Ronan’s POV
Ronan pushed off the desk and paced, thinking through old conflicts, old enemies who smiled while planning bloodshed.
“The south’s been pushing back on our trade routes,” Ash added.
“Small clashes.
Nothing major yet, but the tone’s changed.”
“Yet,” Ronan repeated.
Yet always meant soon.
Complaints from the south were nothing new.
Every agreement came with resentment.
Every shared road came with accusations.
So it was normal with them.
At least the pack Alphas there knew where to draw the line.
Ash nodded.
“If it grows, it will not stay small for long.”
Ronan glanced down at the report again, scanning the notes even though he already knew them by heart.
Numbers.
Names.
Dates.
Lines that tried to make chaos look orderly.
Then he looked back up at Ash.
“And the west?” he asked.
“I still think we pull back a few patrols.
Enough to reinforce the south.” Ash answered.
His jaw tightened at once.
He felt it before he could stop it.
“The west being silent bothers me.” Ronan whispered.
“It bothers me too,” Ash said, nodding slowly.
“But we can’t guard ghosts forever.”
“Silence isn’t empty,” Ronan said.
“It hides things.”
Ash met his gaze.
“Or they’re waiting for us to weaken somewhere else.” He muttered.
“Yes.” Ronan said.
“Which is why pulling patrols now feels like an invitation.”
Ash rubbed his neck with a sigh, frustration slipping through.
“Then what do you suggest?”
Ronan walked to the window, watching torches flicker along the paths below.
Everything looked orderly.
He knew better than to trust that.
“We wait.
Two weeks.”
Ash frowned.
“Two weeks doing nothing?”
“Two weeks watching,” Ronan corrected.
“Listening.
Tracking even the smallest change.”
Ash arched a brow.
“And if nothing happens?” He asked.
“Then we reconsider,” he said.
“And adjust.”
“And if something does?” Ash pressed.
He turned back slowly, his expression hard.
“Then we will be ready.”
Ash studied him.
“You’re uneasy.”
He did not bother denying it.
There was no point.
“Yes,” Ronan admitted.
The feeling had been sitting under his skin all evening.
“The poison isn’t a coincidence,” he said finally.
“It’s strange all this is happening at once,” Ash said.
“At least we know about it now, before it weakened you further.”
“I feel it now, Ash.
I didn’t before, not clearly.
I told myself it was fatigue, the weight of the pack.” His jaw tightened.
“Now I know better.”
“What do you feel?”
“Weakness, mentally,” Ronan admitted, the word bitter on his tongue.
“Not constant.
It comes in waves.
A dull heaviness in my limbs.
Slower reactions.
My wolf feels… muted at times.” He hated saying it.
Hated acknowledging it out loud.
Ash swore quietly.
“Ashvine’s built for that.
Dulling strength without drawing attention.”
“And it worked.” Ronan said quietly.
“Until it didn’t.”
Ash folded his arms on his chest.
“We still haven’t found who gave it to the cook.” He muttered.
“No,” he said.
“And that is what troubles me the most.” His eyes lifted, sharp.
“Ashvine does not reach a kitchen by accident.
Someone planned this.”
“The cook swears she thought it was harmless, that it came with the regular deliveries.” Ash whispered.
“Which means the supply chain is compromised,” Ronan said.
“Or someone close to it is.”
“Or someone wanted you weakened enough for a move elsewhere,” Ash said.
Ronan’s mind jumped straight to the report.
The quiet west.
The restless south.
The timing sat too clean.
“They wanted me slow.
Not dead, not yet.
A dead Alpha brings chaos.
A weak one brings opportunity.”
“You think they’re waiting.” Ash said, not questioned.
Ronan shrugged.
“For a mistake.
Whoever’s behind this probably knows I’m aware of the poison now, especially if they are in Blackthorn.
There has to be someone else in the supply chain.” He said.
Ash hesitated.
“What of Lyra?”
Ronan’s chest tightened at her name.
“She’s not the cause,” he said, too fast.
“I didn’t say she was.”
He exhaled through his nose.
“She is the reason I am still standing,” Ronan corrected.
“If she had not spoken, I would still be drinking poison with every meal.”
“That is exactly my point,” Ash said.
