Chapter 10
Cain assembled his war council within the hour. Eight senior wolves—battle-scarred, sharp-eyed, loyal beyond question.
I stood at his right. Not behind. Beside.
"We have a rogue element testing our southern border," he said, his voice carrying the flat certainty of a commander who'd already decided on action. "Intelligence suggests Vivienne Ashford has allied with Alpha Dorian of Obsidian Pack."
The reaction around the table was controlled but electric. Dorian's name carried weight—the kind that made seasoned warriors check their weapons.
"Obsidian has eighty wolves," said Jax, Cain's Beta, a massive red-haired wolf with a permanent scowl. "We have thirty-two. Those aren't odds I love."
"We're not meeting them in open war," I said. All eyes shifted to me. "Vivienne is Dorian's weapon—she's the one with specific intelligence about our pack, our Luna, and the nightshade vulnerability. Remove her, and Dorian loses his strategic advantage. He's ambitious, not stupid. Without a clear upper hand, he won't commit his wolves to a costly assault."
Cain nodded. "Surgical strike. Find Vivienne. Eliminate the threat at its source. Dorian can posture all he wants from behind his borders."
"And if he retaliates?" Jax pressed.
"Then he retaliates against the unified eastern alliance," I said. "I'll call Rowan. After what my father did, Silverpine owes me. And the nine Alphas who witnessed the ceremony? They saw what I am. They'll answer."
"You're suggesting a coalition," said Mira, the pack's head scout—lean, quiet, with eyes that missed nothing.
"I'm suggesting insurance."
The plan crystallized over the next forty-eight hours.
Mira's scouts tracked Vivienne's trail through the borderlands—six wolves, moving at night, operating from a temporary camp hidden in a ravine three miles south of our territory.
The nightshade plantings increased. We found them in three more locations, always near water sources. The pattern was clear: contaminate first, assault second.
Vivienne was softening us for Dorian's kill shot.
I wouldn't give her the time.
"I'm going," I told Cain.
He didn't argue. Didn't forbid it. His jaw worked once, the only sign of the war between his protective instinct and his respect for my autonomy.
"I'm going with you," he said.
"No. You stay. Ironridge needs its Alpha behind the walls in case this is a diversion. I'll take Mira and four runners. Fast in, fast out."
His eyes searched mine for a long moment. Then he cupped the back of my neck and pulled my forehead to his.
"Come back to me."
"Always."
We moved at midnight—five wolves in full shift, cutting through the frozen forest like dark wind.
My Primal senses were fully online now, every nerve tuned to the night. I tracked Vivienne's scent signature like a bloodhound—that distinctive perfume she'd never been able to give up, even as a rogue, mixed with the chemical tang of nightshade she handled daily.
The ravine camp was exactly where Mira's scouts had mapped it. Six wolves, arranged in a loose defensive perimeter around a central tent. Fires banked low—they weren't amateurs.
But they weren't expecting a Primal Wolf.
I gave the signal. Mira's team hit the perimeter wolves simultaneously—four on four, hard and fast, going for incapacitation, not kills. These were former Blackmoor enforcers, but they'd been rogues for months, underfed and demoralized.
They went down in seconds.
The remaining two guards at the tent entrance barely had time to shift before I was on them—a white-silver missile that drove one into the frozen ground and sent the other crashing through the tent canvas.
I shifted back at the tent's entrance, stepping through the torn fabric. Inside, a battery lantern threw harsh shadows.
Vivienne sat on a cot, wide-eyed, a knife in one trembling hand and the other pressed to her swollen belly.
"Sera—" Her voice was a reedy whisper. "Please. The baby—"
"Don't." One word, and it carried the weight of every lie she'd ever told. "Don't use that child as a shield. Not after you helped murder mine."
"You were never pregnant—"
"Because you made sure of it!" The words tore from me. "Three years of poison! Three years of watching me wither while you smiled and poured the tea! You don't get to play the vulnerable mother!"
She dropped the knife. It clattered on the frozen ground. Tears streamed down her gaunt face.
"They'll kill me. Dorian—when he finds out I failed—he'll kill me, Sera. You have to believe me. I had no choice. He said if I didn't deliver Ironridge's weaknesses, he'd—"
"You always have a choice. You just always choose the monster's side."
I stood over her, my claws extended, silver eyes blazing in the dark tent.
And I hesitated.
Not out of mercy. Not out of familial love. Out of strategy.
Vivienne dead was a martyr Dorian could use. Vivienne alive, broken, and in my custody? That was leverage.
"Get up," I said. "You're coming with me. And you're going to tell me everything about Dorian's operation. Every wolf, every resource, every plan."
Her eyes widened with desperate hope. "And you'll protect me? From him?"
"I'll keep you alive," I said coldly. "Don't confuse that with protection."
We were back inside Ironridge's walls by dawn. Vivienne in chains—silver-lined, the kind that suppressed the shift. Comfortable enough. Inescapable.
Cain met us at the gate, his relief a brief flash in his silver eyes before his expression hardened at the sight of Vivienne.
"Did she talk?"
"She will," I said. "She always does. She just needs the right audience."
Vivienne, slumped between two Ironridge guards, looked up at Cain with the desperate calculation of a rat in a trap, already trying to identify the softest face in the room.
