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"I know what you've been doing with my daughter."

The voice stops me cold, my hand frozen on the doorknob. I turn slowly to face Edward Wright, his expensive suit incongruous against the wild backdrop of pine and spruce. The setting sun casts his shadow long across my porch, a darkness stretching toward me.

As a human who once married one of our pack—though she’s long dead now—he’s always been welcome in our territory. But he hasn’t been here for a long time. I’d almost forgotten what he looks like. He shares his daughter’s dark hair, but not her eyes.

"Mr. Wright," I manage, my throat suddenly dry. "I don't know what—"

"Don't insult my intelligence," he cuts in, his voice deceptively calm. "I've had her followed. I know about your... summer activities."

My wolf rises in response to the threat, hackles raised beneath my skin. I force it down, maintain control. Edward Wright is human—Fiona's human father—but he’s dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with physical strength.

"Fiona is an adult," I say carefully. "She makes her own choices."

His laugh is a cold, brittle thing. "My daughter has always had regrettably poor judgment. Like her mother."

He approaches, each step deliberate, stopping at the base of my porch steps. Close enough that I can smell the whiskey on his breath, the expensive cologne that doesn't quite mask his contempt.

"Let me be clear," he continues, eyes never leaving mine. "This ends now. Tonight. You will never see her again."

"That's not your decision to make."

His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "No? Let me tell you about decisions, Thomas. Years ago, I decided I couldn't tolerate my wife's... animal nature any longer. The shifting, the primal urges, the embarrassment of being married to something less than human."

Cold washes through me. "What are you saying?"

"Wolfsbane is remarkably effective when administered gradually. It weakens the shift, then prevents it entirely. Eventually, it poisons the body from within." He straightens his already immaculate cuffs. "The doctors called it an autoimmune disorder. No one suspected otherwise."

Horror rises like bile in my throat. "You killed your wife?"

"I freed her from her baser nature." He waves a dismissive hand. "Unfortunately, Fiona inherited her mother's condition. I've tried to help her overcome it, but she resists guidance."

"You're insane," I whisper, my fingers curling into fists.

"I'm pragmatic," he corrects. "And now I'm offering you a choice. End this relationship immediately, make her believe you never cared for her, or I will ensure she meets the same fate as her mother."

The world tilts beneath my feet. "You wouldn't hurt your own daughter."

"I would save her from degrading herself with an animal." His eyes harden. "She could have a respectable human life, a proper marriage. Instead, she's rutting in the woods with you." His disgust is palpable. "I won't allow her to breed like an animal. With an animal."

"Fiona is a shifter," I say through clenched teeth. "Like her mother. Like me."

"A condition that can be... managed. And part of that management includes keeping her away from the likes of you.

" He steps closer, lowering his voice though we're alone.

"You have until tomorrow. Make her believe you want nothing to do with her, or I promise you'll never see her again. Because she'll be dead."

He turns to leave, then pauses.

"And if you tell her about our conversation, I'll know. I have eyes in this town, even among your kind. If she hears a word of this, I won't wait for the wolfsbane to work."

I watch him walk away, my body frozen, my mind racing through impossible options. He's human, I could stop him, I could warn Fiona, we could run—

But I know now what he's capable of. The cold calculation, the patient execution of a years-long murder.

The complete absence of love for his own family.

If I defy him, if I try to take Fiona away, how long before he finds us?

How many resources does he have? How much is he willing to destroy to control his daughter?

It’s not worth the risk.

I’ll break both of us if it means she’ll be safe.

***

"There has to be a way," I insist, pacing the length of Nic's office. "Some loophole, some exemption. You're the Alpha, for god's sake."

I never talk to him this way. I’m respectful to a fault. Maybe this will make him see that I’m losing my mind.

Nic sits behind his desk, his expression sympathetic but firm. "I've looked at every angle, Thomas. The lottery is binding—backed by pack law and generations of tradition. I looked into every angle when this was me, if you recall."

"Fuck tradition," I growl, my wolf pushing dangerously close to the surface. "You changed the trials, didn't you? Made them less barbaric. Why not change this, too?"

"The trials are one thing. Invalidating a drawing is another entirely." He leans forward, voice dropping. "I tried. I did. You remember how it was when they drew Lu for me, Thomas. I fought so hard—there’s no way out of it.”

