Traded to the Alpha Wolf (Rocky Mountains Alphas #5)

Chapter 1 - Cade

The woods behind my house run right up to the deck, and I like it that way; the way the wild encroaches on my living space, reminding me it’s there before I’ve even had coffee.

Most days, I wake before the sun and let the dark sit with me in the kitchen, all steel, wood cut from the forest outside, and sharp edges.

The walls are from the old cedars, the countertops are poured concrete, and the lights are held in black frames.

I don’t think it’s the kind of place anyone expects an alpha to live.

Old pack houses are usually filled with memorabilia from all the leaders who have come before.

I don’t hang the old hunting trophies or any of that old-world shit.

I keep it clean. I keep it cold. I keep it mine.

I’ve been up earlier than usual, pacing the house, watching the last of the rain race down the windows.

The air outside is thinner than it should be, the snowbanks holding on longer than the calendar says they should.

The animals know it, too. The birds' calls are different, and the deer are more skittish than usual.

I feel it when we hold the now weekly pack runs and when we do the increasing number of patrols.

The forest speaks, and I hear the message loud and clear.

No period, no signature. I let it vibrate itself into silence.

‘The mill’ makes it sound like we’re meeting in some kind of secluded, dead part of the forest when it’s actually one of the most popular diners in the Rocky Mountains and conveniently located for us all to reach just in time for breakfast.

At least Rowan still eats breakfast, I muse, given his recent revelations, and trying to ignore some of the stereotypes about his kind.

He’s someone I’d almost call a friend, and the alliance is stronger because of him, even though some try to ignore that his blood is half something else, something older and darker.

It was a shock to see the reality in front of my own eyes, but still, I respect a man who can own what he is.

Last month in the chaos, Rowan spat his secret out to the whole alliance, and now everyone’s pretending they didn’t already know.

Doesn’t bother me. I’ve known he had vampire in him since the first day I smelled him, but I’m not the type to gossip. I don’t give a shit.

Most of the others are mated now, settled in ways I’ve never been interested in. Younger alphas, younger mates, building something softer than what I was raised for.

Not me.

I’ve seen what happens when you let something matter more than the pack. It makes you hesitate. Makes you weak in the moments that count.

And I don’t hesitate.

The eggs are gone before I know it, and the sun is still a whisper behind the clouds.

I set the pan in the sink and wipe the counter with the precision of a surgeon, careful not to leave a single smear.

You could eat off these floors. I never used to care about messes, but it feels like one of the only things I can control is where everything goes.

In the last few months, the world’s gotten smaller and sharper.

I haven’t slept through a night since the last attack, and I don’t trust the quiet between storms.

I’m already bracing myself for yet another meeting about intelligence gathering, research, and a lot more talking.

It’s not that I don’t value the research.

Willow has done amazing things in unlocking the power of volva magic and understanding what it means for the future of all shifters, particularly the role of omegas.

So, I do respect the research, but the hunters aren’t pausing to talk. They’re fighting. And so should we.

Parking that thought, knowing I need to hear what’s said at the meeting first before I get riled up, I lock up and step out into the chill, the air so clean and cold it almost makes my eyes water.

My truck throws up little clouds of exhaust, the headlights shining low and mean across the gravel as I pull out onto the main road.

There are still branches and debris from the last storm in the road, and I take a little satisfaction in grinding my tires through the worst of it.

The drive is all switchbacks and cliff edges, the kind of terrain only an idiot or a local would try before dawn. I don’t slow down.

The pass opens up just before the crossroads, and I can see the Mill’s big lot scattered with the usual suspects of heavy-duty pickups, most still caked in a layer of dirt from the trails.

I spot Rowan’s old Jeep right away, parked next to Brook’s Ford.

There are at least three more I recognize, which means everyone must have been up just as early as me.

I doubt any of the alphas are sleeping well these days.

Rowan’s already out of his truck, standing with his hands shoved into the pockets of a coat that probably cost more than most people’s rent.

He’s got that look about him, the one that reminds you he’s not exactly like the rest of us.

The sun isn’t even over the mountains, but he catches the first light and turns it to something that looks more like silver as it glances off his face.

The skin at his throat is so pale you can’t not notice it, and he moves with a kind of stealth that makes my wolf sit up and notice even though I know him.

I don’t know how no one else clocked what he was for so long. Maybe they didn’t want to.

He catches my eye as I kill the engine and step over, boots crunching on the frozen grit. “Cade,” he says, voice like it’s been filtered through velvet as usual. “Glad you made it.”

“I always do,” I say, and it comes out sharper than I mean. I try to soften it. “How’s Willow?”

He doesn’t even try to hide the way his whole face lights up. “She’s…she’s getting stronger every day. And the baby…” He stops, like he can’t quite believe it’s real. “She’s perfect. It’s weird, isn’t it? To think even in the middle of all this, there’s good.”

I grunt in agreement, but I feel it in my chest. It’s not just Willow’s baby, either.

In the last year or so, there have been a few new mate bonds and even new pups, which feels especially important given that all Rocky Mountains packs had suffered from a lack of fertility.

As we learn more about the power of omegas, the tide seems to be turning.

It’s as though the more the hunters want to tear us down, the more determined we’ve become to resist. I guess that’s how all species survive, but it feels like a fuck-you to the universe anyway, and I like that.

Inside the Mill, it’s all hot butter smell and the clatter of forks on ceramic. The six-top in the corner is already full, and as I walk in, every head at the table turns my way. I give them all a once-over, not because I don’t know them, but because it’s a habit that doesn’t die.

Rowan takes the seat at the head, because of course he does.

He’s the de facto leader now, and no one resents it, not even Brooks, who’s made a career out of breaking balls.

Brooks is already nursing a mug of black coffee and a notepad.

