CHAPTER 5 ALPHA ELENA

I didn't flinch.

Cage's thumb was still against the side of my neck, right over the pulse point where Louisa's scent oil coated my skin. He wasn't pressing hard. His hand barely touched me, but his fingers were unsteady, trembling against the hollow of my throat as if touching a phantom. A quiet breath hitched in his chest, his eyes wide and stunned, caught in a daze that looked almost like grief.

Before he could lean closer, I brought my forearm up and hit his wrist.

The hit broke his contact. In the same breath, I stepped inside his reach and hooked my boot behind his heel.

He stumbled back into the map table, caught himself on the edge, and just stood there, staring at his own hand like he couldn't figure out why it had been on my skin in the first place.

"Whatever game this is," I said, keeping my voice flat, "drop it. My scent isn't your business. Keep your hands off me, Alpha."

Cage straightened. The tightness in his mouth hadn't eased. He searched my face like he was trying to match it to something he'd only ever seen in a dream.

"You don't smell like a wolf," he said. The roughness in his voice wasn't commanding. It was doubtful. "You don't smell like anything at all."

"Just mind your business, Cage." I reached for my jacket on the back of the chair.

"Elena."

The way he said the name made my chest ache in a place I thought had gone numb years ago.

I didn't stop. I walked straight for the door.

"We have a briefing in the morning," I told the wood panels, not turning around. "Try to focus on the border instead of me."

I kept my steps even down the stone hallway. I didn't rush. I didn't run. But once I turned the corner into the guest wing stairwell, I leaned my shoulder against the cold wall and stopped.

My skin still felt raw where his had grazed it.

He noticed.

Five years of hiding under Garrick's name, and within forty-eight hours under Cage's roof, the mask was already slipping.

Louisa was at the low table by the window when I opened the door, a small glass mortar in front of her. She took one look at my face and stood.

"What did he do?"

"He checked my neck." I went straight for the washbasin and scrubbed the sweat from my skin. "The heat thinned the pine base. He knows there's no wolf scent under it."

Louisa's mouth set in a grim line. "Did he ask who you were?"

"No." I stared at the wet rag in my hands. "He asked what I was."

“His wolf is reacting to you,” Louisa said quietly. “Whatever it knows, Cage's mind hasn't caught up yet. You need to keep at least five paces between you two at all times, Ast—”

She stopped herself mid-word, mouth pressed shut.

I just looked at her.

Louisa exhaled and let it go. "...five paces. That's all I meant.”

Louisa held my gaze for a long second, then nodded once and went back to the herbs. "I'll add more cedar bark to the morning batch. It'll smell heavier, but it'll cling better once the day warms up. You have to stand in the yard with him at dawn."

By morning, a thin mist clung to the pines around the courtyard.

Forty Dark Fang fighters stood in a quiet block near the northern fence. Across the gravel, the Blackwood warriors leaned against the railing, arms crossed, watching my people with open hostility.

Cage was already on the terrace steps, black field leathers, hair still damp.

When I walked out onto the gravel, his head turned instantly and met my eyes.

They went straight to the collar of my jacket, to the bare inch of skin where his thumb had been hours ago. Exhaustion sat in his face that had nothing to do with sleep. He looked at me with a quiet, unrelenting confusion.

I held his stare until Deborah broke it, stepping out with her silver-streaked hair pinned tight, Diana trailing behind in a strained smile.

"Now that both packs are accounted for," Deborah said, her voice carrying easily, "we need to settle command lines before patrols deploy." She stopped beside Luke. "Dark Fang's fighters will be split into three support units. Beta Luke coordinates supply, rotations, and sweeps. Blackwood keeps front command."

None of my wolves moved, but the air shifted. My lead scout's hand drifted toward his belt.

"No."

Deborah stopped mid-breath. "I beg your pardon? This is standard protocol for allied forces on Blackwood grounds."

"My people aren't your lap dogs." I stepped forward onto the packed dirt. "Dark Fang answers to me. We take our own sectors, supply our own units, and coordinate directly with Cage. Not your council. And definitely not your Beta."

Diana scoffed from the stairs. "You're standing on our property. The least you could do is show respect to the family hosting you."

I turned to her. She stepped back, bumping Cage's arm. He didn't glance down at her hand on his sleeve.

"Diana," I said quietly, "the last time you spoke out of turn, I let you keep your pride. Don't push it in front of my men who don't care who your father is."

Diana's mouth opened, then snapped shut, color rising in her face. She looked to Cage for backup.

He didn't move. He kept his eyes on me, something dark and troubled in them, like he was asking a question that had nothing to do with pack politics.

“Elena is right,” Cage said. “We’ll meet at the river crossing and sweep the area together. Nothing more. Luke, give their scout the sector coordinates.”

Luke nodded. “Understood, Alpha.”

Before Deborah could say anything, a horn cut across the ridge. Three short blasts.

The gate rattled as two sentries dragged a blood-soaked warrior through the archway. Cage took the steps two at a time and dropped beside the scout before he could hit the gravel. Gideon was already there, ripping open a trauma kit.

“Report.”

The scout coughed and spat blood onto the dirt.

“River bend. Outpost Four. They came out of the reeds. Took us by surprise.” His breath shook. “They didn't take the rifles. Didn't touch the radios.”

“What did they leave behind?” Gideon asked, pressing gauze against the deep cut on the scout’s neck.

The scout's eyes moved past Cage and the guards before landing on me.

Fear filled his face.

“They stripped the great pine down to the white wood,” he whispered. His fingers curled into Cage’s leathers. “Drew it in blood. A wolf skull. Its throat cut clean through.”

No one moved.

Cage slowly stood. He didn't look at his mother. He didn't look toward the ridge.

He looked at me.

There was no accusation in his eyes. Only that strange, searching look, like some part of him recognized me while the rest of him fought to understand why.

I held his stare.

And for one terrible second, I wondered if his wolf remembered what I had spent five years trying to bury.