Territorial Table And Tavern Novels & Stories

For only two shadows were blocking the lights. The man glared at X. His expression was only short of murder by actions. Slowly he spoke, taking heed of the previous series of unfortunate events. “We have every right to do as we please, as this is our territory. You do not belong here. This tavern is for Henderson’s and those who serve us. Everyone knows that, that is why you, are the only outsider! Did you not realize that the gaze’s spoke for themselves?” Samuel was known for disliking outsiders.

I rub my neck in frustration and look at Zach and ask, “Do you know how many packs there are here?” He nods. “Yes, living as a rogue, you must know what territories to avoid if you want to stay alive.” I pull a map out of the drawer, open it and place it on my desk, then say, “Ok, who, what, and where?” He points to my territory, “We are here.” I nod. “Jackson's territory.” “Yep,” “Leons territory,” “Yep,” “Your ex-boyfriend's territory,” I snarl,

It looked like every other building, no signs or obvious indications of what kind of place it was. It turned out to be a tavern. Derren’s Sauce, the one Loran had mentioned. Drinks were being served to unsavoury types crowded around small tables. There was the slightest of pauses in the intense furtiveness as we entered, and then normal furtiveness resumed. It was a dark and dingy establishment, full of shadowy corners and shady characters. Everyone had a weapon of some kind. Blades hung from belts, glinted from the tops of boots or lay within easy reach on the tables. Many of them had missing limbs.

I needed that energy tonight. My uncle arrived last. Erden walked in with the unhurried pace of a man who believed every room waited for him and sat down heavily at the far end of the table without looking at anyone directly. I watched him settle and kept my face neutral and said nothing yet. I laid the territory maps across the desk. Blue Elite first, every district marked, the pack boundaries, the security perimeters, the gate rotations. Then Gerald's pack beside it. Then the connection points, the roads between them, the trade routes, the meeting locations on record.

Why yes, yes I would. I didn’t stop glaring at him, but I did shut my mouth as he crossed to his desk and pulled out a piece of parchment. I stared at it curiously and saw that it was a map of the greater Wolven Territories, encompassing all of Nightwolf, Silvermoon, and their neighbors to the North and West. There were red marks all over the map, along with tiny penciled columns of numbers and what looked like percentages next to them. “What…what is this?” I asked, curious. I ran my fingers over the maps. Here, there was a large red circle with the number 50 beneath it and the notation, “65, 10, 70%”

I stared at the map spread across the table, my brow tightening without me realizing it. It was the newest territorial draft, completed only weeks ago after months of painstaking work. The borders were marked in bold, dark lines. Mountain ridges, rivers, and dense forests were divided into distinct color blocks. Strategic locations were annotated with careful precision—high ground, blind spots, water crossings, natural choke points. The cartographer had devoted nearly half a year to it, and my father had rewarded him with a sum generous enough to spark quiet envy among the pack.

"What kind of warning?" Maelis reached into her cloak and withdrew a folded map. The parchment was old and worn, marked with ink in five different colors. She spread it across the table, and I saw the territories outlined in careful detail. Silver Hollow was there. The Gray Reach, far to the north. And five other packs, each one marked in red.

I said, “and he was clean.” “Until Vera Wren’s box,” she said. “Until Vera Wren’s box,” I agreed. We looked at the documents. “His current name,” I said. She turned a page. Put it in front of me. I looked at the name. And then at the territory designation beside it. I picked up my phone. “I need to make a call,” I said. She waited. I called Rowan. He answered on the second ring. “In the northeast quarter?” I said without preamble. “The business that moved into the eastern edge of the territory fourteen months ago. The one that does regional transit logistics.”

I let out a soft sigh and navigated through the thick scent of pine, musk, and sweet berry wine toward the large black-stone serving bar. I spotted an empty corner with five high wooden stools. It was strange that the section was totally bare while the rest of the tavern area was completely packed with wolves, almost as if the entire pack knew to stay away from it. "Young female, you cannot sit there," the bartender barked as I went to rest my legs. "That table is strictly reserved for the owner of the Nightfang Citadel." "Oh, my mistake," I mumbled, starting to pull back. "Leave her be, Omari," a deep, chillingly familiar voice rumbled from the shadows behind me.