CHAPTER 12

“Someone inside this estate told them.”

Elder Miriam’s words hung in the cold garden air like smoke after a fire.

For a heartbeat, nobody spoke.

Then Xavier moved.

Not fast in the way Mace moved when bullets were involved. Not frantic. Xavier Evers did not do frantic. He became quieter. Harder. The half-dressed man on the terrace vanished behind the Alpha King so completely I almost wondered if I had imagined the bare chest, the loose hair, the wolf still lingering in his eyes.

Almost.

“Mace,” he said.

Mace was already turning. “Locking down communications. No one leaves the estate.”

My head snapped toward him. “Nobody leaves?”

His gaze flicked to me. “Until we know who passed the information.”

Nicole lifted the bat she still refused to put down. “Quick reminder: some of us were dragged into this murder mansion against our will.”

“You came voluntarily,” Mace said.

“I came with snacks and a bat. That’s called survival, not consent.”

Xavier looked at me. “You and Nicole will go to the guest wing. Talia will take you.”

I opened my mouth.

He held up one hand. “The doors will not be locked. Your phones will not be taken. No guards inside your rooms. Those were your terms.”

Damn him for remembering.

I still narrowed my eyes. “And answers?”

“In the morning.”

“That’s a dangerous phrase men use when they hope women will be too tired to argue.”

His mouth tightened. “I do not hope for impossible things.”

Nicole whispered, “That almost sounded like a joke. I hated it.”

Silas stood near the broken terrace doors, perfectly calm for a man who had just been accused by implication of living in a house with a traitor. “Morning may be too late. The information has already spread. The prudent action is containment.”

I looked at him. “Every time you say containment, I feel like you mean me.”

His eyes slid to mine. “If you were not here, there would be less to contain.”

The growl came from Xavier before I could answer.

Low. Immediate.

The hairs on my arms rose.

Silas lowered his chin, but not his eyes. “Emotion will not fix this.”

“No,” Xavier said softly. “But restraint may keep me from tearing out the wrong throat before dawn.”

The garden went dead silent.

Nicole leaned closer to me. “Okay. That one I believed.”

“So did I,” I muttered.

Talia appeared at the terrace doors, face tight, a robe thrown over her pajamas like she had dressed in the middle of a fire drill. “The guest wing is ready.”

Ready.

Like this was normal. Like women accidentally married to wolf kings got assigned rooms often enough to have a protocol.

I followed her because my body was beginning to shake and I refused to do it in front of Silas. Nicole stayed glued to my side, Jeffrey over her shoulder like a baseball-playing guardian angel.

Behind us, Xavier’s voice cut through the night, calm and lethal.

“Question everyone.”

The last thing I saw before Talia led us down the hallway was Mace turning toward the house with the expression of a man preparing to disappoint several people with violence.

I did not sleep.

I showered in a bathroom bigger than my bedroom, put on soft borrowed clothes that smelled like lavender and laundry detergent, then sat on a bed that probably cost more than my car and stared at the wall until dawn stained the curtains gray.

Nicole lasted twenty minutes in her own room before appearing in mine with her pillow, her bat, and two granola bars she had stolen from someone’s side table.

“Don’t ask,” she said, climbing into the other side of the bed.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“They were oat flavor. A crime, but edible.”

We ate them in silence.

At some point, she fell asleep with one hand still wrapped around Jeffrey. I watched the shadows move across the ceiling and tried not to think about dark red eyes, hot metal against my chest, and the fact that my wrist had pulsed every time Xavier’s voice echoed down the hall.

By morning, I was running on fear, caffeine withdrawal, and pure Black woman spite.

Unfortunately, only one of those was medicinal.

Nicole woke up looking like she had fought a pillow and lost. Her blonde hair stuck up on one side. “Coffee.”

“Good morning to you too.”

“No. Coffee first. Emotional processing later.”

“That may be the healthiest thing anyone has said since we got here.”

We found our way downstairs by following the smell.

