Page 29

I blinked.

“Didn’t even say a word. Just punched me. Right there inthe sparring ring. Dropped me like a sack of bricks.” He touched his chin as if recalling the sting. “I’ve fought beside that man for fifteen years and I’ve never seen him lose control like that.”

I didn’t know what to say. Because I didn’t know what it meant. And worse—I didn’t know why something deep inside me liked it.A little too much.

I was halfway through tearing into the bread when Garrick started talking again. At first, I thought he was just trying to fill the silence—some men couldn’t stand it, especially wolves—but then I realized he wasn’t just talking.

He was choosing his words.

“There was a battle two winters ago,” he began, his tone light, like he was reminiscing. “Deep in the Black Pines. Crescent Moon had taken one of our outposts, killed everyone inside. We were outnumbered, ambushed. I thought we were done. Andros didn’t hesitate. He took five men, cut through their front lines like they were wheat under a blade.”

I didn’t look up. Just tore off another piece of bread, chewed slowly.

“He dragged one of their Alphas back alive. Threw him at the feet of his own pack and told them to kneel or die. He didn’t have to kill the rest. They broke themselves trying to follow him after that.”

“Don’t try to talk him up in front of me,” I muttered. “I know what he is.”

“That wasn’t the point of the story.” He pushed off the hearth, crossing the room to pour himself a cup of water. “The point was to tell you how well-trained our fighters are. How careful the trainers are with their students. How much we value structure. Control.”

My eyes narrowed. The food sat heavier in my stomach now.

“What’s this really about, Garrick?”

He stilled. Avoided my gaze. That was the first real signsomething wasn’t right. A man like him—broad, scarred, always walking like he was half a breath away from battle—avoiding a stray Omega’s eyes?

“Out with it.”

He cleared his throat and glanced at the door.

“After breakfast,” he said finally, “I found the boy.”

That word pierced me sharper than any knife.

“Dain?”

He nodded. “He was outside. Near the training fields. Watching the pups. He asked if he could train.”

I sat frozen. The words didn’t register at first.

“With swords,” Garrick added, almost gently now. “He said he wanted to learn how to fight. Said he wanted to protect you.”

I swallowed hard. “He’s just a child.”

Garrick nodded. “I know. That’s why I didn’t give him an answer. Not until I spoke to you first.”

The food turned to ash in my mouth. My son—my little boy who still held my hand when the wind howled too loud at night—asking to be turned into one of them.

And all I could think was:This place is already changing him.

Fury was instant. It hit like a spark to dry kindling.

“Was this Andros’s idea? Is that how he means to punish me? Rip the boy from me and train him like one of his wolves? Put a sword in his hands and call it protection?”

My voice cracked, sharp and raw. The image of Dain—my Dain—surrounded by snarling pups and blades dulled for practice, bloodied in the snow while they moulded him into something brutal, something like them, twisted my stomach.

Garrick didn’t flinch. He just lifted his hands slowly, palms out. “It wasn’t Andros’s idea.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t lie to me.”