birthright for treason.
You have two weeks, Alpha heir. Find the spy, or watch your little human pet bleed out on this very floor.
Vance turns and exits through a side door, the other elders following him into the shadows. The oppressive weight in the air lifts slightly, but the tension in the room remains thick enough to choke on.
Marcus lets out a long, heavy breath, rubbing his temples as he looks at Ethan. You are completely out of your mind. You just tied your entire future to a human girl who can't even run five miles without passing out.
She doesn't need to run, Ethan says coldly, his gold eyes fading back into a stormy, turbulent gray as he finally turns to look down at me. I'm the one who runs.
He grabs my upper arm, his grip firm but careful to avoid bruising my skin, and hauls me out of the council chamber before I can say a single word. He drags me back up the spiral staircase, through the quiet hallways, and throws open the heavy oak door to my room, shoving me inside.
I stumble slightly on the plush rug, turning around instantly to face him. Hey. What the hell was that down there? You claimed me? You told them I belong to you?
Ethan steps into the room, slamming the door behind him, his face twisting into that familiar mask of bitter self-loathing.
Don't let it go to your head, human. I didn't do it for you.
I did it because I refuse to let that old bastard Vance dictate what happens to a mess I made.
You're my mistake, Chloe. And I clean up my own garbage.
Oh, how romantic, I snap, my voice dripping with venom as I step closer to him, ignoring the dangerous heat radiating from his chest. You really know how to make a girl feel special, Ethan.
First you kidnap me, then you save my life by calling me a piece of property, and now you're calling me garbage.
If this is your version of chivalry, I'd hate to see your bad side.
Ethan’s eyes darken, a dangerous, heavy hunger flashing across his features as he looks down at me. The forced proximity is suddenly overwhelming again, our chests almost touching as we breathe the same charged air.
You want to see my bad side, Chloe? Ethan whispers, his voice dropping into a dark, seductive purr that sends a treacherous shiver down my spine.
Keep pushing me. Keep using that sharp little tongue of yours to mock my authority.
You think you're safe because I protected you down there?
You have no idea how close my wolf is to snapping.
Two weeks. That's all you have. If I don't find that spy, I won't be able to save you from the council.
And right now... I'm not even sure I want to.
Before I can answer, before I can find another sarcastic comeback to hide the terrifying attraction blooming in my gut, the door to the adjoining balcony suddenly shatters into a million pieces.
A massive, silver-furred beast crashes through the glass, its jaws dripping with foam, its yellow eyes locked onto me with a lethal, hungry focus.
Ethan moves instantly, but before his wolf can take over, a shadow steps out from behind the beast on the balcony—a figure wearing the black tactical gear of the rival Nightshade pack, a wicked silver dagger gleaming in his hand.
And the face beneath the tactical mask belongs to Marcus.