Uneasy Calm
The packhouse buzzed with quiet tension, the kind that lingered in the wake of unanswered questions. The investigation into the poisoning had stalled, leaving Alaric pacing the war room, his golden eyes flashing with frustration. “They knew what they were doing,” he snapped, his voice sharp. “This wasn’t their first time. Every step they’ve taken, every trace we find—it all leads to a dead end.”
Susan leaned against the table, her arms crossed as she regarded him with a steely gaze. “And what? You’re giving up?” she asked, her voice cutting. “If they think they’ve outsmarted us, they’re wrong. We don’t stop until we find them.”
Draven sat at the head of the table, his jaw tight as he listened. His amber eyes flicked to Isla, who stood quietly by the window, her silver hair reflecting the dim light of the room. She had been quieter lately, her focus shifting inward as the weight of her pregnancy grew.
Micah appeared in the doorway, a calm presence against the rising storm. “Enough,” the healer said, her tone soft but commanding. “You’ll tear each other apart before you find your enemy.” She crossed to Isla, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “Come. You need rest.”
“I need answers,” Isla replied, her voice steady but laced with exhaustion.
Micah shook her head. “Your strength isn’t just for you anymore. It’s for them.” Her hand moved lightly to Isla’s stomach.
Draven stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he moved to Isla’s side. “She’s right,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I won’t let this happen again. And I won’t risk you, Isla.”
As the meeting adjourned, the wolves filed out one by one, their faces grim. Draven lingered, pulling Isla into his arms. “I’ll find whoever did this,” he whispered into her hair, his tone dark with promise. “I won’t let them touch you—or our children.”
Later that evening, as the quiet of night settled over Crimson Fang, Susan burst into the Alpha’s quarters, her face set in a grim mask. “Draven,” she said, her voice urgent. “There’s movement near the border. A group of wolves. Armed.”
Draven tensed immediately, his amber eyes narrowing. “How many?”
“Enough to make a statement,” Susan replied.
Beside him, Isla straightened, her silver eyes sharp. “Who are they?”
“We don’t know yet,” Susan said. “But they’re coming straight for us.”
***
The pack stood in tense silence at the gates, their collective breath hanging in the cold night air. The sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the clearing, and then they saw him—a figure smaller than expected, but commanding attention nonetheless.
The man at the center of the group wore dark leathers that seemed to swallow the moonlight. His frame was wiry, his shoulders slightly hunched, and there was a sharpness to his presence that cut deeper than brute strength ever could. His pale skin gleamed with an unnatural sheen, his features angular and cold.
His gray eyes glittered with malice as he stepped forward, his movements deliberate, like a chess player considering his next move. A smirk twisted his lips, equal parts amusement and menace.
Draven moved to the front of the gathered pack, his towering form casting a shadow over the newcomer. His growl rumbled low and threatening. “State your business.”
The man tilted his head, his smirk growing as he looked Draven up and down. “What, no ‘hello’? No ‘welcome back’? I’d almost think you didn’t want to see me, brother.”
