CHAPTER 4 - TRAITOR OF THE WOLF PACK

Rylan gave me a long look but did not object. My father merely grunted his approval.

The Sunken Bridge was an old, moss-covered stone arch over a river choked with slick ice. It was quiet. Eerily quiet.

A perfect place for an ambush.

I made a show of it. Sniffing the air. Kneeling to examine the ground on our side of the river.

I pointed out faint, melted-out impressions in the mud that could have been boots. I showed Rylan a snapped branch at an odd height.

“Could be nothing,” Rylan said, squinting. “Could be a stray deer.”

“Or scouts,” I said, keeping my voice low and serious. “Testing the ground. The ice makes this bridge the only easy crossing path for miles. If they wanted to push east…”

He caught my meaning. His easygoing face hardened into the face of a soldier.

“We report it.”

We did. My father listened, his arms crossed, as we stood in his lodge. When we finished, he was silent for a full minute, his gaze locked on me.

“You have got a sharp eye lately, Kaelen,” he said finally. His tone was unreadable. “First the stag on the Veil. Now this.”

My blood froze. Was that suspicion? Or pride?

“It is my duty, Alpha,” I said, staring at a point on the wall behind him.

“Indeed.” He turned to his war leader. “Double the guard on the bridge. Rotating shifts. Hidden archers in the bluffs. Make it look normal, but be ready. If the leeches are sniffing around, we will give them a warm welcome.”

Relief, sharp and giddy, washed through me. It was working.

As we were dismissed, my father’s voice stopped me at the door. “Kaelen.”

I turned. “Yes, Alpha?”

“This initiative. This focus. It suits you. Keep it up.”

It was the closest thing to praise I had gotten in years. It felt like a knife twisting in the wound of my lie. I just nodded and left.

The next night, anxiety was a live wire under my skin. I slipped away as soon as I could, shifting to wolf-form the moment I was clear of the sentries. I flew over the frozen ground, a grey shadow under the rising moon.

The lightning-struck oak was a giant tree, split down the middle, one half dead and black. I shifted back, shivering as I pulled on my clothes, my eyes scanning the dark tree line.

Minutes ticked by. The moon was now clearly visible in the sky.

She is not coming. She has been caught. It is over.

Then, a whisper of movement. She melted out from behind the broad trunk of the oak, her face pale in the gloom.

I nearly sagged with relief. “You are here.”

“I almost was not,” she breathed, coming closer. She looked exhausted, haunted.

“The Court is on edge. The war commanders are in closed sessions constantly. There are whispers… the attack on the bridge is confirmed. It is in three nights.”

Three nights. My father’s guards would be in place by then.

“Did anyone suspect you?”

“I do not think so.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “But Kaelen… there is more. My Sire is furious. He thinks the wolves have a spy. Someone is feeding you information.”

The air left my lungs. “What?”

“The decoy at the western pass did not draw your forces away like he had hoped. Your father reinforced the bridge too quickly, too perfectly.

He thinks it is more than just good scouting. He thinks it is a betrayal.”

The plan had worked too well. We had not just prevented a fight; we had sparked a witch hunt.

“What will he do?” I asked, dread a cold stone in my gut.

Her violet eyes were wide with fear. “He has ordered an internal investigation. Everyone is being watched. Every absence is questioned.”

She took a shaky step toward me. “This might… this might be the last time I can get away. If they are watching me…”

The finality of it hit me like a physical blow. Our secret hour. Our stolen peace. It was ending before it ever really began.

“No,” I said, the word a raw plea. I reached for her hand. “There has to be a way. We just need to be more careful.”

“Careful?” A harsh, desperate laugh escaped her. “Kaelen, we are playing with a war. My Sire is looking for a traitor, and your father is looking for a fight. We are standing right in the middle.”

She was right. We had been naive. We thought we could carve out a tiny space just for us, but the walls of our world were too thick, too old. They were closing in.

“Then what do we do?” My voice was barely a whisper.

Tears, glimmering like crystal, welled in her eyes but did not fall. “I do not know. But I cannot meet you next week. It is too dangerous. For both of us.”

The unspoken words hung in the frozen air: This is goodbye.

I pulled her to me then. Not thinking, just feeling. She was stiff for a second, surprised, then she melted against me, her face buried in my shoulder. She was so cold, but where we touched, a feverish warmth spread.

I held her, memorizing the feel of her, the scent of frost and sorrow in her hair.

“This is not the end,” I promised into her hair, a vow I had no power to keep. “We will find another way.”

She did not answer. She just held on tighter.

When we finally pulled apart, the moon was high. Our time was up.

“Three nights,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Stop them at the bridge. But do not let your father slaughter them. Please. Some of them… they are just soldiers following orders. Like you.”

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.

She lifted her hand, her fingertips brushing my cheek. A touch so gentle it shattered me.

Then she was gone, leaving me alone in the silent woods with the taste of a coming battle on my tongue, and the ghost of her cold touch on my skin.

The fuse was lit. The countdown had begun. And for the first time, I was terrified not because I was getting caught, I was scared of losing her forever.

Three days.

The knowledge was a drumbeat in my skull, marking time until everything could shatter. I moved through pack life like a ghost, performing my duties with a hollow efficiency. I ate. I trained. I nodded at my father’s plans. Inside, I was screaming.

Rylan watched me constantly now. His earlier concern had hardened into a silent, persistent observation.

He did not ask questions anymore. He just studied me, like a puzzle he was determined to solve.

Every time I felt his eyes on my back, a fresh wave of cold sweat broke out. He was my brother, but right now, he felt like the enemy’s first line of defense.

The day before the attack, my father called a war council in the great lodge. The air was thick with the smell of smoke, cured leather, and tense anticipation. I stood at his right hand, my place as heir, feeling like the worst kind of fraud.