Butter. Bacon. Coffee. Warm sugar.

The kitchen was huge and bright, with wide windows looking toward the garden and lake beyond. Sunlight spilled across butcher-block counters. Copper pots hung above a massive island. Someone had arranged stacks of pancakes on platters like feeding twenty supernatural residents was just a casual weekday activity.

Werewolves sat around the long kitchen table in sweatpants, jeans, sleep shirts, and bare feet, eating breakfast like they had not spent the night sniffing out betrayal.

One man poured syrup onto pancakes with tragic enthusiasm. A woman with a messy braid read something on her phone while eating scrambled eggs. Two younger pack members argued quietly over the last piece of bacon. Someone in the corner was drinking coffee straight from a mug that said DON’T MAKE ME BITE YOU.

Normal.

So aggressively normal it almost pissed me off.

Then everyone saw me.

Conversation died.

Forks paused halfway to mouths.

A chair scraped.

One guy actually choked on his orange juice.

Nicole looked around. “Wow. Subtle. Really impressive work, everybody.”

Talia, standing near the stove, went bright red. “They’re not trying to stare.”

“They’re failing with passion,” I said.

A few gazes dropped immediately.

One of the younger men coughed into his fist, hiding a smile.

Talia rushed over with two plates. “Pancakes? Eggs? Bacon? There’s fruit too. And coffee. A lot of coffee. Lena said humans need coffee.”

“Lena is a medical genius,” I said, taking the plate.

Nicole accepted hers. “If any of you hiss at garlic, I’m leaving.”

The guy with the syrup blinked. “That’s vampires.”

Nicole pointed at him. “Good. Education. We’re healing.”

A laugh escaped someone near the sink.

Small. Quickly swallowed.

But real.

I poured coffee so dark it looked like it had secrets and took a seat at the end of the table. Nicole sat beside me, back to the wall, view of both doors.

Mace entered ten seconds later, noticed her position, and stopped.

Nicole sipped her coffee. “What?”

“You chose the safest seat.”

“I have eyes.”

He looked almost impressed. “You also have your bat under the table.”

“I have survival instincts and emotional support lumber.”

“It is not lumber.”

“Tell Jeffrey that.”

Mace stared at her.

Nicole stared back.

The pack watched them like this was better than television.

I cut into my pancakes. “Do y’all have cable, or is breakfast conflict the main entertainment?”

The man with the orange juice made another choking sound. This time he laughed.

Across the table, a woman with dark hair and sharp cheekbones didn’t smile. “Humans always make jokes when they’re afraid?”

I looked at her. “Werewolves always ask obvious questions before coffee?”

Her eyebrows lifted.

Talia whispered, “That’s Mara.”

Of course it was.

Mara leaned back in her chair. “You don’t seem afraid enough.”

My fork paused.

The kitchen tightened again.

I could have snapped. Part of me wanted to. Fear had been gnawing at my ribs all night, and I was sick of strangers acting like I owed them a performance.

But Grandma Mae had always said a sharp tongue worked better when you didn’t waste the edge.

So I smiled.

Just enough for the dimple in my left cheek to show.

“Mara, I work in an ER. I’ve had a naked drunk man try to fight me with his catheter bag while calling me Satan’s receptionist. I’ve had surgeons throw tantrums over pens. I’ve held pressure on bullet wounds while family members screamed prayers in my ear.” I lifted my coffee. “Pancakes with monsters is unsettling, but it’s not my first strange morning.”

Silence.

Then the syrup guy barked out a laugh.

Talia pressed her lips together.

Even the woman by the sink grinned.

Mara’s mouth twitched like she hated that it wanted to.

Nicole leaned back, smug. “And that’s before her second cup.”

Xavier entered before anyone could answer.

The kitchen changed instantly.

Not fear exactly. Not only fear. Attention, respect, instinct, whatever you wanted to call it. Everyone straightened a little. Voices dipped. The chairs stopped scraping.

