Chapter 3: Whispers of Danger

The air in the council chamber felt thick enough to choke on. Hours had passed, and the maps spread across the oak table seemed only to highlight disagreements, not forge alliances.

Alpha Damon stood near the window, staring out at the darkening woods, his back rigid. The scent of his impatience – sharp pine, an undercurrent of restless storm – was palpable.

Alpha Marcus leaned heavily on the table, his face grim. "The eastern patrols require Stone River support, Damon. It's a shared border vulnerability."

Damon turned slowly, his expression unyielding. "Support follows strategy, Marcus, not desperation. Your reports lack specifics. Your defenses..." He gestured vaguely, a dismissal that encompassed the entire room, "...need reinforcing before I commit my warriors."

The tension snapped as the chamber door burst open. A young warrior, breathing heavily, his leathers stained with mud and something darker, stumbled in. He ignored protocol, addressing Marcus directly, his voice strained.

"Alpha! The Duskwood patrol... ambushed. Three injured, one... one didn't make it back. Rogues, Alpha. More than we anticipated."

A stunned silence fell. Beta Elara gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Marcus’s face went pale.

Damon pushed away from the window, his movements suddenly sharp, predatory. "Where exactly? Scent markers? Did they identify a leader?" His questions were rapid-fire, cutting through the shock.

The young warrior shook his head, clearly overwhelmed. "Too fast, Alpha Damon. They scattered when reinforcements arrived. Just... chaos. Elder Rowan is tending the wounded now."

As the warrior spoke, Damon paced restlessly near the map table. He picked up a heavy silver stylus, tapping it against the wood, his focus intense. Without warning, it slipped from his grasp, tumbling towards the floor.

Instinct, faster than thought, made me react. I darted forward from my position near the wall, hand shooting out, catching the stylus inches before it hit the stone with a clatter. The silver felt cold against my palm.

Silence.

Everyone stared. Not at the stylus, but at me. At the unnatural speed of the movement.

Damon’s head snapped towards me. His eyes weren't blank this time. They were sharp, focused, narrowed with surprise. He registered the catch, the reflex that shouldn't belong to a supposedly weak, scentless servant.

I froze, caught in the spotlight, the stylus still clutched in my hand. My heart hammered against my ribs. I quickly lowered my eyes, offering the stylus back to him, handle first. "Alpha," I murmured, my voice barely audible.

He took it slowly, his fingers brushing mine. Another jolt, stronger this time, shot up my arm. His gaze held mine for a piercing second, searching, questioning. Then, just as quickly, the mask of indifference slammed back down, though a flicker of something unreadable lingered in the depths of his eyes. He turned away abruptly.

"Incompetence," Damon bit out, his voice low and harsh, directed at Marcus but his eyes flicked back to me for a split second. "Your borders are sieves. This changes the negotiation drastically."

Alpha Marcus flushed, slamming his fist onto the table. "Mind your tone, Damon! My pack mourns!"

"Mourning won't stop the next attack!" Damon shot back, his own Alpha presence flaring, pressing against the confines of the room. "This alliance requires strength, Marcus. Proven strength. Not..."

He didn't finish, but his gaze swept the room again, lingering for a fraction of a second longer than necessary on me as I retreated back to the shadows, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable.

Orders were barked. Guards doubled at the main gates. Warriors were dispatched to reinforce the perimeter.

The low hum of pack life outside the chamber doors shifted, gaining a nervous, watchful edge. The air itself seemed to thin, charged with imminent threat.

I resumed clearing discarded goblets, keeping my movements small, deliberate. But the charged atmosphere, Damon's unsettling scrutiny, the news of the attack – it all frayed my already strained nerves.

Suddenly, a sound pierced the tense quiet. High-pitched, primal, unmistakable.

The pack alarm howl.

Once. Twice. Urgent. Terrifying.

Breach.

Shouts erupted outside the chamber. The heavy wooden doors slammed open again, revealing guards with weapons drawn, their faces taut with alarm.

"Rogues!" one yelled, his voice cracking with adrenaline. "They're inside the walls!"

Chaos exploded. Alphas roared commands. Chairs scraped violently against the floor as warriors surged towards the doors. The scent of fear mingled sharply with the sudden, overwhelming smell of aggression.

Damon moved like lightning, already shedding his formal tunic, revealing the dark warrior leathers beneath. His eyes scanned the room, sharp and assessing, briefly snagging on mine across the mayhem.

Then all hell broke loose.