I was checking the boarders of our pack lands when I spelt the most amazing smell of Jasmin and wild berries. I took off towards the smell when I saw a woman standing on the trail. My beta had jumped in front of her stopping her in her tracks. When she turned around, I was standing in my wolf form. I walked up to her and bumped into her so that she would sit down.

The smell was stronger now that I am close to her, I am curious I don’t smell a wolf. I started walking around her smelling that wonderful scent. My beta had run off to keep checking on the boarders. The beautiful woman reached out to me; I am still not sure about her, so I let out a low growl letting her know I am not sure of

Her fingertips brushed against my coat, then dug deeper, scratching that perfect spot behind my ears. Pleasure rippled through me, and I sank to the ground beside her, surrendering completely as this enchanting woman worked her fingers through my thick silver fur. I was very much enjoying her touch when my beta yells through the link that I am needed on the border to the west, that there are rogues attacking.

The urgent message jolts me into action. I leap to my feet and sprint toward the western boundary of our territory. The scent hits me before I arrive—metallic and overwhelming. Blood. Lots of it. Cresting the ridge, I take in the scene: Jace locked in combat with three snarling rogues, while nearby, my other warriors struggle against their own attackers, outnumbered and fighting for their lives.

I launch myself at one of the rogues attacking my beta, my claws finding the soft flesh of his throat in one decisive strike. Blood sprays as he crumples. Before we can catch our breath, three more rogues emerge from the tree line, eyes wild with bloodlust. Working in seamless coordination, my pack and I surround them, striking with practiced precision until the forest floor is littered with bodies. Eight rogues lie motionless in the dirt. The ninth whimpers, still breathing. I gesture toward him with a blood-slicked hand. "Take this one to the dungeons. I want answers."

Through our pack bond, I summon more warriors to handle the bodies. Jace, my beta, shoots me a sideways grin. "Took your sweet time getting here, didn't you? We nearly had it wrapped up." His teasing earns him a playful punch to the shoulder as we both laugh, the tension of battle dissolving between us. Together we make our way back to the pack house, our prisoner in tow.

The heavy iron door to the dungeon creaks open, releasing the metallic scent of blood and echoes of distant screams. Each step down the worn stone staircase takes us deeper into stale, damp air. We pass cell after cell, some occupied, some empty, until we reach the final chamber—our interrogation room.

The rogue's screams and the metallic tang of blood assault my senses before the door even creaks open. Jace follows me into the dimly lit cell where our warrior stands at attention. "We'll handle it from here," I tell him, and he nods with a quick "Yes, Alpha" before slipping out. The prisoner hangs suspended from the ceiling, silver chains biting into his flesh, matching cuffs binding his wrists and ankles. As I circle him like prey, my gaze drifts to the interrogation table in the corner—an array of specialized tools arranged with meticulous care. My fingers hover briefly before selecting a set of slender silver blades, their edges glistening with the green residue of wolfsbane.

Circling the rogue, I drag my silver blades across his skin, leaving thin red trails that sizzle and smoke. The acrid scent of burning flesh fills the chamber. His eyes follow me, wide with recognition when I stop directly before him.

"Why did you and your dead friends attack our borders?" I demand, not waiting for him to recover. His only response is a bloody smile, which earns him a slash across his stomach. The silver blade sizzles against his flesh as he screams, spitting crimson onto the stone floor. "Who do you work for?" I press, circling closer. His laughter echoes off the dungeon walls, igniting my rage. I drive my knife deep into his forearm, watching dispassionately as his blood pools beneath his suspended body.

Jace's fists connect with the rogue's torso, the crack of breaking ribs echoing in the stone chamber. Inside my mind, Silver growls with impatience.

"Let me handle this," my wolf urges. "I'll make him talk."

"You can have control," I concede silently, "but he stays alive. We need information."

"Fine," Silver reluctantly agrees.

I surrender control, feeling my consciousness slide into the background as Silver takes over. While Jace continues his questioning, I pace restlessly behind him. The rogue's stubborn silence pushes me to my limit. I shove my beta aside, and Jace's eyes widen as he notices the darkness that has overtaken my gaze—the telltale sign that Silver now commands my body.

"Easy, Silver," Jace warns. "We need him talking, not dead."

I brush past him with a dismissive sigh, approaching our prisoner directly.

"Why did you attack my pack?" I demand.

The rogue responds with nothing but mocking laughter. My fist crashes into his jaw, sending a spray of crimson across the dungeon floor. Droplets spatter my face, but I barely notice.

"Why did you attack my pack?" I repeat, my voice dropping dangerously low.

His silence earns him another blow.

Rage clouds my vision until all I see is crimson. "Last chance," I growl. "Why did you attack us?" The rogue's only answer is a glob of saliva hitting my cheek. Before I can stop her, Silver takes control. In one fluid motion, she tears through the prisoner's throat. His head thuds against the stone floor as blood paints the walls. Jace's disappointed gaze finds mine before he turns and walks out.

Outside the dungeon, he rounds on me. "We needed information," he hisses, "and now he's just as dead as the others, you asshole." I seize his collar, yanking him close enough to feel my breath. Anyone else who dared speak to me this way would already be bleeding out. But not Jace. I release him, remembering how my mother Sara had taken him in after the Great War claimed his family, raising him alongside me as her own.