He wore black pants and a dark shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His long hair was tied back, but not neatly. Strands had escaped around his face, and there were shadows beneath his eyes like he had spent the night personally intimidating the concept of sleep.

His gaze found me first.

My wrist warmed.

I hated that my body kept acting like a traitorous little bitch around him.

“Did you sleep?” he asked.

I took another bite of pancake. “No, but I did stare at expensive curtains long enough to develop opinions.”

Nicole nodded. “The curtains are innocent. The throw pillows look suspicious.”

Mace moved to the coffee machine. “No one slept.”

“Some of you are immortal-ish wolf people,” I said. “I’m running on trauma and oat granola. Be impressed that I'm upright.”

One of the younger pack members smiled into his mug.

Xavier looked at my plate. “Eat.”

I pointed my fork at him. “Careful. You almost sounded like a dick again.”

Every fork in the kitchen froze.

Mace closed his eyes.

Nicole whispered, “Worth it.”

Xavier stared at me for a long moment. Then, to everyone’s visible shock, he picked up a plate, put two pancakes on it, added eggs, and sat across from me.

The pack looked like the moon had fallen into the sink.

I blinked. “Was that supposed to prove something?”

“I was hungry.”

“Sure.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but his mouth almost moved.

Almost.

Silas chose that moment to appear in the doorway, fully dressed in another perfect suit, because apparently evil uncle couture began before breakfast.

His gaze swept over the table, over the pancakes, over me sitting among Xavier’s people.

“This is unwise.”

Nicole sighed. “And good morning to you too, Count Buzzkill.”

Mace muttered, “Nicole.”

“What? He has the energy of a haunted tax attorney.”

The syrup guy lost the battle and laughed into his napkin.

Silas ignored everyone except Xavier. “Inviting familiarity before the household understands the consequences will create confusion.”

I looked down at my plate, then back at him. “If pancakes are binding in your culture, someone should have warned me before the syrup.”

More laughter this time.

Not loud. They were still scared of Xavier. Or Silas. Or both.

But it spread around the table anyway, quick and bright.

Xavier watched me with an expression I couldn’t read.

Silas’s face cooled. “You are amused because you do not understand your position.”

“My position is seated, caffeinated, and not in the mood.”

“Your position,” he said, voice sharpening, “is a human complication tied to the most powerful Alpha alive.”

The word human landed with its usual ugly little weight.

I set my fork down.

“You keep saying human like it’s supposed to hurt my feelings. I don’t wake up every morning disappointed that I lack fur and a biting problem.”

Talia made a tiny squeak.

Mara looked down at her plate, shoulders shaking once.

Xavier’s voice cut in, quiet but final. “Enough, Silas.”

Silas held his stare for a second too long. “You cannot joke this away.”

“No,” Xavier said. “But you will not insult her at my table.”

My table.

Not the table.

His.

The kitchen heard it too. I felt the shift in their attention, subtle but immediate.

I should not have liked the way he said it.

I definitely should not have felt warmth move through my chest.

I covered it by drinking coffee.

A radio crackled at Mace’s shoulder.

He touched it. “Calder.”

A voice answered, distorted. “Gate received a courier drop. No vehicle on camera. Package is marked for the Alpha King.”

Xavier went still.

Silas’s eyes sharpened.

Mace looked at him. “Bring it to the kitchen?”

“No,” Xavier said. “Study.”

But the voice continued. “There’s an inscription on the outer seal.”

Something cold moved through me.

Nicole lowered her mug. “I hate inscriptions now.”

Mace’s jaw tightened. “Read it.”

Static hissed.

Then the guard spoke, each word landing harder than the last.

“Regarding Deena Williams, human wife of Xavier Evers. Emergency classification opened under old treaty law. File designation: The Human Problem.”

No one breathed.

Xavier’s hand closed around his coffee mug.

Porcelain cracked down the side.

Hot coffee spilled over his fingers, but he didn’t even flinch.

His eyes lifted to mine, cold blue and furious.

And beneath the table, the marks around my wrist burned like they had heard my new name.