Every alarm bell in Navira’s head was clanging at maximum volume. Her competitive nature had always made her excellent at reading strategies, recognizing when opponents were setting traps.
This was a trap.
“I’ll go to Rocky Point Island and meet Graven this afternoon,” Thalric declared, his voice carrying unmistakable Alpha finality. “End this war once and for all.”
“No.” The word burst from Navira’s lips before she could stop it. Through their bond, she felt Thalric’s surprise at her vehemence, but she pressed on. “If you’re going, I’m going too. And we’re bringing Kaelen and all fifty enforcers. Just for backup,” she added when she saw Sylar’s face darken with frustration.
Thalric’s storm-grey eyes met hers, and she felt his consideration through their connection. The strategic part of his mind was already processing her suggestion, recognizing its wisdom.
“That’s a great idea,” he said finally, and pride bloomed warm in her chest at his immediate acceptance of her input. “Great contingency plan in case things go sideways.”
Sylar’s mask of composure was slipping further now, irritation radiating from his powerful frame. “Fine. I’ll gather the enforcers.”
“Actually,” Navira interjected smoothly, her instincts screaming at her not to let Sylar control the situation, “how about we split the efforts? You gather half, we’ll get Kaelen and the other half. Meet back here in an hour. It’ll be faster and more efficient that way.”
The look Sylar shot her could have melted steel, but Thalric was already nodding. “That approach is very smart given the time constraint.”
“Sure thing,” Sylar ground out, his frustration barely contained now.
As they prepared to separate, Navira kept her expression neutral even as her mind raced. She couldn’t voice her suspicions about Sylar yet—not without more concrete evidence than gut instinct and a lifetime of reading competitive strategies. But she’d be damned if she let him manipulate their backup situation.
THIRTY-FIVE
THALRIC
The salt-tinged wind whipped across Thalric’s face as he stood at the edge of the docks an hour later, his eyes scanning the empty pier with growing unease. The wooden planks stretched before them like accusatory fingers pointing toward nothing—no Sylar, no thirty enforcers, just the hollow sound of waves lapping against the moorings.
Behind him, twenty of his finest warriors stood at attention, the same men Navira had transformed during her first training session. Their disciplined silence carried an edge of readiness that spoke to her exceptional coaching, but even their competence couldn’t shake the cold dread settling in his chest like a stone.
Where the hell is he?
Thalric’s jaw tightened as he pulled out his communicator, his fingers moving with sharp efficiency across the device. He dialed Sylar’s number with more force than strictly necessary.
Ring. Ring.
Nothing. The silence on the other end felt like a slap across his face.
“Kaelen,” he called out over his shoulder, his voice carrying unmistakable Alpha authority even as uncertainty gnawed at his gut.
His Beta stepped forward, his dark eyes already reflecting the same skepticism that had been building in Thalric’s mind. “He’s not answering, is he?”
“No.” The word came out clipped and controlled, but Thalric could feel his carefully maintained composure starting to fray at the edges.
Through the completed bond, he felt Navira’s unease radiating like heat—that instinctive wariness she’d been trying to communicate all morning.
She thinks something was wrong.
The thought pressed down on him, but he shoved it aside. This was no time for mate guilt or second-guessing thirty years of trust. Sylar had been Roman’s head enforcer before becoming his. The man had literally helped raise him, taught him strategy and combat, stood by his side through every territorial dispute and pack challenge.
“Maybe he’s just two steps ahead like he always is,” Kaelen offered, though his tone carried none of its usual conviction. “Already on his way to the island.”
Thalric latched onto the explanation like a lifeline. “That makes sense. Sylar’s always overprepared, overready.” The words felt rehearsed even as he spoke them, but the alternative—that his oldest ally had somehow betrayed him—was unthinkable. “He probably got impatient when we were a few minutes late and took off without us.”
Even as he rationalized it, pressure built behind his temples. The war, Navira’s near-death experience, the emotional whirlwind of completing their mate bond this morning—it was all catching up to him at the worst possible moment. His wolfpaced frantically, torn between protective instincts and Alpha duty.
Through their connection, he felt Navira’s frustration spike as the minutes passed. She’d been trying to tell him something was not adding up, had wanted them to be more cautious, maybe not go at all. But he’d dismissed her concerns, told her she needed to trust Sylar more, that her instincts were valid but she was still new to pack dynamics.
The memory of her wounded expression when he’d essentially told her to fall in line made his chest tighten with regret. She’d barely spoken to him since, her silence more cutting than any argument could have been.
