Chapter 9

(Draegan’s POV)

Finishing the preparations for this year's run has drained nearly everyone in the pack. Colt and I headed down the hallway toward our brother Draven’s office for one last short meeting before the outside pack buses arrived at our base in a few hours. 

Stopping in front of the large mahogany door, I knock three times—our usual signal—letting our eldest brother know it’s us.

A moment later, his calm, authoritative voice calls from inside.

“Come in.”

I push open the office door and see Draven seated behind his desk, wearing thin black-framed reading glasses as he studies a stack of documents. As always, the surface of his desk is buried beneath paperwork—reports, schedules, and assessments that seem endless no matter how much he works through them. The kind of responsibility that never really stops.

“What’s up, bro?” I say as we step inside. “The buses will be arriving in a few hours. We were just about to get in one more workout session before they got here.”

Draven looks up from the papers, his silver eyes meeting mine. They're focused and sharp even behind the fatigue. For a moment, I stood there studying him.

Draven and Colt both inherited our father’s midnight-black hair, while I ended up with our mother’s fiery red. It always made me stand out from them, even if the rest of us were practically built from the same mold. We all share the same silver eyes, though. The mark of our Alpha pack lineage passed down through generations. Tall frames. Heavy builds. The kind of presence that fills a room without trying. Draven stands at seven feet even while Colt and I both come in just under him at six-foot-nine. 

On our eighteenth birthdays, we all got matching tattoos—dense, intricate ink that covered our arms and ran across our chests, covering our backs. The process took months to finish, each session leaving us sore, though we never complained about it out loud. It hurt like hell at the time. We also got matching piercings in our left ears to mark our coming of age. 

Draven closes the folder in front of him and leans back slightly in his chair, studying us in silence for a moment. He takes off his glasses and places them on the desk, then brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he exhales slowly. When he looks back at both Colt and me, his expression shifts to calm, but stern in a way that immediately signals this isn’t a casual conversation.

“The reason I called you both here,” he begins, “is because we’re going to be receiving a group of wolves from the Nightshade Pack this run.” His gaze sharpens slightly. “The rumors surrounding that pack are… notorious. Barbaric. Lacking any sense of moral restraint.”

A brief pause hangs in the air.

“I want you two to keep an extra close eye on them and make sure they stay in line. I don’t want anyone from our pack, or the others to get hurt because of them.” His eyes move between us. “Do I make myself clear?” The emphasis in his tone leaves no room for misinterpretation.

He raises an eyebrow, holding our attention until he gets what he wants. 

I feel my jaw tighten slightly while Colt straightens beside me.

“You have our word, Alpha!” We both respond at the same time.

My fists clench instinctively, and I already know this run is going to be a fucking headache.

Draven studies us for a moment longer, then gives a slow, satisfied nod. “Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” His shoulders ease slightly, though the exhaustion in his face doesn’t fade. “Now you’re both dismissed. Go do what you need to do. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork left to get through.” He gestures lightly toward the desk.

“Though I have a lot of paperwork to finish, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out. I’m always available in case something happens.” His tired eyes linger on us for a moment longer, before finally softening just enough to signal the conversation is over.

Colt and I both nod.

“Got it,” I say.

Without another word, we turn and head for the door. The office door clicks shut behind us, leaving Draven alone with his seemingly never-ending stacks of paperwork.

“Damn, I sure as hell wouldn’t want to deal with everything our pack leader big brother has to handle. Poor guy looks like he could drop unconscious at any second,” Colt says, fake shivering as he wraps his arms around himself.

That brings a smirk to my lips. He might be acting playful, but I know he means it.

“Let’s head to the training grounds and spar for a bit to pass the time. The buses should be arriving in the next two hours, and from what we just heard from Draven, this group we’re getting is going to be a pain in the ass.” I say with a groan, rubbing the bridge of my nose as I let out a frustrated sigh.

Of all the packs in the region, why does it have to be Nightshade? Their reputation is… horrendous. And that’s saying something coming from us, a pack already surrounded by its own share of rumors. I can handle strict training environments. I can handle discipline. That’s not the issue. It’s the lack of restraint people talk about when it comes to them. The stories of cruelty, of chaos, of leaders who supposedly let things spiral far beyond acceptable lines. From what we know, they abuse the shit out of people, and rape is allowed and smiled upon by their pack leader. 

Fuck. 

Even hearing it secondhand leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

“A cesspool,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head slightly.

Whatever’s coming our way, I already know one thing for sure from that little chat in our brother’s office; this run is going to test everyone’s patience.

Colt and I arrive at the training ground and head straight to the shooting range. The sharp crack of gunfire echoes through the air as both of us empty a few magazines down range. Our shots were tight and controlled, hitting the targets with practiced ease. Once we’re satisfied, we make our way to the boxing ring. The moment we slipped on our gloves and padding, we fell into a smooth rhythm. Every punch, block, slip, and counter came naturally, neither of us holding back enough to make it easy. We push each other harder with every exchange, forcing faster reactions and cleaner techniques. By the time we called the match, our shirts clung to our skin with sweat, and our breathing came out heavier.

“Are you ready to get this over with?” I ask while taking a sip of water to moisten my throat. The question came out with an edge of frustration. And honestly, can you blame me? I hate dealing with unpredictable shit. And right now, that’s exactly what this feels like. I can already feel the frustration building again, slow and steady, settling under my ribs like pressure waiting to snap.

Colt looks over at me, and I can tell he’s picking up on my frustration. He walks over, placing a hand on my shoulder and giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze.

“Hey, bro,” he says. “I know this is the last thing we wanted to deal with, but we’ll get through it. If anyone steps out of line or causes trouble that’s too much to tolerate, you know Draven will step in immediately.” He exhales lightly, continuing. “He’s always been protective of the pack and the people in it, just like we are. And he doesn’t waste time when something needs to be handled.”

Colt gives a small shrug. “We shouldn’t stress too much. Just focus on making sure everything runs as smoothly as possible.” He flashes his usual carefree smile, but I can still see the slight tension underneath it. He’s good at hiding it, but not from me.

I take a slow breath and force myself to settle. “You’re right,” I admit. “No point stressing over something that hasn’t even happened yet.” I straighten slightly, letting the tension ease out of my shoulders. “Let’s head over to the pickup point at the edge of the base. The buses should be arriving soon.”