I rake a hand through my hair, desperation clawing at my chest. "You don't understand what's at stake."

"Then help me understand," Nic says quietly. "You've never told me what really happened between you and Fiona. All these years, I've respected your privacy, but Thomas—" He gestures to my agitated state. "This goes beyond a bad breakup."

The truth burns in my throat, desperate for release after six years of silence. But the fear—the bone-deep terror of Edward Wright's threats—keeps the words locked away. I've never told anyone the real reason I ended things with Fiona. Not Nic, not James, not a soul.

"It's complicated," I say finally, the understatement of the century. "We have... history."

"History that has you looking like you'd rather face a rabid bear than go through with these trials." Nic's gaze is too perceptive, too knowing. "Is there something I should be concerned about? Something that affects pack security?"

"No," I lie, avoiding his eyes. "Just personal baggage."

Nic studies me for a long moment. "You know I can't invalidate the drawing without cause, Thomas. Not without creating a dangerous precedent."

"I know," I admit, defeat settling heavy on my shoulders. "Just... tell me you're watching the borders. The security protocols—"

"Are the tightest they've been in decades," Nic assures me. "After the Cheslem pack's attacks, we're taking no chances. No one gets in or out of Silvercreek territory without us knowing."

The words should comfort me, but they don't. Edward Wright might be human, but he's proven more dangerous than any rival wolf.

There are already signs that dangerous humans are gathering near our territory, the types of humans with the same twisted beliefs as him.

And if he discovers Fiona has returned to Silvercreek, if he learns the lottery has drawn us together again. ..

"I'll keep her safe," I promise, more to myself than to Nic. "Whatever it takes."

Nic's hand lands on my shoulder, a rare gesture of physical comfort from our normally reserved Alpha. "I know you will.”

I leave his office with leaden feet, the memory of Edward Wright's cold smile following me like a shadow. Six years, I've carried this secret, this choice that broke both our hearts. And now fate—or the cruel joke of the lottery—has brought us back together.

The irony would be laughable if it didn't terrify me.

***

I've been in the small conference room in the Pack Building for nearly an hour, arranging and rearranging the folders on the table, waiting for Fiona to arrive for our meeting, when I hear them approaching.

Fiona's voice first—low, soothing—followed by a higher, brighter one that must belong to her daughter.

My heart rate kicks up, my palms suddenly damp.

The door opens, and there she is. Fiona wears simple jeans and a green sweater that brings out her eyes, her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, loose black pants accentuating her curves. Even dressed down, she's painfully beautiful.

And visibly frazzled.

"I'm sorry," she says immediately, not quite meeting my eyes. "My babysitter canceled at the last minute. I had to bring Maisie."

The child, half-hiding behind her legs peeks up at me with curious eyes. She's small—four years old, according to what I’ve heard—with dark curls and a determined little chin.

"It's fine," I say, my voice rougher than I intend. I clear my throat. "Not a problem."

"Let's just get this over with," Fiona says, her tone clipped as she ushers Maisie to a chair at the far end of the table, as far from me as the small room allows. The child climbs up, swinging her legs that don't quite reach the floor.

"I brought some toys to keep her occupied," Fiona explains, pulling a small notebook and colored pencils from her bag. "She'll be quiet."

"Really, it's okay." I attempt a smile that feels foreign on my face. "Hi, Maisie."

The little girl studies me with solemn eyes. "Hi," she says finally. "You're really tall."

A surprised laugh escapes me. "I guess I am."

"Mama says you're the Alpha's friend. That's why we have to be nice to you even though we don't want to."

"Maisie," Fiona hisses, color flooding her cheeks. "That's not—I didn't—"

"It's fine," I say again, though the words sting more than they should. Is that how she sees me? A pack obligation to be tolerated?

"It's not fine," Fiona says sharply. "But it is accurate. Let's not pretend either of us wants to be here."

Her directness catches me off guard. The Fiona I knew six years ago was softer around the edges, less confrontational. This new version—hardened by time and motherhood and whatever struggles she's faced—doesn't bother to mask her resentment.

She settles Maisie with her drawing supplies, then takes a seat across from me, her posture rigid. "Let's get started. I have errands to run after this."