Beside him, Kaiden is the picture of calm, but I know he’s just as pissed as I am about how little we’ve managed to move the needle against the hunters.

Alder sits next to Rowan, gray at the temples, sharp-eyed and even sharper-tongued, tapping a pen against the table as if itching to get to the agenda.

“Morning,” I say, dropping into the last empty chair and grabbing the menu, though I know I’ll just order the same thing I always do.

“Good, you’re all here. We’re all set,” Rowan declares, even though we’re the last ones in. “Let’s get right to it.”

Kaiden offers me a nod, subtle but genuine, and Brooks gives me a once-over and snorts. “Knew you’d be late, what with all the snow and your aversion to punctuality.”

“Shove it, Brooks,” I say, but there’s no anger in it. It’s the closest thing we have to affection.

Alder gets straight to the point. “The Order of Reclamation has taken three more packs out east. No survivors. They’re getting smarter; using drones, disabling comms, isolating the betas, even going after the young.”

“Pups?” Brooks leans forward, voice low. “They’re targeting the next generation?”

Alder nods. “That’s what the data says. Rowan’s got more.”

Rowan lays out a folder, slides it open, and pushes a photo across the table. “This is from Prague, two days ago. The Order’s not just killing; they’re sampling. Blood, tissue, bone. They’ve got a geneticist with them.”

“Why?” Kaiden asks, ever the peacemaker, but not na?ve. “What are they looking for?”

Rowan’s mouth is a hard line. “They’re probably mapping bloodlines. More specifically, they’re hunting for variants, looking for alphas with old blood, I think. Looking for weaknesses, I guess.”

A chill settles over the table. For a minute, no one speaks. I feel it in my bones; the hunters aren’t just mindlessly trying to kill us; they’re evolving.

“So, they’re not just trying to attack us,” I say, louder than I mean to. “They’re looking into our blood and stuff?”

Brooks blows out a breath. “That sounds a bit creepy.”

Kaiden pushes his coffee aside and leans in, voice taut.

“What’s the play here? Are they going to try to engineer a virus or something?

” He glances at me, and I get the sense he wants me to say something reassuring, something that sounds like an answer.

But I’m not in the business of reassurance. I’m in the business of reality.

“We don’t know yet,” Rowan says, and I can tell how much he hates that. The not knowing. “But we do know this: they’re following the families with the oldest lines. Scandinavian, Slavic, Basque. And the Pacific Northwest.”

Everyone looks at me, and I hate it. I look down at the table, fighting the urge to bare my teeth. My heritage is some of the oldest in the New World, but the others aren’t that far off, either.

“So what are we going to do about it?” I ask directly, “What are they doing in Europe?”

Rowan barely hesitates. “They’re moving east into the old Carpathian strongholds. There are reports of entire packs going underground. I’ve got a friend in Budapest who says the Order’s recruiting locals, offering big money and government contracts to look the other way.”

Alder’s voice is a rasp. “There’s always a market for it. Power, or just the thrill of killing something different. The flavor’s in the rarity.”

I fix Rowan with a more pointed look than usual. “So, what’s the plan? Sit around, wring our hands, and wait for them to find us? Or are we going to do something about it?”

Rowan doesn’t rise to the bait. He steeples his hands and looks at each of us in turn, eyes flat and cold.

“We need intel. If they’re looking for something in our blood, we need to know what it is.

If they’re getting smarter, we need to get smarter first. Alder’s working contacts in DC, and Kaiden’s got his people watching the border.

But we can’t make a move until we know what we’re up against.”

I feel my jaw set, muscles aching with how much I want to snap at him. “It’s always wait and see. No offense, but that’s not how I was raised to deal with a threat.”

I feel the weight of Rowan’s stare, and for a second, I imagine what it would be like to throw down with him; part of me relishes the idea.

It would be a hell of a fight, but I temper the urge and glance around the table.

The others look conflicted, but I already know there are enough scars in this room from conflict with the hunters, and everyone wants to get the next moves right.

Rowan leans back in his chair, not a slouch but a deliberate reclaiming of space, and says, “No one moves on the Order until we have actionable intelligence. We’re not going to lose anyone else to a trap.” Rowan raises an eyebrow at me. “Any objections?”

Every muscle in my body is screaming to object, but I can read the room. This isn’t the place to take a stand against Rowan, at least not a full stand. Still, I can’t resist shaking my head as all eyes turn to me. “Yes,” I say, and the word lands heavily.

Rowan smiles a fraction, flashing teeth that aren’t all shifter. “Then we vote. All in favor of holding the line until we know more?”

Hands go up. Alder’s first, then Kaiden, but Brooks keeps his hand resting on the table. Rowan raises his hand last, throwing the vote his way.

I don’t raise mine, but I don’t need to. The math is already done, and it’s three to two. I appreciate the small nod Brooks throws my way. His vote surprised me a little, but I think we’re all showing our frustrations in different ways.

Meeting adjourned, I stand up before anyone else can say a word to me. I nod to Kaiden, who looks like he wants to talk, but I’m already moving past him. Outside, the sky’s gone from barely light to a bleak, noncommittal blue, and the wind’s picked up, howling off the mountain ridge.

I don’t drive home. I get in the truck and let it idle, hands clenched around the steering wheel until my knuckles ache. I stare at the line of pickups and SUVs, at the slant of the Mill’s roof against the sky, and I wonder how many more times we’ll have these meetings before anything happens.

We seem to have gone from all action to losing our nerve.

I set off, but just before the road forks—left for home, right for the city—I make a decision. I turn right, tires spitting gravel behind me. I can’t just sit around and wait for a perfect plan. The Order is already in motion, and nobody knows what they’re really after.

But they’ll sure as hell tell me by the time I’m done with them.