Chapter 102

Alexander

The scent of blood clung to the walls.

Faint—nearly swallowed by the stench of oil and dust—but unmistakable.

Wolves bled differently. Their blood sank deeper into places most wouldn’t notice. It clung to the air like a whisper of violence, a stain that time and bleach wouldn’t erase.

I crouched low, pressing my fingers against the rough grooves slashed into the concrete. Three lines. Uneven spacing. Claws.

Too wide to be human. Too deliberate to be an accident.

Rogues.

I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight settle in my chest.

I’d hoped that when GrimMaw found his pup and took him back, things would settle—that this chaos would die down, having given them what they wanted. But clearly, that wasn’t the case.

This wasn’t over.

I glanced around the warehouse, the metallic scent of looted shelves and upturned crates mixing with the ghost of blood. The place had been ransacked—medical supplies gutted, crates shattered, boxes overturned like a storm had blown through.

Not just any supplies.

Vaccines. Healing injections. Instant adrenaline shots. Everything a wolf would need to recover from a fight.

I clenched my jaw. There was no other reason to steal it unless they were preparing for war.

The council had dismissed the warnings.

Scavengers, they said.

Criminals, not a threat.

Idiots.

I exhaled sharply, rolling my shoulders as I straightened. The evidence was right in front of them—this wasn’t scattered looting. It wasn’t some desperate, starving outcasts trying to survive.

They were coordinated.

They were gathering supplies.

They were planning for something.

And the pack council was still too blind, too comfortable, to see it.

The warehouse doors groaned behind me, metal creaking against metal.

I didn’t look up.

“You’re brooding again.”

Mile’s voice echoed through the hollow space.

I glanced over my shoulder as he stepped into the light—tall, broad, with that same easy swagger he always carried, like none of this ever got to him the way it got to me.

“I'm thinking,” I corrected.

Connor snorted. “Thinking, brooding—same thing with you.”

I didn’t bother arguing. He wasn't wrong.

I straightened, brushing the dust from my hands. The warehouse stretched around us in broken pieces—shattered crates, ripped plastic, the stench of the nearby sea thick in the air. They hadn't just stolen supplies. They'd wrecked everything they didn’t take.

Miles knelt beside one of the crates, flipping a broken board between his fingers. “They’re not just after goods anymore.”

“No,” I muttered. “They’re making a point.”

A warning. GrimMaw was up to something.

Miles didn’t argue. He never did. He just waited—watching me, letting me work through the storm in my head.

I have forgotten how long he’d been at my side, ever since Owen was young, still running away and escaping the mansion.

But, that was the difference between him and I. I carried the weight of the pack like a chain around my neck. He knew how to set it down.

The council would call this an isolated incident. They’d review reports, file paperwork, and sit on their hands until the rogues were kicking down their doors.

Especially with that coward, Liam pining again me. I shook my head, he’d been nothing but trouble every since Lauren had moved back in with me. Jealous scat.

But I knew better.

I'd seen this kind of coordination before—years ago, when GrimMaw was still welcomes in the high Alpha courts.

“You told them everything?” Miles asked, like he already knew the answer.

I clenched my jaw.

“Vaguely,” I said flatly.

Connor's breath hissed between his teeth. “Cowards.”

I told the council about my family, a little. But I refused to mention the Moon Goddess, something Liam seemed tense, but thankful for.

They already werne’t happy to find out about the Lycan blood running through my kids veins, we didn’t need more fauter.

I stared down at the wreckage instead, letting the silence stretch between us.

The pack council had their rules. Their protocols. Their endless fucking debates.

But I wasn’t bound by them. Mostly.

If they wouldn’t protect our territory, I would. We couldn’t just ignore the rogue's gathering.

“I’m not waiting for their permission,” I muttered.

Miles’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “You’re going after them?”

“I’m finding their camp. Or where they took our supplies.”

“Alone?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.

Miles swore under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair.

“You really are trying to get yourself killed.”

I almost smiled.

But I couldn’t sit back and wait. Not when I could feel the danger pressing closer—just beneath the surface, waiting to break loose. The council would rather bury their heads in laws and treaties, pretending the exile rules were still holding.

I knew better. The rogues were organizing. And if they were organizing, they had a leader.

Someone with enough power to unite wolves who had spent decades trying to rip each other apart.

And well, it was a bit obvious who.

“You know why they won’t act,” Mile’s said after a moment. “If they admit what’s happening, they have to admit the exile laws failed. That times are changing faster then our courts can keep up with.”

I ground my teeth. He was right.

The whole damn system had been built on the idea that banishment stripped rogues of power—sent them out to rot alone. But exile meant nothing if the wolves started banding together.

Pack or no pack, wolves would always follow strength.

“I don't need the council to see the truth,” I said quietly. “I need to stop this before it spreads.”

Miles was silent for a long moment.

Then he sighed, shaking his head. “You always did like playing hero.”

I didn’t smile. Heroes died. I wasn't trying to be one.

I was trying to survive, to keep my family safe.

“We’ll need more than brute force,” Miles muttered. “We don’t even know where they’re hiding.”

I glanced back at the claw marks—picturing the map in my head, tracing the patterns of the attacks. The smell of pine on their paws. They were moving in a loose perimeter around the city—circling us without ever coming too close.

Herding us.

“They’re far inland,” I said finally. “Industrial land south of the train yard, closer to the pine forests on the edge of the city.”

Miles's brows lifted. “You're guessing.”

“I'm right.”

He didn’t argue.

I turned away from the wreckage, already running through the plan in my mind. The council would sit in their chambers and debate. I would hunt.

One by one, I’d dismantle this blanted act against the Pack.

“You're really going to do this alone?” Miles asked quietly.

I looked at him.

“You think I can’t?”

Miles's mouth twitched—half-smile, half-grimace. “I think you’re a stubborn bastard. And I think Lauren's going to rip your head off when she finds out.”

The mention of her name hit like a fist to the ribs—unexpected and too damn close.

I shoved it down.

Lauren would hate this.

But I couldn't let her carry this weight. Not with everything else pressing down on her. Not with Abigail’s blood shimmering under a microscope and Owen caught between two worlds neither of us understood.

We were handling two very different things that felt miles apart.

But they were mine to protect.

Even if it meant becoming the monster everyone already believed I was, breaking council rules.

I glanced back at the broken warehouse one last time. The scent of blood still lingered.

Let the council argue. Let them bury their heads.

I wasn’t waiting.