Chapter 93
MAGGIE
Seven Years Ago
The wind had that sharp, early-autumn bite to it—the kind that whispered of coming frost and longer nights. I moved through the trees in silence, the familiar rustle of leaves beneath my boots soothing in its predictability. Carly and Erin were back at the cabin, patching up the girl we’d helped.
“Mia,” they’d called her.
She didn’t remember who she was. Barely remembered how to speak at first. But she had that look in her eyes—wild, haunted, proud. The look of someone who’d survived something and didn’t know whether to be grateful or angry about it.
We hadn’t known then who she really was. But I’d known—instinctively—that helping her meant something.
Still, being in that tiny cabin for more than a few hours at a time made my skin itch. So I’d slipped away into the trees, hoping for quiet.
That’s when I heard him.
“—Na!”
The voice was distant, echoing through the trees, but it was enough to make me pause. Male. Strong. Not rogue.
Another voice followed, closer this time. “Hellooooo!”
I crept toward the sound, sticking to the shadows, my senses flaring. Whoever he was, he was heading north—toward the old ravine, where the ground grew slick with moss and the roots twisted like traps.
I followed, curiosity tugging at me harder than it should’ve.
His scent hit me first. Not fully transformed, but close. A dominant wolf. Pack-born.
He wasn’t masked at all—too panicked or too arrogant to hide himself. And he kept calling out like he was chasing a ghost.
I caught a glimpse of him through the trees: tall, broad-shouldered, with short blond hair and a clean, sharp profile. He moved fast, like a man who knew the land but had no idea how close danger lingered.
Then he stumbled.
The overgrowth gave way, and suddenly he was there—standing right in front of me, barely ten feet away. He froze.
I did too.
For a breath, neither of us moved.
Then our eyes met.
It was like the forest fell away. Like the air went still.
I felt it slam into me—the pull. The tether. That impossible, irrefutable spark that lit up every nerve in my body and whispered: This is him.
His pupils dilated. His mouth parted. I watched the exact moment it hit him too.
Fated.
Our bond lit like a fuse.
We stepped toward each other, unconsciously mirroring each other’s movements, our gazes locked. It was like gravity had shifted.
He smiled.
So did I.
And for the first time in my life, I felt—briefly—like I’d found something I hadn’t even known I was missing.
I snapped out of the memory with a hard blink, the murmurs of rogue voices pulling me back to the present.
We were gathered in what passed for our war room now—an abandoned ranger station tucked deep in the woods, well off any radar. The long wooden table was scarred and uneven, maps scattered across it, candles burning low.
They were arguing again. About tactics. About strategy. About whether it was time to retreat, or strike harder.
None of them had noticed how quiet I’d gone.
“…we can’t keep doing this without resources,” one of the rogues was saying. “We’re spread too thin. Medical’s tapped. We need food. Weapons. Movement money.”
Another one chimed in. “We lost three good fighters last week. And for what? What did we even gain at Lakepoint?”
I stood and let the legs of the chair scrape just enough to cut through their noise.
That shut them up.
“We’re not done,” I said simply. “This isn’t about one territory or one target. It’s about shaking the cages they’ve been too comfortable in. Moonstone, Silverclaw—they only understand power. So that’s what we give them.”
A younger rogue leaned forward, hands clasped nervously. “There… might be another way.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Speak.”
He swallowed. “A funding source. Someone who’s… interested in our goals. Might be willing to help. Quietly.”
My brow arched. “Who?”
“They didn’t give a name. Just said they’d heard we were under new leadership. That you’re making waves. They want to meet.”
I looked around the room. Skepticism rippled across a few faces. Others looked hopeful. Desperate.
I let the silence hang for a moment, then nodded. “Set it up. I’ll go.”
They chose a neutral site. An old roadside motel two towns over—the kind of place where the front desk clerk didn’t ask questions, and the walls were thin enough to hear secrets bleed through.
The stucco exterior was cracked and sun-bleached, a dying vine curling around the porch railing like it had given up halfway. Inside, the carpet reeked faintly of mildew and bleach. A single overhead light in the lobby flickered like a nervous tic, buzzing just enough to raise the hairs on the back of my neck.
I was led to Room 3. Standard layout. Bed shoved up against a water-stained wall, faded floral comforter, and a table that looked like it might collapse if you leaned too hard. A dusty mirror above the dresser reflected nothing useful—just me, arms crossed, waiting.
I sat on the edge of the bed, foot tapping in rhythm with the hum of the light above.
I hated meetings like this. The silence before them. The knowing too little. The not knowing at all.
My guys had said this new contact wanted to remain anonymous until the last second. That they’d sent someone "with influence." Someone who didn’t want their name spoken aloud.
I rolled my shoulders back, exhaled through my nose. Whatever they were trying to hide wouldn’t stay hidden long. Not from me.
The doorknob turned.
The hinges gave a long, drawn-out creak that cut through the stale air like a blade.
And then—he stepped inside.
I froze. Every nerve in my body stilled like a held breath.
He did the same.
Our eyes locked.
And in that instant, the years peeled away, like the forest had folded in on itself and dropped us back into that clearing again—two wolves caught in fate’s cruel snare.
His breath hitched—just slightly. His posture shifted. He hadn’t expected me either.
I rose slowly, my muscles tight with old memory. My voice came out smooth and bitter, thick with venom and something dangerously close to amusement.
“Well,” I said. “This is certainly a surprise.”
“No kidding,” he said, his jaw tight. “Maggie.”
Just my name. No title. No apology.
We stared at each other, the space between us taut and electric. The same distance as the day we first scented each other in the woods. But that moment had been filled with awe. This one—this one was filled with knives.
My smile came slow and sharp. “Curious, isn’t it? How we keep finding each other. Even after you rejected our bond.”
His eyes darkened. Just a flicker. But I caught it.
I stepped forward. Not far. Just enough.
Enough for him to scent me clearly.
Enough to make the memory crawl back up from wherever he’d buried it.
The recognition in his eyes didn’t vanish. He didn’t look away. But he didn’t come closer either.
Coward.
“You’re the last person I expected to bankroll a rogue faction,” I said, letting my tone cool with each syllable. “And yet… here you are.”
He didn’t speak.
Just watched me with that same careful intensity he always had—like I was a loaded weapon, or a secret he hadn’t decided how to keep yet.
But I saw the questions in his eyes. The caution. The guilt, maybe.
And something else.
Something more dangerous.
Curiosity.
“Why?” I asked, voice low now. “You have a pack. Power. Influence. A place at the table. So what are you doing here?”
Still no answer.
Just that unreadable expression of his. That maddening calm. I used to think it was strength.
Now I knew better.
I folded my arms again. “No speeches? No carefully rehearsed pitch?”
He stayed silent.
It occurred to me, then, that he might not have come here to offer anything at all.
He might have come to see.
To feel out my position. To measure the threat.
He looked different now. Older. Sharper. Like the years had etched more into him than power and duty. He still carried himself like a leader. Like someone used to being obeyed.
But he had come here.
To me.
Which meant he wasn’t as certain as he wanted to be.
Which meant this game?
It was just getting started.
