Chapter 49

Dominic’s POV

The place smelled like old smoke and worse nerves...everyone chewing on their words, spitting clipped insults about supply drops and border gaps. It was a miracle that the ancient oak table still stood between us. If those grizzled elders could use it to wring my neck, I think they would have. I just sat there, knuckles white, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Poker face mode, clinging to it for dear life.

Dante would have been gone for days. Arrested. Not that anyone in this room dared say his name. Still, he haunted all their eyes, and yeah, the shadow he left weighed heavier than the stink of lamp oil and sweat. Every elder, every grunt in the pack, they felt it gnawing and didn’t dare look at it head-on.

BANG.

The door practically shook off its hinges, and this warrior tunic, more blood than cloth, comes crashing in like a bad omen. Drops to one knee, gasping like he ran through a damn hurricane.

“Alpha,” he croaks. My title sounds wrong in his mouth. “The border, the chief’s been ambushed. Rogues everywhere. Barely got back in one piece.”

Instant chaos.

Elders buzzing, voices smashing into each other. I stood up before I even realized, heart battering against my ribs, everyone watching, waiting for me to do…what? Magic? Miracles?

“How many?” I bark, because that’s what they expect, right?

His eyes went wide, his voice all shook. “Too many. They hit hard, coordinated, like wolves, then gone before we could follow. Wasn’t some random chaos. Someone’s pulling their strings.”

Ice in my gut. Coordinated. That meant plans. That meant someone out there had a playbook and ours was just blank pages.

And right now, we were ripe for the picking.

Elders crowd close, muttering and worrying their wrinkled hands. Old man Garren finally says what everyone was thinking, voice as rough as gravel, “Without the Beta, our ranks are a mess.”

I could have punched the table. Truth hurts worse than a blade, and there it was, everyone knew Dante ran the show when things got bloody. Dad named me Alpha, but pack strategy? That was Dante’s thing. He learned, he bled for it, and earned everything and I just got handed the crown.

And now, you could see the cracks spreading. Patrols stumbling, orders not sticking, warriors jumping at every shadow. Reports are getting uglier by the hour.

I squeeze my fists, fighting down every bit of shaking doubt threatening to spill out. Can’t let them see a single crack...not here, not now.

Finally force the words out, sharp, bossy. “Double the border watch. Rotate them more, keep ‘em fresh. And get the hunters back, every fighter counts if those bastards return.”

Murmurs. Skeptical looks. Yeah, they want more. They want a plan, a speech, hope maybe. Really...they wanted Dante.

I can see it, even if they won’t say it. My brother’s ghost is still the biggest guy in the chamber, for all he’s rotting in a cell. He was the one they trusted. Their sword, their shield… while I just locked him away.

Then, one of the younger warriors, real careful, “Alpha, with Beta gone, morale’s in the gutter. The men...”

I cut him off, voice coming out sharp enough to sting. “Enough. Dante’s a traitor. Plotted against his Alpha, against all of us. I won’t hear his name as if he’s some kind of hero.”

Liar.

The word sticks in my throat because I know what they know, Dante was a fighter, a leader, a brother. I trusted him once. Now all I see are those letters. Paranoia is a hell of a poison.

But... Is it possible I got it wrong?

No, I can't do that. Weakness equals death. They'd walk all over me.

I sent the kid away and cut the council short. Let them whisper. Let them judge. I see it in their eyes, they’re just counting the days until I crack.

The room emptied out, and silence swallowed me. Firelight flickers on maps, red pins digging in like wounds. Attacks edging closer night after night, clearest pattern for anyone with eyes.

And we’re losing, plain and simple.

I drop my head to my hands, feeling everything I’m supposed to carry, all the lies and weight and… the truth: I have no f*cking idea how to win this war.

I never wanted this. Not for a second.

All I could think about was Dad, his last words scraping out like broken glass. He never got to see what a mess he left behind. Me in charge, barely holding the pieces together, and Dante… Well, let’s not go there yet.

The cracks had been showing forever. My so-called leadership? Don’t make me laugh. My brother and I, pretending we weren’t ripping each other apart inside out. And the pack, they saw. Everyone always sees more than you want, don’t they?

Elora, though, is something else. The way she sits in council, just still, like she was carved out of patience. She folds everyone else’s anger into origami and hands it back as logic. No one sees her as the outsider wife anymore. No, she’s the anchor. The rock. Sometimes I think half these people would follow her off a cliff if she asked nicely.

And now… she’s starting to look at me like the rest do. Like maybe I’m the weak link.

I lose it, fist comes down on the table, maps go everywhere. I’m so angry I might choke on it, honestly.

This was supposed to be my thing. Dad handed it to me, said, “Here, son, wear the shiny crown.” Except now, it just feels like stuff slipping through my fingers. I know exactly why, too. It’s acidic in my mouth.

Truth is, this whole thing should have been Dante’s. I’m not blind. He was made for this. He’s got the scars to prove it. And yeah, the bastard’s in chains now, thanks to me, but the pack? They still tell stories about him like he was some kind of legend. The more danger closes in, the more they wish he were in charge, not me, flailing around pretending I know what I’m doing.

Knock at the door. Great timing, as always. Mira strolls in, doesn’t even wait for me to say come in. She tries that gentle routine, but man, her eyes cut right through all the noise.

“You look exhausted,” she whispers, coming over.

Not in the mood. I turn away, kinda sulky. Probably looked like a petulant kid.

She keeps going, smooth as ever. “They don’t trust you, not really. They’re lost without Dante. And deep down, so are you.”

I snap at her, “Watch it,” but she shrugs it off.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Dominic. But you have to wake up, man. The pack’s still yours if you make it so. You got to remind them. You, not Dante, wear the crown. So act like it.”

She touches my hand, a quick little spark. “And hey, you’ve got me.”

I wish her words had helped. Maybe they do, a little. Mostly, it just stings because we both know the truth. I’ve got no idea how to turn things around. Without Dante, everything’s teetering on the edge, and no matter how hard I push, I can’t fill that Dante-shaped hole in the pack.

I just stared at the chaos of scattered maps, my hand shaking. The rogues are closing in, crushing us bit by bit. Something’s got to change, and quick, or Alpha won’t mean squat.

One slip, and everything’s gone. All of it for me. Just perfect.