Page 18

The dawn border patrol reports spread across my desk like a map of growing dread. Each page documents another sighting, another scent marker, another sign that we're being watched. Thomas stands at the window, his usual composure fractured by exhaustion and worry.

"Three more incursions last night," he says, tracking the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. "They're getting bolder. Testing our response times."

I study the latest report, my wolf bristling at the details. Claw marks on trees just inside our territory. Kills left deliberately where our patrols would find them—just small animals for now, but we all know it’ll escalate. Signs of ritual magic that makes my skin crawl just reading about it.

"Show me the pattern again."

Thomas pulls out the territorial map we've been marking all week. Red dots indicate confirmed sightings, blue for suspected activity. The pattern is impossible to ignore now—a slow spiral tightening around Silvercreek like a noose.

"They're hunting something," I say, tracing the progression. "Or someone."

"Or waiting for something," Thomas adds another red marker. "Victoria seems to think—"

A knock interrupts him. My grandmother enters without waiting for a response, silver hair gleaming in the grey morning light. She carries an ancient leather-bound journal, its pages brittle with age.

"You should see this." She sets the journal on my desk, open to a page dated fifteen years ago. "History has a way of repeating itself."

The entry describes another series of border incursions. Another pattern of escalating violence. Another time when Silvercreek found itself under watch by forces that moved in shadow.

"The Cheslem Pack was different then," Victoria continues as I read. "Stronger. More organized. They had plans for our territory."

"What kind of plans?"

She touches the journal's weathered pages. "They believed in old magic. Blood magic. The kind that requires sacrifice to work." Her eyes meet mine. "The kind that feeds on pack bonds."

My wolf snarls at the implication. "What happened?"

"We had protectors." Victoria's voice turns distant with memory. "A special team that maintained our wards. A shifter and a witch, working together in ways that hadn't been seen for generations. Their combined power kept the Cheslem Pack at bay, prevented them from corrupting our territory."

My blood runs cold. The Morgans. Luna and James’ parents.

Thomas shifts uncomfortably, preparing to ask a question to which I already know the answer, though we were too young then to understand. "What changed?"

"They died." Simple words, heavy with meaning. "The Alpha of their pack finally broke through, just for one night. It was enough. Our protectors fell, maintaining the wards, keeping the corruption from spreading to the heart of our territory. We thought the threat died with them."

The journal's pages whisper as I turn them, revealing detailed accounts of the attack. "But they didn't die, did they? The Cheslem Pack survived."

"Some did. Scattered, weakened, but alive." Victoria's fingers trace the pack symbol inked at the page's corner. "Now they've had fifteen years to rebuild. To plan. To wait for the right moment."

"The lottery." The realization hits like ice water. "That's why you pushed for it now. You knew they were coming back."

She inclines her head—not an agreement but not a disagreement either. "The old magics are stirring. The wards grow weaker every day without proper maintenance. We need..." She hesitates. "The lottery knows what the pack requires."

My wolf paces restlessly, sensing something important in her words. "The protectors who died. They were witch and wolf. You—you have it in your head that this is connected somehow, that the lottery chose— her—”

"A mated pair,” she cuts over me, ignoring my sputtering, my question.

“One of our strongest wolves and a witch of considerable power.

They left behind—" She stops abruptly. "It doesn't matter now.

What matters is that history is repeating itself.

The Cheslem Pack grows stronger while our defenses weaken.

They're watching, waiting for the right moment to strike. "

Thunder rolls in the distance as if emphasizing her words. My wolf bristles at the threat to our territory, to our pack, to Luna...

The thought brings me up short. But before I can examine the feeling, Thomas clears his throat.

He hands me another report. "We found this at the north border. It was... deliberately placed."

A small bundle of herbs, wrapped in black cloth. The scent makes my wolf recoil—corruption, dark magic, and something else. Something that reminds me of Luna's magic, but twisted, wrong.