“She arrives.
She notices what no one else did or dared to say.
And suddenly the Alpha sees clearly again.”
Ronan turned away conflicted, remembering the tightness in his chest before, the slower decisions, the shortened temper.
He’d thought it was stress.
He’d been wrong.
“She risked herself,” he said.
“She had nothing to gain.”
“That makes her dangerous,” Ash said.
“Or rare.”
“Rare,” Ronan snapped.
Then he paused, temper cooling.
“And vulnerable.”
Ash studied him.
“You’re worried about her.”
He didn’t answer right away.
“She’s under my protection,” he said finally.
“Someone already tried to use my body against me.
Using her would work just as well.”
Ash nodded slowly.
“Then we assume whoever planned this is still watching.”
“Yes.
And now they know I’m recovering.” Ronan said.
Ash sighed.
“That makes it worse.
If the poisoner realizes ashvine’s failing, they might rush their plans.
Or switch tactics.”
Ronan’s wolf stirred, uneasy.
A cold thought struck him, how careless he’d been sharing that meal, putting her in view like that.
“Then we tighten security.
Double the guards.
Watch the kitchens.
Question the supply routes again.
Quietly.”
“And Lyra?”
“She stays close.
Where I can see her.” Ronan said, leaving now room for argument.
Ash held his gaze, then nodded.
“Very well.”
Ronan turned back to the window.
Somewhere out there, someone had thought him weak enough to control.
They’d been wrong.
But until the poison was gone and the traitor found, this wasn’t over.
The door burst open before he could respond, cracking against the wall.
Both men turned instantly.
Ronan’s body shifted into readiness before his mind caught up.
Heath rushed in, breathless, uniform disheveled, hair damp with sweat.
He was the head patrol guard.
He didn’t run for small things.
“Alpha,” he said, voice tight.
“There’s a problem.”
Ronan was already moving.
His heart thudded once, hard.
“What is it?” He asked, fearing Heath’s response.
“The west border.
It’s been attacked.”
The words hit like ice.
Everything snapped together at once, the quiet report, the poison, the waiting.
So this was it.
“Now?” Ash cursed under his breath..
Heath nodded.
“Yes beta.
We lost contact with two patrol units.” He reported.
Two units meant experienced fighters, more than twenty wolves.
Ronan’s mind raced through routes and numbers.
“How long since the last signal?” He asked.
Heath released a deep sigh.
“Less than an hour.
The distress mark flared, then went silent.”
Not a skirmish.
An ambush.
The dull ache of poison stirred in his limbs, and anger burned hotter because of it.
They’d timed it well.
“How many injured?” He asked.
“We don’t know.
Scouts haven’t returned.
But there were signs of a coordinated strike.
Multiple scents.
Clean movements.
This was planned.”
Ronan’s hands curled into fists.
So the silence hadn’t been peace.
It had been patience.
“Call the council,” he said, voice carrying command.
“Lock the inner gates.”
“Yes, Alpha.” Heath backed toward the door.
Ash grabbed his coat.
“So much for waiting two weeks.” He muttered.
“They wanted us to think we had time,” Ronan spat, wolf snarling at the deception, at the weakness still lingering in his veins.
Ash paused by the door.
“This confirms it.
The poison, the west, the south unrest.
All connected.”
“Yes,” Ronan said in a cold, sharp voice.
“They weakened me and waited for us to lower our guard.” He grabbed his cloak, ignoring the flare of pain in his muscles as he shrugged it on.
Ash paused to stare at him.
“Are you fit for this?” He asked.
Ronan met his gaze without hesitation.
“I am fit enough.”
Ash didn’t argue.
He knew better.
Ronan’s thoughts flickered to Lyra, to her quiet strength, the way she’d looked at him across the table, unsure and brave at once.
If this attack was part of the same plan, she was in danger too.
He shoved the thought aside.
There’d be time to worry later.
The pack came first.
“This was never silence,” he said darkly, moving toward the door.
“It was preparation.”
“Then they just made their first mistake,” Ash said grimly.
“Yes,” Ronan said.
“They revealed themselves.”
They rushed out together, boots striking stone, alarms already beginning to echo through the halls.
War had come to Blackthorn.