A Shattered Celebration
In the dim storeroom near the kitchens, Susan and Alaric worked methodically, their sharp eyes scanning for anything out of place. Broken jars littered the floor, their contents spilling in dark, sticky pools. A torn scrap of fabric lay wedged behind a barrel. Alaric sniffed it, his face hardening.
“This scent isn’t one of ours,” he said, his voice low. “It’s faint, but I’d recognize it anywhere. It matches the rogue we tracked near the eastern border last month.”
Susan narrowed her eyes, her hands clenched into fists. “If a rogue planted poison here, someone inside let them in.” Her tone was biting, a sharp edge cutting through the tension. “We’ve got a traitor.”
Alaric glanced at her, his jaw tight. “And they know how to cover their tracks. This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment plan.”
Upstairs in the Alpha’s quarters, the air was heavy with quiet despair. Isla sat curled on the edge of the hearth, her silver hair tumbling over her shoulders like liquid moonlight. Her hands rested on her abdomen, protective and trembling.
Micah knelt beside her, her usual brusque demeanor softened. Her fingers pressed gently against Isla’s wrist as she counted the steady pulse. “You’re fine,” Micah said, her voice firm but kind. “But listen to me, Isla. From now on, nothing passes your lips that I haven’t checked myself. No food, no drink. Understood?”
Isla nodded, her voice breaking as she whispered, “Someone tried to kill my children.”
Micah’s expression darkened, a rare flash of emotion breaking through her professional facade. “We won’t let them get close again.”
Draven stood near the window, his figure framed by the faint light of the moon. He was a storm barely contained, his shoulders tense and his fists clenched. His amber eyes flicked toward Isla, their usual warmth replaced by something colder—deadlier.
“No one will harm you again, Isla,” he said, his voice a low growl that seemed to vibrate through the room. “I’ll tear apart anyone who tries.”
His words settled over her like a shield, but the weight of the moment was undeniable. Isla reached for him, and he crossed the room in two strides, kneeling before her. His large hands covered hers, steadying her trembling fingers. “We’ll find them,” he said, his tone softening but no less resolute.
The door to the Alpha’s quarters opened abruptly, Susan striding in with purpose. She tossed the scrap of fabric onto the table, her face grim. “We tracked the rogue,” she said, her voice clipped. “But the trail goes cold near the forest’s edge. Whoever they are, they knew what they were doing. This wasn’t a mistake.”
Draven stood, towering and fierce. “Then we’ll make them regret it,” he said, his voice laced with fury. “They thought they could slip through our defenses unnoticed. They’re wrong.”
Alaric entered behind Susan, his expression unreadable but his tone sharp. “If the scent fades that fast, they’ve either masked it intentionally or someone inside is shielding them.”
Draven’s amber gaze swept the room, his claws flexing at his sides. “Start with the visitors. Question everyone.”
Susan nodded, already moving toward the door. “We’ll get answers,” she promised.
As the room fell silent, Isla looked up at Draven, her silver eyes glistening with unshed tears. “What if we don’t?” she whispered.
Draven knelt again, his hand cupping her cheek. “We will, Isla,” he said, his voice both a vow and a warning. “Because the alternative isn’t an option.”
