Chapter 47
Swift River warriors doubled their patrols along the borders after scouts reported rogue sightings at multiple key locations. The pack's grand hall had been transformed into a tactical command center, maps spread across tables and warriors receiving assignments with grim efficiency.
Alpha Dominic conducted a detailed briefing, pointing out each reported position on a topographical map of Swift River territory. "These formations suggest coordinated movement rather than typical rogue behavior," he explained, his finger tracing the pattern of sightings. "They've established observation posts at each of our major defensive checkpoints."
Warriors nodded grimly, their expressions reflecting the seriousness of the threat. Rogues typically moved in small, disorganized groups seeking quick raids rather than sustained engagement. This level of coordination suggested something far more dangerous.
"We've identified at least twenty-five distinct individuals," the Swift River security chief reported. "All armed, moving with military precision, and maintaining strict communication protocols. These aren't typical rogues."
Raymond shifted uncomfortably beside the map table. "Rogues lack the discipline for this level of coordination," he argued dismissively. "Your scouts are likely misinterpreting normal territorial wanderings."
Several warriors exchanged incredulous glances at Raymond's stubborn refusal to acknowledge the obvious threat.
Alpha Marcus exchanged a meaningful glance with Dominic before taking his place beside the Swift River Alpha, their shared leadership creating a visually powerful alliance. The two older wolves stood shoulder to shoulder, their combined presence commanding immediate attention.
"These patterns mirror tactics used during the Eastern Territory Wars," Marcus observed, his voice carrying the weight of experience as he indicated specific formations on the map. "They're establishing siege positions. Note the triangular arrangement—forward scouts, defensive fallback positions, and extraction routes carefully maintained."
"I served during the final campaigns," a gray-haired Swift River warrior added, stepping forward with the deliberate movements of an aging fighter. "The positioning is nearly identical—scouts at elevated positions, forward units concealed in natural formations, communication lines established along water routes. This is professional military positioning, not rogue behavior."
I watched with quiet satisfaction as Swift River warriors naturally deferred to Marcus's expertise, despite Raymond's official position. Decades of respected leadership couldn't be erased by a simple transfer of title—something Raymond was finally beginning to recognize as warriors directed their questions to his father rather than him.
"Reinforce the western approach," Marcus instructed, indicating a vulnerable point on the map where the terrain dipped between two rocky outcroppings. "The terrain provides natural cover for an advancing force. Double the guard rotation there and position archers on both high points."
Warriors immediately moved to implement his suggestions, their respect for his experience evident in their unhesitating compliance. Several younger fighters volunteered for the dangerous western post without hesitation, eager to prove themselves under Marcus's guidance.
During breakfast later that morning, a Swift River messenger approached our table, moving with the formal precision of one carrying official communication. To my surprise, he bypassed Raymond entirely, approaching Giana instead. He presented a sealed note with formal deference, bowing slightly as he offered the folded parchment.
She read it quickly, her expression carefully controlled as she folded and concealed it within her tunic. The messenger departed without awaiting a response, suggesting the note required no reply—or perhaps that the reply would come through different channels.
Throughout the morning negotiations, I noticed her repeatedly checking the position of the sun through the high windows, her attention drifting from the treaty discussions with increasing frequency. Her usual mask of innocent attentiveness had slipped, revealing an edge of anticipation that set my nerves on edge. Three times she excused herself briefly, returning with slightly heightened color in her cheeks, as if from some exertion or excitement.
"The proposed boundaries appear acceptable," Raymond announced as the negotiations neared completion, his finger tracing the newly agreed borderlines. "Though I maintain reservations about the restrictions on seasonal hunting rights."
"The restrictions apply equally to both packs," Alpha Dominic reminded him, his tone that of a teacher correcting a student. "Preserving game populations ensures sustained prosperity for future generations."
The final treaty negotiations included specific clauses about mutual defense against rogue attacks—provisions that took on new urgency given the reported encampments. Alpha Marcus insisted on detailed protocols for information sharing and coordinated responses, much to Giana's visible discomfort. She shifted in her seat each time the rogues were mentioned, her fingers tapping restlessly against her thigh.
