The Pack's Unease Part 2

Finn's expression suggested he found my assurances less than convincing. "She's already asking questions, Kieran. The twins mentioned her interest in the restricted areas, her curiosity about the estate's history. How long before she starts putting pieces together?"

Pieces together. Like why a supposedly human lord could afford such luxury on a remote estate. Why servants who should age and die and be replaced seemed to remain constant year after year. Why the forest around the castle was so carefully avoided by local populations.

"Then we'll have to ensure she doesn't find the right pieces to assemble," I said, my voice carrying an edge that made Finn's eyebrows rise.

Protective, I realized. I sound protective of her already, and the pack can sense it.

"And if she does?" Finn pressed. "If she discovers what we are, what you are—what then? Do we silence her? Do we let her leave with knowledge that could destroy us all?"

The questions hung in the air like accusations, forcing me to confront possibilities I'd been avoiding. Because Finn was right—Catherine was intelligent, observant, and apparently fearless when her curiosity was aroused. The combination was dangerous for creatures who depended on secrecy for survival.

But it's also what makes her valuable, whispered a voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like justification. Intelligence, courage, the strength to face difficult truths—those are exactly the qualities the prophecy demands.

"She won't leave," I said quietly, and heard how the words sounded like threat and promise combined.

Finn studied my face with uncomfortable intensity. "Because you won't let her? Or because she won't want to?"

Because she's mine, the wolf snarled. Because the bond is already forming, whether she understands it or not. Because she answered when I called, and something that deep doesn't simply disappear.

"Because the arrangement her father made is binding," I said aloud, choosing the explanation that sounded most reasonable. "She's here to honor a debt. That debt doesn't disappear simply because the situation becomes... complex."

Complex. Another careful word that avoided naming the true complexity—the way my pulse quickened when I caught her scent on the wind, the way my wolf paced restlessly when she was beyond my immediate protection, the way I found myself planning conversations I hadn't had and futures I had no right to assume.

"The younger wolves don't understand debts and arrangements," Finn said, his tone gentle but implacable. "They understand threat and safety, pack and outsider. And right now, she registers as threat."

Threat. The word made my vision go red around the edges, made my hands clench into fists that wanted to sprout claws. Because Catherine wasn't a threat—she was hope, possibility, the first genuine chance for redemption I'd encountered in twenty-seven years of isolation.

And anyone who sees her as something to be eliminated will learn exactly what happens when they threaten what's mine.

"Then perhaps," I said, my voice dropping to the low, dangerous register that made even Finn step back slightly, "the younger wolves need to be reminded that I am still alpha here. That my decisions regarding pack business are not subject to debate or challenge."

The words carried weight beyond their literal meaning—a warning that questioning Catherine's presence was questioning my authority, and that such challenges would be met with the kind of response that had kept this pack stable for four decades.

Finn nodded slowly, recognition flickering in his eyes. "Of course, Alpha. I'll make sure the message is... clearly communicated."

Clearly communicated. Pack politics conducted in the language of dominance and submission, where challenges were met with force and loyalty was maintained through strength rather than affection.

Is that what I want? I wondered. A pack that obeys through fear rather than respect?

But fear was simpler than explanation. Easier than revealing that Catherine Montgomery had somehow become essential to my sanity in the space of three days, that the thought of her leaving made me want to howl until the mountains echoed with my rage.

Much easier than admitting that I'm already half in love with a woman who has every reason to despise me.

"Good," I said, stepping back to restore the illusion of normal distance between alpha and subordinate. "See that you do."

But even as Finn departed to spread the word about pack loyalty and unquestioned authority, I could feel the wrongness of what I was doing. The way fear and dominance were being used to shore up a situation that should have been built on something stronger.

Like trust. Like honest explanation. Like giving her the choice to stay because she wanted to rather than because she was compelled to.

The thought was uncomfortable, unwelcome, and absolutely true. Because what I was building here—what I was forcing the pack to accept—was a house of cards that would collapse the moment Catherine decided she'd had enough of beautiful captivity and comfortable lies.

And when that moment comes, will you let her go? Or will you prove you're exactly the monster she'll believe you to be?

I was still wrestling with questions that had no comfortable answers when the wind shifted, carrying scents from the gardens beyond the training yard. Rose and earth and growing things, all overlaid with something that made my wolf surge to attention with predatory focus.

Catherine.

Her scent was unmistakable now, burned into my memory after days of careful observation. But there was something wrong with its direction, something that didn't match where she should have been according to the day's schedule.

The library, my memory supplied. Louis said she'd planned to spend the afternoon in the library.

But the scent was coming from the wrong direction entirely. Not from the castle's interior, but from the gardens. From beyond the castle walls.