Henrik stood leaning against the glass conference table, arms crossed, watching Rysand trace a glowing red line along the SilverFang border on the digital display wall.
“Three attacks in two weeks,” Rysand said.
His hair had gone more gray than black in recent years, but his voice had lost none of its authority.
“All near the same ridge.
Ravenhold is testing our perimeter.” “Are they testing us, or are they planning something?” “Does it matter?
They know our resources are limited.” Rysand tapped the glass screen.
“A pack looks weak when it’s so desperate for money.” Henrik’s jaw tightened.
“Then let’s prove them wrong.” He glanced at the woman standing by the window.
Darla.
She was Rysand’s daughter and the pack’s chief strategist.
She stood there, a tablet clutched to her chest, watching him instead of the screens.
Her brown curly hair was tied back in a low ponytail.
Round face.
Large blue eyes.
The kind of face people underestimate, which is usually a mistake.
His phone rang on the table, lighting up to display Colette’s name.
He answered without moving.
“Colette.” Rysand kept his eyes fixed on the display.
Darla’s gaze never left Henrik.
“I’m hosting a party tomorrow night,” Colette said on the other end of the line.
“I want you there.” “I won’t be able to make it,” Henrik replied in a neutral tone, glancing at the glowing red lines on the screen.
“I have business to attend to here that can’t wait.” “What kind of business?” “Pack business.” A brief, sharp silence followed.
“Fine,” she said.
“But don’t forget the wedding next week.
The preparations are nearly finished on my end.
We should be done in a few days.” “Right, good to know.” “Say hello to Laura for me.” “I will.” She hung up first.
He placed the phone face-down against the table and took control of the console again, aware that neither of them was really looking at the screens anymore.
“Alpha Colette?” Rysand asked.
“Yes.” Henrik’s tone was clipped.
End of discussion.
Rysand didn’t catch the hint, or chose to ignore it.
“You could have gone.
We would have managed here.
It might do you good to leave the estate for once.” “So, you were listening.” “Hard not to.
Superhuman hearing.” Rysand almost smiled.
Henrik paid it no mind.
“Where were we?” “At the ridge,” Rysand replied, dropping the subject.
Darla had gone quiet.
He glanced at her.
“Are you okay?” She blinked, as if she had been lost in thought, miles away.
Then came that tight smile.
“Yes.
My father thinks it’s a reconnaissance mission,” she said, stepping closer.
“They’re testing our reaction before attempting something bigger.” “Your father is usually right.” She smiled at his words, flattered, though the tension hadn’t left her.
“I could take a unit up to the ridge myself.
I know the terrain better than most of the guards.” “Not without reinforcements.” “I wouldn’t need them.” “Darla.” His voice was firm.
“Not without reinforcements.” She held his gaze a second too long, then nodded and turned her attention back to the map.
The atmosphere between them cooled.
“Double the patrol on the ridge tonight,” Henrik ordered.
“If they want to test us, they’ll get an answer they won’t like.” Rysand walked away to relay the order.
Henrik remained at the table, staring at the red line without truly seeing it.
A suffocating weight tightened his chest, as if a fist were closing around his heart.
He placed his hand over his chest.
“You okay?” Rysand called out, already halfway to the door.
“Yeah.” Henrik straightened up.
“Just tired.” He wasn’t okay, but he had no desire to explain a feeling he couldn’t name.
Stress, probably.
The debt, the ridge, the wedding: it was all weighing on him from every side.
The sensation lingered when he went to bed.
It was still there when he woke up.
He went downstairs for breakfast, his jaw aching from having clenched his teeth all night.
Laura was already talking before he’d even sat down.
“And then the dragon turned into a horse, but a nice horse, not a scary one.” She looked up at him, waiting for a reaction.
“That’s a lovely dream,” he said.
“You weren’t listening, Papa.” “Yes, I was, sweetheart.
You were talking about a horse.” “What color was the horse?” He had no answer.
