Chapter 6- Crossing The Threshold

Kane POV

The drive was grueling. I sat in the back of the blacked-out SUV with Khanna, while Alpha Len sat up front, radiating a protective—and suffocating—aura. Every time he glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes landed on me with a flicker of lingering resentment. He hadn't forgotten the slap, and he certainly hadn't forgotten that I carried the scent of Alpha Mark’s pack, no matter how long I’d been a rogue.

"We’re crossing the border," Len announced, his voice snapping the tension in the car.

I felt it immediately. As a rogue, crossing into a formal territory is like walking into a wall of static. The Pack Link—the invisible psychic tether that bound Len to his people—was thick here. It felt like a thousand eyes were suddenly pressed against my skin, weighing my worth and finding it wanting.

Khanna must have felt the shift in my energy. She reached out, her fingers lacing through mine. Her touch was the only thing keeping me from jumping out of the moving vehicle and running back to the neutral zones.

"It's okay, Kane," she whispered. "You're with me."

We rounded a final bend in the mountain pass, and the trees opened up to reveal the Silver Ridge pack house. It wasn't just a building; it was a sprawling estate of timber and stone, glowing with warmth against the darkening sky. Warriors in training moved across the fields with a synchronized lethality that made my pulse quicken.

As the car came to a stop, Beta Lee and Gamma Mitch hopped out of the trailing vehicle, their expressions grim. They were back in their element now, and their casual mockery from the boardroom had been replaced by a sharp, military focus.

Len opened Khanna’s door, offering her a hand. "Welcome to my home, Khanna. Here, Mark cannot reach you. My warriors are your warriors."

I climbed out the other side, feeling like a speck of dust in a gold-plated hall. The guards stationed at the entrance didn't hide their snarls as I stepped onto the gravel. To them, I wasn't Khanna’s protector; I was a stray that had followed the Alpha home.

"Lee, show Khanna to the guest suite in the East Wing," Len commanded, his eyes finally settling on me. "And find a place for the rogue in the secondary barracks."

"No," Khanna said firmly, her voice echoing off the stone walls.

Len stiffened. "Khanna, the barracks are secure and—"

"Kane stays where I stay," she countered, her chin tilting upward. It was that same stubborn streak that had saved my life two years ago. "He is my shadow, Len. If he's in the barracks, I'm in the barracks."

The Alpha’s jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to argue, but the memory of the slap seemed to stay his tongue. He knew he was on thin ice. "Fine. He can stay in the adjoining room to your suite. But he is not to wander the grounds without an escort. My people don't take kindly to Mark’s former kin."

"I'm not his kin," I growled, my voice low and dangerous. "I'm the man who survived him. Remember that."

As we were led through the grand halls, the opulence was overwhelming. Khanna looked around in awe, but all I saw were exits and blind spots. My mind was still on Alpha Mark. He wasn't the type to let a "catch" like Khanna slip away, especially not to a rival like Len.

Once we reached the suite, Lee and Mitch stayed at the door, acting as a gilded cage. I followed Khanna into the room, finally letting out a breath I’d been holding since the border.

"You're shaking," Khanna said softly, coming over to me. She took my hands in hers. "Kane, look at me. You're safe here. He can't hurt you anymore."

"It's not me I'm worried about," I admitted, my voice cracking. "Mark doesn't just want you for your resources, Khanna. He wants to break you because you're the one thing Len cares about. To Mark, people are just tools or targets. And right now, you’re both."

I pulled her closer, the scent of her perfume—vanilla and rain—grounding me. "I promise you, I will die before I let them take you back to that place."

"I know," she whispered, leaning her head against my shoulder. "But you're not dying today. Today, we're just surviving."

Outside the window, a howl pierced the night—a long, mournful sound of the pack patrol. It was a reminder that while we were behind walls, the war was just beginning.

****

I didn't sleep. I couldn't. Even with the door to the adjoining room open so I could hear Khanna’s rhythmic breathing, my wolf was pacing behind my ribs. The Silver Ridge pack house felt like a living creature, and it didn't like me. I could feel the warriors' presence through the floorboards, a low-frequency hum of hostility that never quite dissipated.

Around 3:00 AM, a sharp rap on the outer suite door made me bolt upright. I was across the room and had my hand on a silver-edged dagger before the second knock landed.

I opened the door an inch. It was Gamma Mitch. He looked tired, his usual arrogant smirk replaced by a tight, thin line.

"The Alpha wants you downstairs," Mitch whispered, his eyes darting toward Khanna’s sleeping form. "Now. Don't wake her."

"Why?" I demanded, not moving an inch.

"A messenger arrived at the western gate," Mitch said, his voice dropping an octave. "He wasn't from a pack. He was a rogue... or what was left of one. He was carrying something for 'the one who ran.'"

My blood turned to ice. The one who ran. That was Mark's name for me.

I glanced back at Khanna. She looked so peaceful, a stark contrast to the violence I knew was waiting below. I pulled the door shut softly and followed Mitch through the silent, torch-lit corridors.

We reached Len’s study. The Alpha was standing by the fireplace, a glass of amber liquid in his hand that he wasn't drinking. On the mahogany desk sat a small, wooden box, crudely carved. The scent coming from it was unmistakable: charred mountain ash and old blood.

"Explain this," Len commanded, gesturing to the box as I entered.

I stepped forward, my hands trembling. I didn't need to open it. I knew the craftsmanship. My father had taught Mark's lead enforcer how to carve wood like that before Mark had him executed.

"It’s a 'Black Willow' box," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "In Mark’s pack, it’s not a gift. It’s a countdown. It means he knows exactly where the target is, and he’s already breached the first layer of defense."

Len slammed his glass down, the spirit sloshing onto his hand. "He hasn't breached anything! My borders are the most secure in the North!"

"He just sent a messenger to your gate, Len," I countered, the fear finally manifesting as a sharp, defensive anger. "That is a breach. He’s telling you that your walls are made of paper."

Suddenly, the heavy curtains at the far end of the room rustled. Mitch moved instantly, shifting halfway into his form, his claws extending. But it wasn't an assassin.

It was a bird—a black crow—that had been perched on the windowsill. It let out a single, piercing caw and dropped something from its beak onto the floor before flying into the night.

It was a lock of hair. Dark, soft, and smelling of vanilla and rain.

"Khanna," I choked out.

I didn't wait for Len’s permission. I turned and sprinted back toward the East Wing, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my chest. If they had her hair, they had been in the room. They had been standing over her while I was pacing just a few feet away.

I burst into the suite, my lungs burning. "Khanna!"

She sat up, rubbing her eyes, looking confused and small in the oversized bed. "Kane? What’s wrong?"

I rushed to her side, checking her neck, her hands, her face. She was unharmed, but when I looked down at the pillowcase, I saw it. A clean, surgical snip had been taken from the end of her hair while she slept.

The war hadn't just begun. We had already lost the first move.