Our friendship was forged in childhood mischief—racing through forest trails, stealing pastries from the kitchen, driving my sister and mother to the brink of madness with our antics. But when my father's murder sent me spiraling into feral darkness, Jace anchored me to humanity when so many others would have been lost forever. For months, he slept outside my door, his steady heartbeat a beacon guiding me back from the abyss. That black eye I still carry? A permanent reminder of how close I came to never returning at all.

I meet Jace's eyes, my mismatched gaze—one normal, one permanently black from my last feral episode—reflecting in his. Only he can pull me back from that edge when rage threatens to consume me. "Let's clean up," I say, my voice still rough. "Meet me in my office after." We climb the stairs to the fourth floor in silence, passing the guards who ensure only pack leadership—betas, gamma, and Alpha family—ever set foot on this sacred level of our hierarchy.

Steam billows as I crank the shower dial, washing away the afternoon's carnage in scalding rivulets of pink. The hot water pounds tension from my shoulders while memories of blood spiral down the drain. I towel off, padding across the hardwood to my closet where I pull on my usual uniform—black shirt, black jeans—armor of a different kind. Her face flashes unbidden: that woman from the woods. I lace my boots with unnecessary force, as if the action might tighten my grip on wandering thoughts.

The main floor corridor stretches before me as I make my way to my office. Jace hasn't arrived yet. I settle behind my desk, pretending to shuffle through paperwork while my gaze drifts to the window. Outside, shadows lengthen across the grounds, but all I see are flashes of copper hair and eyes green as spring leaves.

Her scent haunts me—jasmine and wild berries, but not a trace of wolf. Why does she linger in my thoughts when countless beautiful women have passed through my life without leaving such an impression? Lost in these questions, I don't notice Jace until his palm crashes against my desk. I nearly leap from my chair, finding him doubled over with laughter, clutching his sides.

"Sorry," I say, joining his laughter despite myself. "Got caught in my head for a minute."

When his amusement finally subsides, he drops into the chair opposite mine. I send a quick mind-link to Braxton, summoning my gamma to the office. While we wait, Jace leans forward with a knowing smirk.

"So what's the deal with that girl you couldn't take your eyes off?"

"Something about her feels familiar," I say, running a hand through my hair. "Like a dream I can't quite remember. But that's impossible—I'd never forget someone who looked like that." I pause, staring at the window. "When this mess settles, I'm going back there. I need to know why she seems so... known to me."

The door swings open, and Braxton's broad shoulders fill the frame. I gesture to the empty chair. "Sit. I called you both here about the west border situation." I lean forward, palms flat on the desk. "I want patrols doubled immediately. That rogue died without giving us a damn thing about why they're coming at us."

Braxton nods, his broad shoulders straightening. "Doubling patrols makes sense. At least for a few weeks."

I trace my finger along the map spread across my desk, following the natural boundary where our pack house nestles against the sheer granite cliffs. "The north and east are impenetrable," I murmur, tapping the parchment. "Nature's fortress." My eyes meet Jace's troubled gaze. "But these attacks... first the south border last month, now the west. They're probing for weakness, methodically." I reach for the crystal decanter, amber liquid catching the lamplight as I fill two tumblers. Sliding one across the desk to Jace, I down mine in a single burning swallow. The silence between us stretches uncomfortably. "You haven't said a word since the dungeon," I finally observe, studying his face. "What's going through that head of yours?"

Jace's jaw tightens as he leans forward, voice dropping to a near-whisper. "This isn't random. Something bigger is brewing." His fingers drum against the armrest. "We should dispatch scouts to shadow both the Blood Moon territory and that vampire coven on their eastern border. Watch for unusual movements, alliances." He meets my gaze, unflinching. "Being the dominant pack paints a target on our backs. Every ambitious Alpha wants our territory, our status. And the vampires?" A bitter laugh escapes him. "They've been plotting our extinction for centuries, recruiting witches to their cause whenever possible."

"Your instincts are solid," I say, nodding at Jace. "Gather our best trackers—I want eyes beyond our borders by nightfall."

Jace rises, already mentally assembling his team. "I'll have them moving within the hour. Meet me at the western ridge after your rounds?"

I drain my glass, the whiskey burning a familiar path down my throat. Something about this situation tugs at the edges of my memory—a half-remembered dream, perhaps, or a warning I'd dismissed. I shake the feeling away as I stride through the corridors, checking supply levels and security positions throughout our territory. The weight of leadership lightens only when I reach the pack orphanage, where small faces light up at my approach. Here, among children who've lost everything yet still find reasons to smile, I remember why we fight so hard to protect what's ours.

Tiny fingers intertwine with mine the moment I cross the orphanage threshold. It's Mila, not yet seven, her gaze carrying wisdom no child should possess. She pulls me eagerly toward the wall where her artwork hangs—crude crayon lines forming our pack symbol, surrounded by small figures holding hands. Something catches in my throat as I crouch beside her, unrolling the blueprints I've carried. "See these?" I tell her, tracing the lines with my finger. "Next week, we break ground. Not someday, not maybe—real rooms for each of you." Across the room, Liam has Tomas in a headlock, both boys a tangle of skinny arms and legs, growling playfully. Warriors in the making, but I won't rush them there. At the doorway, I turn back for one last look. Their faces—some laughing, some serious, all precious—mirror both my childhood wounds and our pack's tomorrow.