She rolled her eyes, as if she were twenty years older than her mere three years, and turned her attention back to her toast.
He sat there, feeling as though he had failed a small test he hadn’t even known existed.
By mid-morning, he was in the car, heading toward Ravenhold territory.
Rysand sat beside him with a file open on his lap.
“Alpha Derek is going to use those breaches in the ridge to demand a higher border tax,” Rysand said.
“He’ll claim we’re incapable of securing our side of the treaty line.
Don’t let him bully you into raising the tribute just to buy peace.” “I know how blackmail works.” “Really?
Because you’ve barely said three words since we left.” “I’m thinking.” “Your mind is elsewhere.” Rysand studied him closely.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on, or should I keep guessing?” “Nothing is going on.
Drop it” Rysand didn’t press the issue, but his expression betrayed his disbelief.
The meeting was a blur.
Ravenhold’s Alpha Derek, sat across the table weaponizing the old border treaty and using the ridge incidents as proof that SilverFang couldn’t secure the line.
He demanded a higher monthly payout, masking blatant blackmail as a joint-security fee.
Henrik reacted on pure instinct.
His answers were curt and aggressive, completely unsuited for delicate politics.
Rysand watched him with growing concern as Henrik yielded ground, conceding only to get out of the room faster.
By the time the handshakes were done, Henrik couldn’t recall the exact figures he’d just signed off on.
All that filled his mind was the sharp, desperate pull driving him back to his car.
He was in the car, halfway back to SilverFang, when the sensation gripping his chest intensified, becoming unbearable.
“Turn around.” Rysand looked up from his notes.
“What?” “Go to Bloodmoon.
Right now.” “We have no business there before the wedding.
Is something happening?” “Now, Rysand.” “Henrik.” Rysand’s voice dropped, becoming cautious.
“What is it?” “I don’t know.” It was the truth, and it frightened him more than a clear answer would have.
“Something’s wrong.
I need to see her.” Rysand held his gaze for a moment, then leaned forward and gave new instructions to the driver without another word.
The car veered sharply onto a side road.
Henrik leaned back in his seat, his hands clenched on his knees.
The uneasy feeling beneath his skin stayed with him throughout the drive, never subsiding, defying explanation, yet intensifying as they drew closer.
Forty minutes later, the car came to a halt in front of the entrance gate.
Rysand took charge of speaking to the guards, since they were arriving uninvited.
Henrik paid little heed to this; his entire focus was on Colette.
The Bloodmoon estate glowed with a golden light in the darkness as they arrived.
Lanterns glimmered through the hedges.
Music drifted out from the open doors.
He stepped out of the car before it had even come to a full halt and strode quickly across the courtyard.
That was when he caught sight of her, silver hair shining in the gloom near the side of the house.
It was Colette.
She was slipping out alone through a side door, heading toward the garden.
“Colette!” The music drowned out his voice.
By the time he reached the doorway, she had already vanished behind the hedges.
He gave chase, calling her name into the darkness, but received no reply.
He pressed on along the path, the tugging sensation in his chest intensifying with every step until it veered into panic.
He reached the spot where the path narrowed near the garden entrance and froze, his eyes glowing amber in the dark as his senses sharpened.
Footsteps were heading straight toward him, rapid and laced with fear.
Beneath Colette’s scent, his nose picked up something else, the heavy, acrid stench of motor oil and burnt copper.
An indistinct figure was rapidly closing in behind her, but the stranger, sensing the presence of another lurking in the shadows, veered sharply toward the hedge and vanished.
Henrik did not pursue him.
Colette was still running blindly through the dark, straight toward the bend in the path.
As she rounded the bend, Henrik emerged from the shadow of the hedge and seized her, pulling her against his chest to halt her frantic flight.
“No!” she screamed, struggling violently, her fingernails clawing at the arm barring her chest.
“Colette.
It’s me.” He held her firmly, just enough to ensure her safety.
“It’s Henrik.
You’re safe.”