When I managed to slip away during a brief recess, I made my way to Giana's assigned chamber, carefully checking the corridor before entering. The room appeared undisturbed, but my trained eye quickly spotted the waste basket partially concealed behind a chair. Inside, I discovered the crumpled note she had received earlier.
The coordinates matched exactly those found in her previous message, confirming my suspicions of coordinated planning. Additional notations suggested timing—sun position, guard rotations, and what appeared to be code names for specific positions around the compound.
"Giana received confirmation of positions matching those in her earlier note," I told Kane during a brief, hidden meeting behind the stables. The smell of hay and horses provided cover for our whispered conversation. "Whatever she's planning will happen soon—possibly today. The note mentioned 'apex position' which I believe refers to the sun at its highest point."
Kane nodded grimly, his expression tense with suppressed energy. "I've positioned trusted wolves strategically around the compound. If she signals the rogues, we'll know immediately and can counter."
"We need to warn Swift River without revealing our suspicions about Giana," I said, glancing nervously toward the main compound. "Raymond would never believe us, but we can't allow an attack to catch them completely unprepared."
"I've already spoken with Alpha Dominic's security chief," Kane replied, his hand briefly touching mine in reassurance. "Framed the warning as intelligence gathered from my border patrols. They've heightened alert status without revealing the source."
We developed a detailed response plan, identifying escape routes, defensive positions, and priority protection targets. The weight of what we were preparing for hung heavy between us—defending against an attack orchestrated by our own Alpha's mate.
"If something happens to me," I said quietly, my hand gripping his arm, "make sure Luna Elena knows everything we've discovered."
Kane's expression hardened, his jaw clenching visibly. "Nothing will happen to you," he stated with fierce certainty, covering my hand with his. "I won't allow it."
The treaty signing ceremony began at midday with formal rituals in Swift River's grand hall. Ancient banners hung from rafters worn smooth by centuries of smoke from sacred fires, their faded emblems still vibrant with historical significance. Pack members from both territories lined the walls, witnessing the renewal of alliances that had kept peace for generations.
I scanned the gathered crowd, noting with growing unease that one of Giana's most loyal followers—a young wolf named Tristan who rarely left her side—was conspicuously absent from the proceedings. Several other wolves I'd identified as her allies had strategically positioned themselves near exits and key defensive points, their apparently casual postures belied by their watchful eyes.
The ceremonial treaty was presented on an ancient table carved from a single massive oak, its surface bearing the scars of hundreds of previous agreements. As tradition required, Alpha Dominic and Raymond would sign first, followed by each pack's Luna.
Elder Walsh conducted the blessing ritual, burning sacred herbs and invoking ancestral witnesses. The formal words of alliance echoed through the hall, carried by generations of tradition as blue smoke curled toward the ceiling.
Raymond approached the table, ceremonial quill in hand. As he prepared to make the first mark, his arm extended over the parchment, a bone-chilling howl echoed through the valley—a sound that raised the hair on the back of my neck with its unnatural tone.
Seconds later, multiple explosions hit the outer walls of the Swift River compound. The impact shook the ceremonial hall, sending dust cascading from ancient rafters as warriors rushed to defensive positions.
"We're under attack!" the security chief shouted, already organizing defensive formations. "Northern and eastern perimeters breached!"
In the sudden chaos—pack members scrambling for weapons, Alphas shouting commands, guards rushing to predetermined positions—I saw Giana slip her hand into Raymond's pocket. The movement was quick, practiced, her fingers extracting a key with smooth precision while his attention remained fixed on the disturbance outside.
Our eyes met briefly across the churning crowd. Her expression shifted from surprise to calculation to something colder—the mask of innocence abandoned completely as she turned and slipped away from the main hall.
I immediately understood her plan. The attack wasn't the main objective—it was the distraction. Whatever she truly wanted lay somewhere within the Swift River compound, somewhere that required Raymond's key to access.
The question was: what was valuable enough to orchestrate such an elaborate, dangerous plan to obtain?