"Another warning," Victoria says softly. "Or a promise. They remember what happened fifteen years ago. Remember the price they paid for underestimating the power of combined magic."

"What are you not telling me?" I demand, my wolf too close to the surface to maintain perfect Alpha control. "What really happened that night?"

Victoria meets my gaze steadily. "Ask yourself why the lottery chose Luna Morgan. Ask yourself why her magic feels different from other witches. Why it responds to your wolf in ways that should be impossible for a hybrid. The answers are there, if you're willing to see them."

She leaves before I can press further, taking the journal with her. The bundle of herbs sits on my desk like an accusation, its wrongness making my teeth ache.

"Double the border patrols," I tell Thomas. "I want eyes on every inch of our territory. And..." I hesitate. "Keep watch on Luna. Discreetly."

"Already done." His expression turns knowing. "James volunteered for the first shift. Said something about making up for lost time."

I dismiss him with a nod, mind spinning with implications. Luna's increasingly volatile magic. The lottery's unexpected choice. Victoria's careful omissions about the past. It all connects somehow, but the pattern eludes me.

Outside, the storm finally breaks. Rain lashes against windows as thunder shakes the pack house foundations. Somewhere in the building, I feel Luna's magic surge in response—wild, powerful, and somehow familiar in ways I'm only beginning to understand.

My wolf paces restlessly, torn between territory protection and the urge to seek her out. To press her against another convenient surface and taste her gasps. To finish what we started in the library before duty interrupted.

But as I stare at the corrupted bundle on my desk, deeper instincts stir. Something is coming. Something that threatens not just our territory, but Luna specifically. Something that Victoria knows more about than she's saying.

The Alpha ring feels heavy on my finger as I begin composing orders for increased security.

I can't shake the feeling that we're running out of time.

All these pieces—Luna, the lottery, the Cheslem Pack, the protectors who died fifteen years ago—are about to collide in ways none of us are prepared for.

Thunder crashes again, and somewhere in the pack house, glass shatters in response to Luna's magic.

The storm is here. But I'm beginning to think it's nothing compared to what's coming.

***

The training room windows rattle with another crash of thunder as I watch Luna and Thomas review pack hierarchy charts.

She sits cross-legged on one of the ancient leather couches, copper hair falling loose around her face as she bends over the documents.

The sight stirs memories of quieter days, when this room was our sanctuary—before I ruined everything with pride and fear and misplaced duty.

It’s been almost three weeks since the first trial and its passionate aftermath. I still can’t look at her without my heartrate spiking.

"The Trial of Unity requires more than just memorizing bloodlines," Thomas explains, spreading another chart across the low table. "You need to understand the connections, the alliances, the subtle politics that—"

"That keep hybrids in their place?" Luna's tone could cut glass. "Don't worry, I remember that part perfectly."

My wolf bristles at her pain, but Thomas just smiles mildly. "Actually, I was going to say the politics that are rapidly becoming outdated. Your performance in the first trial already has some of the older families reconsidering their positions."

She looks up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"He means you impressed them." James’ voice makes me jump. I didn't hear him approach—too focused on watching Luna's every movement. My friend stands in the doorway, something knowing in his expression. "Power recognizes power, regardless of bloodline. And you, my dear, have power in spades."

Luna's magic crackles visibly at the words, making the charts flutter. "I haven't done anything special."

"No?" James moves into the room with an easy, loping grace, her opposite in every way. "Well, everyone else seems to think it was pretty special—but then again, what do they know?”

He’s teasing her, sibling-like and gentle, but he’s made his point. I watch Luna process this, see the way she straightens almost unconsciously.

"The second trial starts in three days," Thomas continues, tactfully steering the conversation back to preparation. "You'll need to demonstrate not just knowledge, but understanding. Show them you can navigate pack politics, build alliances—"

"Turn enemies into friends?" Luna's laugh holds no humor. "Jesus. I can’t do this. They hate me. You know they hate me. After—”

Her eyes flick at me for a moment, but the unspoken accusation lands like a physical blow. My wolf whines, remembering exactly how we contributed to those opinions. How our public rejection gave others permission to treat her as less-than. How they celebrated when she vanished and didn’t return.