She found none.
I stood at his right. Not behind. Beside.
"We have a rogue element testing our southern border," he said, his voice carrying the flat certainty of a commander who'd already decided on action. "Intelligence suggests Vivienne Ashford has allied with Alpha Dorian of Obsidian Pack."
The reaction around the table was controlled but electric. Dorian's name carried weight—the kind that made seasoned warriors check their weapons.
"Obsidian has eighty wolves," said Jax, Cain's Beta, a massive red-haired wolf with a permanent scowl. "We have thirty-two. Those aren't odds I love."
"We're not meeting them in open war," I said. All eyes shifted to me. "Vivienne is Dorian's weapon—she's the one with specific intelligence about our pack, our Luna, and the nightshade vulnerability. Remove her, and Dorian loses his strategic advantage. He's ambitious, not stupid. Without a clear upper hand, he won't commit his wolves to a costly assault."
Cain nodded. "Surgical strike. Find Vivienne. Eliminate the threat at its source. Dorian can posture all he wants from behind his borders."
"And if he retaliates?" Jax pressed.
"Then he retaliates against the unified eastern alliance," I said. "I'll call Rowan. After what my father did, Silverpine owes me. And the nine Alphas who witnessed the ceremony? They saw what I am. They'll answer."
"You're suggesting a coalition," said Mira, the pack's head scout—lean, quiet, with eyes that missed nothing.
"I'm suggesting insurance."
The plan crystallized over the next forty-eight hours.
Mira's scouts tracked Vivienne's trail through the borderlands—six wolves, moving at night, operating from a temporary camp hidden in a ravine three miles south of our territory.
The nightshade plantings increased. We found them in three more locations, always near water sources. The pattern was clear: contaminate first, assault second.
Vivienne was softening us for Dorian's kill shot.
I wouldn't give her the time.
"I'm going," I told Cain.
He didn't argue. Didn't forbid it. His jaw worked once, the only sign of the war between his protective instinct and his respect for my autonomy.
"I'm going with you," he said.
"No. You stay. Ironridge needs its Alpha behind the walls in case this is a diversion. I'll take Mira and four runners. Fast in, fast out."
His eyes searched mine for a long moment. Then he cupped the back of my neck and pulled my forehead to his.
"Come back to me."
"Always."
We moved at midnight—five wolves in full shift, cutting through the frozen forest like dark wind.
My Primal senses were fully online now, every nerve tuned to the night. I tracked Vivienne's scent signature like a bloodhound—that distinctive perfume she'd never been able to give up, even as a rogue, mixed with the chemical tang of nightshade she handled daily.
The ravine camp was exactly where Mira's scouts had mapped it. Six wolves, arranged in a loose defensive perimeter around a central tent. Fires banked low—they weren't amateurs.
But they weren't expecting a Primal Wolf.
I gave the signal. Mira's team hit the perimeter wolves simultaneously—four on four, hard and fast, going for incapacitation, not kills. These were former Blackmoor enforcers, but they'd been rogues for months, underfed and demoralized.
They went down in seconds.
The remaining two guards at the tent entrance barely had time to shift before I was on them—a white-silver missile that drove one into the frozen ground and sent the other crashing through the tent canvas.
I shifted back at the tent's entrance, stepping through the torn fabric. Inside, a battery lantern threw harsh shadows.
Vivienne sat on a cot, wide-eyed, a knife in one trembling hand and the other pressed to her swollen belly.
"Sera—" Her voice was a reedy whisper. "Please. The baby—"
"Don't." One word, and it carried the weight of every lie she'd ever told. "Don't use that child as a shield. Not after you helped murder mine."
"You were never pregnant—"
"Because you made sure of it!" The words tore from me. "Three years of poison! Three years of watching me wither while you smiled and poured the tea! You don't get to play the vulnerable mother!"
She dropped the knife. It clattered on the frozen ground. Tears streamed down her gaunt face.
"They'll kill me. Dorian—when he finds out I failed—he'll kill me, Sera. You have to believe me. I had no choice. He said if I didn't deliver Ironridge's weaknesses, he'd—"
"You always have a choice. You just always choose the monster's side."
I stood over her, my claws extended, silver eyes blazing in the dark tent.
And I hesitated.
Not out of mercy. Not out of familial love. Out of strategy.
Vivienne dead was a martyr Dorian could use. Vivienne alive, broken, and in my custody? That was leverage.
"Get up," I said. "You're coming with me. And you're going to tell me everything about Dorian's operation. Every wolf, every resource, every plan."
Her eyes widened with desperate hope. "And you'll protect me? From him?"
"I'll keep you alive," I said coldly. "Don't confuse that with protection."
We were back inside Ironridge's walls by dawn. Vivienne in chains—silver-lined, the kind that suppressed the shift. Comfortable enough. Inescapable.
Cain met us at the gate, his relief a brief flash in his silver eyes before his expression hardened at the sight of Vivienne.
"Did she talk?"
"She will," I said. "She always does. She just needs the right audience."
Vivienne, slumped between two Ironridge guards, looked up at Cain with the desperate calculation of a rat in a trap, already trying to identify the softest face in the room.
She found none.