Three

MORGAN’S POV

I hate mornings.

Not the sunrise-over-ruins kind of mornings we’ve been dealing with lately — this is the kind where your body wakes before your brain, demanding the one thing that keeps living things tolerable: coffee. Black. Strong enough to make a wolf think she’s a God.

I roll out of bed stretching my neck. I definitely slept funny on it. I twist ever so gently &...

*crack*

“ah sweet release” I mumble to myself.

I pull on some track pants & stumble down the pack house stairs.

The kitchen is quiet. Too quiet. A good sign for once. Enforcers of my pack are probably still curled up somewhere, recovering from last night’s patrols. I pour water into the French press, grind the beans, inhale the earthy aroma, and feel the first flicker of life return to my limbs.

I sip. And sip again. And then I swear I hear my veins applaud.

I lean against the counter, mug warm in my hands, and let my eyes wander over the room. The pack house isn’t much — a little worn from years of surviving humans, wolves, and the occasional rogue wolf that thought sneaking in would be fun. But it’s ours. My territory. My rules. My life. Every crack in the wall, every dented doorframe, every scorch mark from some earlier “experiment” is a reminder: we survived.

A familiar heat brushes against the back of my neck. Then a nuzzle, low and deliberate, warmth against my back as solid as a brick wall.

My wolf purrs gently. Mate.

“Really Seb?” I murmur, leaning into it slightly. A gentle smirk on my lips. “Coffee in hand, and you think this is an appropriate time?”

A low chuckle vibrates against my ear. “Consider it my early morning greeting.”

He kisses my neck, just below my ear & I involuntarily sigh. “How was training? You were out before I got up”

He hums in acknowledgement. “I think some of them enjoy getting beaten at this point”.

I chuckle. “Are you insulting my warriors darling?”

“Not in the slightest love. I just think they haven't had a big strong Alpha like me to train with” he teases.

“Sebastian” I growl with a warning tone.

I take a deliberate sip, turn my head slightly and give him the side-eye.

He doesn’t move. He just leans down and nuzzles again, a faint pressure against my neck. He then jabs a few fingers into my waist & I jump laughing. I set my coffee down before I spill it over myself.

I turn around, slapping his chest playfully. “You're a dick”

His hands wrap around my waist and hold me closer. “Sometimes love” he says with a gentle smile.

His blue eyes lock with mine, calm, controlled, dangerous, but also… amused.

The same eyes I’ve stared into a thousand times, the ones that made me realise a few years ago that some connections can’t be ignored. Fated mates, if you want to get all mystical about it. I wouldn't say either of us did the whole, head over heels, nothing else in the world matters kind of mate bond. It clicked. Hard. But we found each other slowly, a little after everything in the world started to go to shit. It makes dropping everything for some “fated” soul mate a little difficult.

James, my advisor, appears in the doorway like a quiet shadow “You awake boss?”

“Depends. Are you bringing me bad news or just observing me sip the elixir of life?” I bring my mug back up to my lips, eye contact unbroken from Sebastian.

“Mostly observing. Some news.”

I shimmy out of Seb's little trap, & start walking towards James. “Make it quick. I only tolerate news after two cups, so youre getting lucky right now.” I say walking past him, out of the kitchen towards the dining hall. Sebastian and James follow, taking a seat at the table.

“Rogues moved through sector seven last night,” he says, voice low. “Humans spotted, but they didn’t engage. Something’s different.”

“Different how?” Seb asks.

“They’re… coordinated,” James says carefully. “Not reckless, not desperate. They moved as if someone told them exactly where to be and when.”

“Coordinated humans are a pain in my ass. We have not been… approached politely before. Ever.”

James raises an eyebrow. “They weren’t alone”

I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. Sarcasm thick in my words. “Someone thinks they're being smart, fantastic, I'm so excited”

I pull out a chair & slump down.

I can hear the pack stirring now — a low shuffle of movement, a distant growl, someone brushing teeth too loudly. The mind link shaking awake after a late start to the morning. My pack. I sip again and let my mind wander just long enough to remember why I do all this.

“Meeting in 45 boss, I've called in the usual” James says standing.

I nod respectfully as he leaves.

I ran my pack a little differently. Back when Father was Alpha, it was pretty stock standard structure. A Beta. A Luna. Warriors. Omegas keeping the house running. We coexisted. We kept our heads down. It worked.

Until the world cracked open.

Humans and their egos.

Coexistence became liability. Tradition became weakness. And weakness gets wolves killed.

So I rebuilt us.

We don’t run like a pack anymore. We run like a syndicate.

Seb & I at the top. Both of us Alpha born from seperate packs. Both of us referred to as Alpha.

Beneath me, my Advisor — handles operations and discipline, strategy. Enforcers lead their own crews, my warriors & muscle.

The Shadows work separately. Surveillance. Infiltration. Intelligence. They report to me alone.

Even the Omegas evolved — Quartermasters, Ciphers, Fixers. Logistics and information win wars just as surely as claws.

“Alright, chaos,” I murmur under my breath, “Let’s see what you’re planning today,"