Thomas catches the look.

"Some mistakes can be corrected," he says without particular inflection, as if it’s a simple fact.

Before I can respond, one of my subordinates bursts into the room. He's still in his border patrol gear, mud splattered up to his knees and something wild in his eyes that sets off every Alpha instinct I possess.

"Three more packs hit, fifty miles out," he says without preamble. "The Stone Creek alliance to the north. Same pattern—wards corrupted, Alphas targeted. But this time, they left survivors. Witnesses."

The temperature in the room drops ten degrees. Luna's magic surges hard enough to knock the charts off the table. Even Thomas loses his usual composure.

"Survivors?" James’ voice carries an edge I've never heard before. "What did they see?"

My packmate glances at Luna, something complicated passing over his face.

"Dark magic. The kind that... that feeds on pack bonds.

That twists them into something else. The survivors said the attackers could slip through wards like they weren't even there.

Like they knew exactly how to corrupt the protective magic. "

"Because they do." James’ words fall like stones into still water. "They've done it before."

An unreadable glance passes between the Morgan siblings—Luna looks a strange mixture of confused and upset. James shakes his head minutely, and she frowns harder, eyes flashing with upset.

My wolf surges forward, demanding we comfort her. Protect her. Claim her properly so no one can ever hurt her again. I take an unconscious step in her direction before I can stop myself.

But Thomas’ hand on my arm halts me. He has materialized at my side as he often does at the best and worst of moments, tempering my impulses.

"Not now," he murmurs. "She needs to focus on the trials. She needs a clear head for this next one, and you know it.”

When I was a child, and I would entertain myself imagining the triumphs and authorities of being Alpha someday, I always imagined it as unlimited freedom—the total and unceded ability to do whatever I might possibly want.

Now that I’m here, I feel as if I have less freedom than anyone else I’ve ever known.

Thomas studies me, a solid, unyielding look. He squeezes my shoulder once and then lets go.

"It’s all going to be okay,” he says in a low voice. “We’re strong. So is she. Trust that it’ll work itself out, Nic.”

On duty, he rarely calls me by my name. I’m usually Alpha until the quiet moments when I can put down my authority, my responsibility. I feel a swell of appreciation for him, my second-in-command, the steadiest person I know.

“We’re strong,” I repeat, trying to believe it.

Across the room, Luna bends back over the charts, shoulder to shoulder with her brother, exchanging murmured words.

But I catch the way her hands shake slightly, the way her magic keeps surging in response to James's news, the continued signs and reports of threats.

She's trying so hard to be strong, to prove herself worthy of a place she should never have had to fight for.

I did that, I think, with fresh self-loathing. I helped make her doubt herself. Made her feel unwelcome in her own territory.

If my father were here, he’d tell me the past can’t be changed. But he’s not here, not anymore.

As Thomas leaves silently, I stay rooted in place, watching Luna work. Every now and then, her eyes flick to me, green fire that makes my wolf crazy with the need to close the distance between us.

But I don’t. Some part of me knows I don’t have the right, not now.

Thunder crashes outside, and Luna's magic responds by making every window rattle in its frame. The pack charts flutter around her like leaves in a storm. She looks wild, powerful, and absolutely magnificent, everything an Alpha’s mate should be.

Everything I threw away once before.

My wolf howls our grief to the storm-dark sky, but I force us both to stay still. To watch James guide her through pack politics while fighting down jealousy at their easy rapport. To remember exactly why we don't deserve to cross the room and pull her into our arms.

The storm rages on, and somewhere out there, dark forces gather. But right now, watching Luna shine despite everything we did to dim her light, I know my grandmother's right.

The future is still unwritten. And this time, I won't be the one to write Luna out of it.