THE COUNCIL'S GAMBITS

​The following morning, the tension in the manor was thick enough to choke on. Rhea spent hours in the war room, pouring over maps of the Black Ridge. If Elias was right, the attack would come from the Blind Valley—a narrow pass that was almost impossible to defend from the inside.

​As she worked, she felt a presence in the doorway. It was Elias, stripped of his travel cloak, wearing a simple black tunic that clung to the hard planes of his chest.

​"You're overthinking it," he said, walking over to the map.

​"I am protecting my people," Rhea countered. "Something you clearly know nothing about, being a man without a pack."

​Elias leaned over the table, his arm brushing against hers. The heat from his body was intoxicating. "I had a pack once. I learned the hard way that walls don't protect you. Only loyalty does. Your elders... they are looking for a way to replace you, Rhea. Even now, they are meeting in secret with the Alpha of the Iron Claw pack."

​Rhea pulled away, her eyes flashing gold. "The Iron Claws? They are my enemies."

​"They are also the elders' choice for your husband," Elias said. "They think if they marry you off to a 'traditional' Alpha, they can go back to the old ways."

​Rhea slammed her fist onto the table, cracking the wood. "I will not be traded."

​"Then show them," Elias challenged. "Tonight is the pre-Solstice hunt. Every warrior in the pack will be watching. Defeat the Iron Claw heir in front of them. Make it so no one dares to suggest a union again."

​"And what do you get out of this, Elias? Why help me?"

​He stepped closer, his hand coming up to cup her jaw. His touch was "sweet," a stark contrast to the "teeth" of their situation. "Because a wolf like you shouldn't be caged. And because I want to see what happens when the world tries to break a heart that is truly tameless."

​Rhea should have pushed him away. She should have locked him in the dungeon. Instead, she leaned into his palm for a fraction of a second, letting the fire of the mate bond roar through her.

​"I'll win," she whispered.

​"I know," he replied.

The pre-Solstice hunt was not merely a tradition; it was a blood-soaked audition. The forest was draped in a thick, suffocating fog that clung to the coats of the wolves like a second skin. Rhea stood at the edge of the tree line, her breathing rhythmic and shallow. Beside her, the "suitors" from the neighboring Iron Claw and Jagged Peak packs shifted restlessly. They were large, muscular males who smelled of arrogance and cheap dominance.

Among them stood Kael, the heir to the Iron Claw throne. He was a brute with a jagged scar across his snout and eyes that looked at Rhea as if she were a piece of prime territory to be fenced in.

"A dangerous game for a lady, Alpha Rhea," Kael sneered, his voice a low vibration. "The Great White Stag is not easily taken. Perhaps you should stay back and let the real Alphas handle the heavy lifting."

Rhea didn't even look at him. She was focused on the scent of the woods, but more specifically, the scent of Elias. He was leaning against a nearby oak, arms crossed, watching the scene with a detached intensity. He wasn't participating—he wasn't pack—but his presence felt more grounding than all her warriors combined.

"The hunt begins at the first howl," Rhea said, her voice cutting through the fog like a blade. "Whoever brings the heart of the stag to the Great Hall by midnight wins the right to speak before the Council. But remember—my forest has a way of swallowing those who don't belong."

A howl ripped through the air—Marcus’s signal.

Rhea didn't wait. She shifted in a blur of white fur and silver light, her massive form hitting the ground running before the males had even fully changed. She was a ghost in the mist, her paws silent on the damp moss. Behind her, she heard the crashing of brush as Kael and his cronies followed, their heavy footfalls telegraphing their positions.

But Rhea wasn't just hunting the stag. She was hunting the truth.

As she sprinted deeper into the "Old Growth" section of the woods—a place where the trees were so thick the moon couldn't touch the ground—she picked up a scent that didn't belong to the stag or the suitors. It was the metallic tang of old blood and rusted iron.

Hunters, her wolf growled.

She slowed, her golden eyes scanning the canopy. Suddenly, a silver-tipped bolt hissed through the air, grazing her shoulder. She let out a sharp yelp and rolled into a thicket. The sting was immediate—wolfsbane.

A figure stepped from behind a cedar. It wasn't a human hunter. It was a wolf, but his eyes were clouded, his fur matted with black bile. A "Blight-Wolf"—a creature lost to madness and dark chemistry.

Before the creature could spring, a dark shadow erupted from the trees above. Elias.

He didn't shift. He moved with a lethality that was purely human but faster than any wolf Rhea had ever seen. He caught the Blight-Wolf mid-air, a silver dagger flashing in his hand. With a precise, brutal movement, he ended the creature’s misery.

Rhea shifted back, clutching her bleeding shoulder. The wolfsbane was making her head swim, the "teeth" of the poison sinking in. "You... you weren't supposed to be here."

Elias was at her side in a second. He didn't ask for permission. He ripped a strip of cloth from his tunic and pressed it to her wound. "I told you the South was mobilizing, Rhea. These aren't just rogues. They’re experiments. They’re clearing the way for the invasion."

He looked down at her, his grey eyes softened by a rare flicker of "sweetness." "Can you stand?"

"I am an Alpha," she gasped, her pride flaring even as her knees buckled.

Elias caught her, his arms strong and steady. "Even an Alpha needs a pillar to lean on sometimes."

For a moment, the world narrowed down to the heat of his body and the jasmine scent of his skin. Rhea realized then that Elias wasn't just a messenger. He was a warrior who had survived things her pack couldn't imagine.

"The stag," she whispered. "If I don't return with it, the Council will hand the keys to the mountain to Kael."

Elias looked toward the deep woods. "Then we get your stag. But after that, Rhea, we talk about who sent those Blight-Wolves. Because they have your father’s scent on them."

Rhea froze. Her father had been dead for three years. Or so she thought.