Page 5

A Greenbriar scent.

It’s weak, almost diluted, but unmistakable.

Frowning, I glance around the restaurant, but there aren’t any familiar faces in here. Our pack is two hundred strong, but I know every member by heart. None of them is here.

Still, I guess there’s a possibility that some distant cousin of the bloodline came through here recently. Or maybe Cal sent a scout ahead of my arrival, since he likes to be an overprotective busybody to his future Alpha.

Turning my attention back to Henry, I notice his gaze flick toward the back corner of The Diner, but before I can question it, he leans back in his seat and lets out a long sigh.

“Let’s talk about it, son,” he begins. “I’ll tell you what happened on our end of things. You tell me what happened on yours. We shake hands and call it a day. How does that sound?”

Easy-peasy. “Sounds good to me.”

“Well, here’s how it went. I talked to Carol and her boy Dan—those are my wolves who breached the border. It seems to me like we’ve had some issues on the western edges of our territory—they got spooked, and ran a little too far for safety.”

I nod slowly. This is the version of the events that I already know. Dan, a young shifter who only just turned fifteen, is the one that Jamie Macleod accidentally roughed up. His mother, Carol, is the one who helped Lara Macleod break up the fight before things could escalate.

That’s not the detail I’m latching on to, though.

“Your western border?” I ask. “You mean Blackburn territory?”

Henry’s face hardens. “Indeed.”

“They’re messing with the territory lines?”

“It’s a new problem. Samson’s been quiet for the past few years, you know. But now I guess he’s back to being a thorn in our side.”

I can’t keep the frown off my face. The Blackburns are the Greenbriar Pack’s primary adversary. We don’t share a border with them thanks to the natural lay of the land, but they’re close enough that the Whiterose Pack has the misfortune of being the buffer between us.

Samson Blackburn, the Alpha, has been a warmonger since he took power a couple of decades ago. They’re a nasty bunch of shifters, and leadership is determined by anyone who has the guts to challenge the current Alpha to a death match. In the span of one night, Samson murdered his own father, and then started expanding the pack’s territory with reckless aggression.

We lost quite a few Greenbriars in the conflicts that ensued from that mess, including two elders. The Sinclairs.

I fight the urge to flinch. I really try not to think about that surname nowadays.

“If the Blackburns are rising again, we need to beat them back down before they can inflict too much damage,” I say.

Henry taps his fingers on the table thoughtfully. “I agree, but I’d also like to tread lightly. Your pack has the advantage of not having a shared border with them. Mine often has to strike a balance between diplomacy and strength that can be fairly delicate.”

“With all due respect, I don’t—”

“Furthermore,” Henry interrupts my protest firmly, “I don’t think it’s a secret that my pack is not quite as robust as yours. We are older, and severely lacking in younglings. We’re not in the same position as the Greenbriar Pack, which is to say that we can’t afford to strike first and ask questions later.”

What he’s saying is that, for now, he intends to do nothing. This man, who is at least thirty years my senior and has therefore fought Samson Blackburn firsthand, would rather sit back and wait to see what will happen instead of taking action.

In any other situation, I’d call him a fool. But I’m in his territory, here to smooth over a misunderstanding during which one of my pack injured one of his rare younglings.

I have no choice but to nod diplomatically and say, “I understand.”

“We would, however, greatly appreciate the Greenbriar Pack’s allegiance and support if it becomes essential in the near future.”

Again, if it wouldn’t be the wrong move, I’d roll my eyes. Henry Whiterose is saying that he wants us Greenbriars to stay out of it up until the moment when they’re desperate for our warriors to sweep in and save the day for them. If I was the official Greenbriar Alpha, I’d have a few things to say about that sentiment, but my father is still in charge, and I’m here as a princely diplomat.

“Of course,” I tell Henry, doing my best to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “The Greenbriars and the Whiteroses are longtime friends.”

Henry isn’t even looking at me, though. He’s once again shooting a furtive glance toward the back corner of The Diner. His wrinkled brow is knit in confusion, and when he looks back at me, something sparks in his gaze that I can’t figure out.

Suspicion creeps down my spine. As subtly as I can manage, I sweep my eyes over the room once again. I don’t see anything odd, but I do smell that faint Greenbriar aroma mingling at the very fringes of the Whiterose scent that hangs heavy in the air.