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Nobody moves.

“A divided pack isn’t just unpleasant. It’s dangerous. Every weakness we create inside our borders is one somebody outside them can exploit. Rogues. Hunters. Rival packs. Other supernatural communities. And that doesn’t only threaten you. It threatens your mates. Your pups. Your Luna. Our future Alpha heirs. Every family sleeping inside these borders.”

Rylan’s gaze sweeps across the ranked wolves.

“Rank is not a prize. It’s responsibility. The higher you climb in this hierarchy, the more wolves you’re responsible for protecting. If you use that position to hurt the wolves beneath you, then you’ve proven you don’t belong in it.”

A seasoned warrior raises his hand. “And if they come forward?”

“Then I listen. I investigate. I consider their honesty and cooperation along with what they did. Mercy where mercy is appropriate. Punishment where punishment is necessary. But either way, Silver Moon gets the truth.”

My wolf settles inside me. That’s leadership.

Remember this too, I tell Damian.

What?

A true Alpha doesn’t protect someone’s title at the expense of his pack. But he doesn’t punish every wolf the same without learning what actually happened either.

He finds the truth first.

Exactly.

My wolf rumbles. Then he protects the pack.

Another male wolf raises his hand. “Then rank is mine.”

Rylan turns toward him. “What about it?”

“Some wolves think having a higher rank means they can do whatever they want to wolves beneath them.”

An Omega mutters, “That’s putting it nicely.”

Rylan’s head turns. “What’s your name?”

The Omega stiffens. “Samuel, Alpha.”

“Tell me what you mean, Samuel.”

Samuel glances toward the higher ranked wolves around him. “A lot of us like helping. We’re weaker. We know that. Most of us aren’t going to protect the pack the same way a warrior can, so we contribute in other ways. Cooking. Cleaning. Helping families. Watching pups. I like helping.”

“Then help,” Rylan says. “If that’s how you want to contribute to your pack, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

Samuel relaxes slightly. “The problem is some wolves don’t ask anymore. They tell us. And if we say no, they remind us what rank we are.”

A younger warrior mutters something about Omegas needing thicker skin.

My wolf snaps toward him inside me. Weak wolf. No self control.

Damian looks up at me.

Why is he weak?

Because he heard a wolf admit he’s being mistreated, and his first instinct was to mock him. A strong wolf doesn’t need someone weaker than him to feel powerful.

Damian looks toward the warrior again. I won’t do that.

Good.