Chapter 40
DEREK
The hum of the engine was the only sound filling the car. Outside, the landscape rushed by—a blur of tall grass, dense trees, and late afternoon haze. I leaned back against the seat, my hands loose in my lap, my mind anything but calm. The suit I wore itched at my throat, but I didn’t adjust the collar. It was a small discomfort, easy to ignore compared to the thoughts turning over in my head.
Joe sat next to me, unusually quiet for once. He’d already gone over the itinerary twice, confirmed our security escort, and double-checked our destination route. He knew better than to push conversation now. I wasn’t in the mood.
I’d worn my best suit. It wasn’t for politics, and it damn sure wasn’t a formal negotiation. But still, I wore it—like armor.
Old habits die hard.
I stared out the window as the scenery rolled past, a restless weight in my chest. I wasn’t heading to a war council or a council chamber, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that what I found there might change everything.
I didn’t know what I expected—answers, maybe. A shift in the tide. Or maybe just the chance to look someone in the eye and finally say what needed to be said.
Or what I should’ve said a long time ago.
Something needed to give. I would do just about anything that could shake loose the grip this mystery had on my mind.
The note had changed everything.
“If you want to know what happened to Elena, perhaps you should look at your own pack.”
That sentence kept replaying in my head. Taunting me. Turning every loyal face in Silverclaw into a question mark.
I closed my eyes, trying to shut it out. But instead of silence, I found memory.
I was twelve. And still hadn’t shifted.
Every other male in my family had managed it by ten—some by eight, crowing about it like it proved something. Maybe it did. Maybe I was already behind.
Not me. Not the boy meant to inherit a legacy.
The teasing from my cousins started off like it always did in our world—quietly. A nudge here, a laugh there. “Late bloomer,” they’d mutter, half under their breath.
But boys—especially boys with sharp teeth and something to prove—rarely stay subtle for long. The jokes turned to challenges. The challenges to dares. And beneath it all, something uglier began to fester.
That day, I let them get to me.
They dared me to follow them into the forest—into the old hollow, deep in the pines, where rogues had been spotted the month before. “If you’re a real wolf, you’ll be fine,” they’d said, all toothy smirks and cocky grins. “Show us what you’re made of.”
And I’d gone.
Stupid. Proud. Angry. So angry I couldn’t see straight.
I should’ve known better. But at twelve, all I had was instinct and something brittle inside me I refused to let them break.
So I followed, deeper and deeper into the trees, the sunlight thinning out above me like water through a sieve. I thought we were just hiking. Just proving a point.
I didn’t notice when the laughter stopped. I didn’t notice the silence.
I turned to say something—some smug one-liner, maybe—and they were gone. Just gone. Shifted into their wolves and bolted, leaving me alone in rogue territory before I even realized what had happened.
That was when I heard the first snarl.
Low. Wet. Close.
It came from the shadows to my right, and I turned too slowly.
The second came from the left. And then the third. Surrounding me. Herding me.
I ran. Fought. Kicked. Bit.
I remember blood. My own. Theirs.
My heart was hammering out of rhythm, my lungs barely catching breath, my body refusing to give up. But they were older. Bigger. Experienced. I was a kid with a last name and no fangs to back it up.
A blade—not silver, thank the Goddess—slashed across my face, just missing my right eye. It split my eyebrow, tore upward into my hairline.
Fire exploded behind my eyes. I tasted copper. My knees buckled, but I didn’t fall.
I wouldn’t fall.
I crawled. I growled. I bled into the moss.
And then, out of nowhere, the air changed. A new sound cracked through the woods.
Thwack.
The rogue in front of me dropped, his body jerking sideways like something yanked the life out of him. An arrow jutted from his spine.
Another turned to run—thwack. He collapsed, face-first into the brush.
The third took one look and bolted, but he didn’t make it far.
The arrows came clean. Precise. Unforgiving.
My vision was fading—shifting in and out like an old television losing its signal—but I remember the blur of movement above me. Someone kneeling beside me, the scent of fear and steel and something familiar in her hair.
A voice, sharp but shaky, whispering that I’d be okay. That help was coming.
Then everything went black.
When I woke, I was still in the forest, barely conscious. Floating. Bleeding. Breathing, but barely. And when I blinked through the haze—red, green, pain—I saw her.
Cassandra.
She was fifteen then. Just a girl. Pale, shaking, a silver cut blooming on her arm. Her eyes were wide with horror. She held the bow like it had burned her, and next to her on the grass sat a quiver with only a few arrows left.
“You’re Silverclaw, aren’t you?” she’d asked me, kneeling down to help me sit up.
In her hand was a piece of cloth that looked like it had been torn off of someone’s shirt. She held it out and gingerly put it to the wound on my head, which was still weeping blood.
“Yes,” I’d said weakly. “You look familiar.”
“I’m from the Eastern Ridge Pack,” she had said, pulling her hand back, looking distastefully at the tacky smear of blood I’d left on it. “My father has been negotiating for Silverclaw protection.”
She’d been out for a walk, she said. She saw the rogues. Saw me.
Saw what they were doing.
“Goddess,” I’d said, thinking that the Goddess truly had sent me a savior. “I’ll make sure that your pack gets it. You saved my life.”
“I—” she’d started, thinking she didn’t know exactly who I was.
“I’m the Alpha’s son,” I’d said. “I’ll tell my father what you did here today. Your pack will have an ally for life. I swear it.”
I shouldn’t have been swearing anything back then. A twelve-year-old heir didn’t really have the juice to convince the Alpha of one of the most powerful packs in the nation to do anything.
I think knowing how tenuous a promise I’d just made on my father’s behalf had somehow made me make my next vow…
“And,” I’d said. “I swear you’ll always have the protection you’ve just given me. You saved my life. I owe you mine. I will protect you. Always.”
Twelve years old. Covered in blood and bruises. I’d made a vow with more fire in my chest than I’d ever felt before.
At the time, I’d meant it.
I sighed, leaning back in my seat. And heard an answering sigh next to me.
“Something bothering you?” I asked Joe without looking.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “You. You’ve been brooding since we left.”
“I don’t brood,” I said, though I absolutely did.
He gave me a look. “You’ve got that ‘storm incoming’ vibe. And that’s usually when things go sideways.”
I leaned my head back against the seat. “They already have.”
A loud thump rocked the car and snapped me back to the present.
“What the hell—” Joe jerked forward.
Another thump. This one louder. Closer.
The driver hit the brakes. The SUV skidded sideways, tires spitting gravel as we came to a stop.
My body went tense. Years of training kicked in before fear could.
Joe’s hand was already on the walkie clipped to his belt.
“Eyes up,” he barked. “Team One, report!”
Crackle. Then: “It’s a rogue attack! Left flank—there’s movement in the trees!”
Before he could finish, a window shattered—rocks or something heavier crashing through it. Glass sprayed the seats, glinting in the light.
