23. NOT ONE OF US

KIERAN

The morning sun had barely spilled its golden light through the tall stained-glass windows when I sat at the small round table near the hearth in my chambers, a plate of hot bread, cheese, and a cut of venison before me. The steam from my tea curled lazily into the air, its scent calming, grounding, at least, for a moment. I’d just reached for the bread when the door creaked open. I didn’t have to look up. I already knew the sound of Dorian’s boots. Steady. Controlled. Always a bit too serious for this early hour.

“Come,” I said without lifting my gaze, tearing the bread apart. “Sit. Eat before it gets cold.”

But he didn’t move. I looked up, and the tension in his frame told me everything I needed to know. Shoulders tight. Jaw clenched. Eyes too focused. Something was wrong.

“Kieran,” he said, his voice low and hesitant—something it rarely ever was. “We need to talk.”

I set the bread down slowly. “Not even a good morning?”

“I saw Vee last night,” he said, ignoring the question entirely.

My brow furrowed. “Vee? Doing what?”

“She was out. Alone. Past midnight,” he replied, eyes narrowing. “I caught her near the western ridge.”

I leaned back slightly, taking in the information. “That’s close to the border.”

“Exactly.” His tone sharpened, like a blade honed to its edge. “She said she couldn’t sleep. That she just needed air. But—” He paused, shaking his head.

“She was lying, Kieran. I’ve seen that look before. Her words didn’t match her eyes.”

I studied him, taking a slow sip of tea to buy myself a moment. “You’re certain?”

“She’s a rogue,” he snapped, more heat in his voice than I was used to this early in the morning.

“You know what that means. No pack. No bonds. No loyalties but her own. I told you from the beginning—bringing her in was a risk.”

I sighed, setting my cup down with a soft clink. “You told me. Yes. Loudly. And repeatedly.”

Dorian paced across the room, his arms crossing over his chest as he turned back toward me.

“And I’ll keep saying it until you listen. She’s not one of us, Kieran. She never will be. Wandering around at night without explanation? What was she doing? Scouting? Signaling someone?”

“You think she’s spying?” I asked quietly.

He didn’t answer at first. The silence was loud between us. He just looked at me, the frustration plain on his face.

“She’s hiding something,” he finally muttered. “And we’re fools if we keep pretending otherwise.”

I pressed my lips into a thin line, feeling the weight of the dilemma settle in my chest. I couldn’t ignore what he was saying.Vee had always kept her walls high, her answers short. There were shadows in her past that she never let us see.

But—

“She’s saved our lives more than once,” I said, not accusing, just stating. “You remember that night with the Ferals, if she hadn’t lit the signal fire, we would’ve lost the entire northern patrol.”

Dorian flinched. I saw the conflict in him, same as it was in me. He didn’t respond immediately. Just stared out the window like the answer might come floating in with the wind.

“She’s been loyal. At least… she acted like it.”

“Loyalty isn’t an act,” he muttered. “It’s a choice. And I don’t think she’s made hers yet.”

I nodded slowly, picking up a piece of bread and tearing at it again, though my appetite was gone.

“We’ll look into it,” I said finally.

“Discreetly. I want to know exactly what she was doing out there and why. No assumptions. Just facts.”

He gave a tight nod, though I could see the tension hadn’t left his shoulders. “Fine. But Kieran…”

His voice softened, just a touch. “Don’t let her get too close. Not until we know.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. The silence said enough.

He left without touching a bite, and the chamber felt colder once he was gone. The food before me was untouched now, but it wasn’t hunger that kept me still. It was the question looping in my mind, over and over, what exactly was Vee doing out there in the dark?

Later on, the air was unusually still that morning, the kind of silence that pressed into your chest and made you listen harder. I walked through the pack grounds slowly, my hands tucked into the pockets of my jacket, the early dew clinging to the grass beneath my boots. My thoughts were heavy with the image of her, Vee—slipping between shadows the night before. She’d been seen out near the border, alone, long after curfew. No explanation. Just a flicker of her silhouette in the darkness.

I needed answers.

But before I could even finish that thought, a sudden shriek tore through the air—sharp, raw, and definitely human.

I froze.

Another cry echoed, this one angrier, followed by a low, panicked muttering. It was coming from the rogue quarters. My body moved before my mind caught up, boots pounding against the earth as I broke into a sprint. Voices tumbled over each other now—shouts, gasps, the unmistakable thud of fists meeting flesh.

"Alpha!"

Someone spotted me, and just like that, the chaos screeched to a halt.

They parted the moment I arrived, a line of wolves stepping back like the sea splitting open. And there she was, Vee—her hair wild, her chest heaving, blood dripping from her knuckles. At her feet, a man groaned, curled in on himself, his lip split open and one eye swelling shut.

She didn’t look at me.

I scanned the faces. A few rogues stared at the ground. Some looked away. Others stood frozen, uncertain, scared maybe.

“What the hell happened here?” I asked, my voice steady but low, the kind that made people talk whether they wanted to or not.

One of the older wolves, Galen, stepped forward, rubbing his arm nervously. “He… he called her names, Alpha,” he began, his eyes flicking toward the man still groaning in the dirt.

“Called her a rogue. A deserter. Said she should’ve stayed wherever she came from. Said we only took her back out of pity.”

I turned back to Vee. “And you thought beating him half to death was the right response?”

Her eyes finally lifted to meet mine—burning, wild, like something feral was barely holding itself back.

“I didn’t think,” she said quietly. “I snapped.”

I stepped closer to her, voice softening. “Talk to me, Vee.”

“He said I didn’t belong here,” she whispered, jaw clenched so tightly her whole face trembled.

“Said I’d run again when things got hard. That no one trusted me. That I’m just a mistake waiting to happen.”

“And you believed him?”

“No,” she said. “But I couldn’t stand hearing it. Not again. Not like that. Not from one of our own.”

I looked down at the man, then around at the others. No one came to his defense.

“You don’t get to be judge and jury,” I said, finally. “Not here. You know that.”

“I know,” she muttered, wiping the blood off her hand with her sleeve. “But I’d do it again.”

That caught me off guard. “Why?”

She stepped toward me, shoulders squared. “Because every damn time someone opens their mouth, it’s to remind me that I’m nothing more than a stray who should’ve stayed lost. I’ve done everything I can to prove myself here. Every mission. Every order followed. But the second I step out of line, even by a hair, I’m the traitor again.”

I didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at her. She was shaking, not with fear, but with the weight of everything she’d been holding in for too long.

I turned to Galen. “Get him to the infirmary.”

“But Alpha—”

“I said now.”

He nodded quickly and signaled a few others to carry the injured man off.

Once we were alone, I looked back at her.

“I came looking for you to ask about last night. Now I get the feeling there’s a lot more going on.”

Her jaw twitched. “I didn’t mean to stay out. I just needed to clear my head.”

“From this?”

She gave a short, bitter laugh. “From everything.”

I nodded slowly. “Then let’s start over. No more fists. Just words.”

Vee sighed, dragging a hand through her hair. “That might be harder than you think.”

I shrugged. “Try me.”

And for the first time that morning, her expression shifted—just a little. Not quite trusting. But something close.