Eight

SEBASTIAN’S POV

She thinks she hides it well my little love.

The way her pulse jumps when I step too close.

The way her chin lifts half a fraction higher.

Morgan has never retreated from anything in her life.

Including me.

I watched her walk back inside after she told me to eat my lunch. Shoulders squared. Steps measured. Entirely composed again. I straightened up, brushed back my hair & did the same.

If someone hadn’t been paying attention, they would’ve missed the slight tension in her spine, the heat radiating off her skin.

I smirk softly. I notice everything.

Winnie shoves a bowl in my hands the moment I walk in & gives me a look that could only mean, sit before I make you sit. I nod my head in thanks & settle in to lunch.

The packhouse carried on around us in its usual rhythm, loud and warm and deceptively ordinary. Pups weaving between benches, Winnie issuing corrections like scripture, the low rumble of conversation layered over clinking cutlery and shifting chairs. It would have looked domestic to an outsider. Peaceful, even.

Morgan moved through the space without urgency, yet the current of it bent subtly in her direction. Attention not being deliberately commanded, just occupied.

She glanced up briefly and caught me watching from across the room. One brow lifted in silent question.

I gave a faint shake of my head.

There was no problem.

There rarely is when she’s in motion.

***

6pm.

Outside, vehicles positioned in deliberate formation. Crates stacked with measured efficiency. Wolves checking loads were secure before filing into the trucks.

Kieran approached from the south gate, posture slightly angled forward, alert without appearing alarmed.

“Shadows ready,” he reported.

Morgan nodded once. “Checkpoints every two kilometers. No deviations unless you call it, I want a clean delivery.”

Lou was leaning against the rear escort vehicle, rolling his shoulder like he hoped someone would give him an excuse. “I’ll take rear.”

“Try not to turn it into theatre,” Morgan replied without looking at him.

“No promises.”

Morgan stepped toward the lead truck and rested her palm briefly against the hood, thoughtful rather than ceremonial. Her eyes swept the treeline once before she stepped back.

“Okay, time to move,"

Engines turned over in sequence, low and steady. The Shadows dispersed ahead of the convoy with practiced precision, slipping into the forest line almost invisibly. Lou climbed into position at the rear.

I remained where I was, standing beside Morgan as the convoy rolled past the outer perimeter and disappeared along the road. Dust lifted in slow spirals behind them before settling again.

She folded her arms loosely across her chest, her expression composed but distant. We stood watching the gates close. The scouts on the border settle back into rhythm. My hand reaches to rest on her shoulder & she looks up.

"Come on," I gesture back to the pack house. Evelyn would be set up with comms to the boys & feeds from the trucks.

We turn back & walk in silence, gravel crunching under our boots.

“They’ve been testing supply lines for weeks now,” she said at last. “Small disruptions. Nothing overt. Just enough to measure response.”

“We will handle it. We always do,"

The comms at her belt crackled before we even get back.

“Boss.”

Not playful. Not layered in sarcasm.

Focused.

Morgan unclipped the unit. “Go ahead Eve,"

Static. Then Evelyn’s voice, rapid and precise. “Shadows reporting altered markers a kilometre from the fence. Not ours. Not rogue standard. Human prints confirmed.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened slightly. “Define confirmed.”

“Boot tread. Manufactured. Fresh.”

I stepped closer, scanning the treeline instinctively. “Do they have visual?”

"Get back here," Evelyn presses & we take off in a sprint.

I slam the door open to the comms room, Evelyn centred between six screens.

"Dramatic much,?" she groans, but theres very little sass behind it. She's nervous.

Kieran’s voice cut in. Steady despite interference. “Movement about half a kilometre off road. Six humans armed. Two elevated. Rogues holding rear flank. They’re not charging.”

Morgan crouched down next to Evelyn. Her tone cooled. “What are they doing K?”

A brief pause.

“Waiting,"

The word settled heavily between us.

Waiting meant discipline. Intent. Planning.

“Stay on them. Do not overcommit. Keep moving for now, draw them away from the pack”

The sound reached us before the comms clarified it — a low, distant concussion that rolled through the treeline like approaching thunder. Too close.

"FUCK, Morgan we've..," static cracked & Kieran's voice stopped.

"Impact near checkpoint two. Thermal spike confirmed. That wasn’t engine trouble.” Evelyn confirmed.

Morgan’s jaw set, not in panic, but in calculation. Her eyes glowing. She was already out the door and I followed without needing instruction, the faint taste of smoke beginning to thread into the air.

Before she hits the gates I see her body contort and shift mid-run, the sound of bone and muscle reshaping beneath skin as a growl tears loose from her chest. Fabric splits, dissolving into thick honey-blonde fur as she lands in her wolf form without breaking stride, massive and incandescent in the evening light.

The gates are already grinding open. Smoke rises beyond the treeline now — darker than dusk, wrong against the sky. Another blast rolls through the forest, close enough that the metal fencing shudders under its force.

I shift as I run, meeting her pace in a surge of teeth and fury, and together we tear through the gates toward whoever thought waiting meant we would hesitate.

They were very wrong.