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Minutes passed. The owl called again, farther away now.
“Who he is doesn’t matter,” she started. Then sighed. The words dropped into the room like stones into water. Chris’s hands went still on his knees. He didn’t turn around. Didn’t move. He could feel her watching the back of his head, waiting for a reaction she could use to shut the conversation down.
“He was banished from the pack,” she said. Her voice was flat, controlled, scraped over the bruised tissue of her throat. “Years ago. Before Kahn was Alpha. He violated territorial agreements, ran operations on bordering pack land without sanction. When the previous Alpha confronted him, he challenged and lost. They dragged him off the territory.”
Chris breathed in. Breathed out. Kept his body still.
“He keeps coming back,” Sloane said. “Leaves notes, messages. He’s been doing it for years. Nobody knows. I handle it.”
“You handle it?”
She swallowed dryly.
“I handle it.”
“Sloane, an hour ago that man had his hand around your throat.”
“Thank you. I was there; I remember it quite well.”
He closed his eyes. Opened them. The treeline was black, the stars coming through above the canopy in scattered points.
“How long has he been leaving messages?”
She didn’t answer for a long time. He could hear her breathing, the careful in-and-out, her throat clicking on the exhale.
“Three years,” she said at last. “The first one was pushed under the door. A piece of paper with my name on it. Nothing else. I thought it was from someone in the pack.”
She stopped. He waited.
“The second one said he was watching me.” Her voice had gone quieter. “I knew his handwriting. I’d recognize it in a fire.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Who would I tell?” The question came out sharp. “Kahn and Viktor? The pack that forgot I existed the day after the Luna ceremony? I’m not exactly drowning in allies, Chris.”
He turned his head. Just enough to see her profile in the dark. She was sitting on the edge of the cot with the dish towel pressed against her neck, her shoulders rigid, her eyes fixed on the opposite wall. The moonlight caught the swelling on her throat, the dark bruises climbing the right side.
“You could have told security. Filed a report. Viktor has protocols for exile incursions.”
“Viktor’s protocols involve interviews, investigations, reports to the Alpha. My name gets attached. My name gets attached. Everyone starts asking why a banished wolf is fixated on me, then they start looking into the connection, and then I’m standing in Kahn’s study explaining my life to men who never noticed I had one.”
She looked at him then. Her eyes caught the low light, hazel shifting toward gold, her wolf pushing close to the surface.
“I don’t explain myself to people,” she said. “I never have. It’s the only thing I’ve got left.”
Chris held her gaze. His wolf pressed against his ribs, pulling toward her. He wanted to cross the room, take the towel from her hand, press ice to her throat. He stayed in the chair.
“He breached the wards,” Chris said. “He walked onto Beaumont territory without triggering a single alarm. That’s a security failure. It’s dangerous for everyone.”
She flinched.
“Don’t use the pack against me,” she pleaded quietly.
“I’m not using anything against you. I’m telling you what I have to do with this information.”
“You promised you wouldn’t share my secrets.”
“I won’t. But an exile getting through the ward perimeter isn’t your secret. It’s a breach. Kahn needs to know there’s a gap. Viktor needs to know a hostile wolf walked in here tonight. I can tell them that without telling them why.”
