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I recognize the white-haired, blue-eyed grandmother from the meeting the day Trystan walked away from his dad. She dips her chin respectfully as she shakes Trystan’s hand, probably able to sense his worry too.
Then Gloria turns to the crowd and holds her arms out as if to hug them all. “Friends and family members! I’m pleased and proud to be the voice of the West Pack today, because it’s turning out to be a momentous occasion. A day that will go down in our history as the day three packs became one.” She glances over her shoulder at Trystan and smiles, then addresses the crowd once more. “The West Pack has unanimously decided to join with the North and East.”
The gathered shifters erupt in a massive wave of noise. Some people look more enthusiastic than others, but no one looks angry, and several people are hugging their neighbors. Ridge, Trystan, and Archer exchange relieved claps on each other’s shoulders, then pull Dare into their celebration too.
The depths of my relief are infinite. I tangled my mind up in knots over how we would handle our mating bond if we were forced to remain in three separate packs. I imagined a future where I was constantly moving from house to house—a week with Trystan, a week with Archer, a week with Ridge, with only Dare able to stay with me all the time. But thank God I don’t have to face that possibility anymore.
We’ll all have a home. Together.
I catch Trystan’s gaze, and he gives me a satisfied grin. His people came through big time. All because he didn’t try to force them into it. He made a compelling argument, and he won them to his side. Even his father must’ve agreed to go along with the merging of the packs, though I’m sure it grated on him to see his son win.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Archer calls after a few moments, waving an arm over his head to draw people’s focus. “I’m excited too. But we st
ill have things to discuss, if I could have your attention.”
He waits until the crowd is more or less orderly before going on. “As our three packs become one larger pack, we’ve decided that Ridge, Trystan, and I, as alphas of our respective packs, will now lead the larger pack as a team. We’ve also decided that Dare, alpha of the lost South Pack, will join us to lead, as long as no one objects.”
Dare’s face goes slack with surprise beside me, and I realize Archer didn’t tell him about this yet—although I’m surprised my gruff mate didn’t see it coming. It probably seemed obvious to everyone but him.
I turn to stare out into the crowd, my heart picking up a faster rhythm. Surprise or not, someone could still object to the ex-alpha leading, and if they do, I have a feeling Dare would be heartbroken.
But no one does. I see heads nodding in the crowd, and low murmurs of assent reach my ears. It occurs to me that many members of all three of the remaining packs probably knew South Pack wolves before the witch attack decimated them. They knew Dare back when he was the pack’s alpha. And their acceptance of him as a leader now speaks volumes about their respect for him.
I turn toward my mate, about to offer him words of congratulations. But before I can say anything, a howl cuts through the silence. Not from within the crowd, but from further away, somewhere beyond the village.
Beside me, Ridge goes eerily still.
The howl pierces the air again.
The crowd begins to whisper to one another, their gazes moving around the clearing. But I barely pay attention to them. My gaze is locked on Ridge’s face. I watch his eyes widen as a hint of recognition crosses his features.
Then he says one word.
“Lawson.”
16
Sable
In the charged silence, the wolf howls again, but it cuts off before coming to completion. Even I can hear the distressed way it gurgles before the sound ceases, and my wolf rears up inside me, hackles raised.
Ridge leaps from the stage and takes off, running faster than I’ve ever seen him run in human form. I follow him, my heart thudding loudly in my ears, though not loud enough that I don’t hear Archer say, “Secure the perimeter of the village! No one in, no one out. And if you see witches—howl.”
The rest of my mates are right behind me, their footsteps loud on the hard-packed dirt. We sprint to the edge of the village, following Ridge’s nose as he seeks out his brother’s scent on the wind.
Lawson.
I can’t even believe it. I was so certain that he was dead after what I saw in Cleo’s mind. She tortured him brutally to find out where the packs were and what protections they had in place that she would need to breach. He’s the reason the witches found us; he’s the reason for the brutal battle that killed Malcolm. He led us to this point, with the three packs facing off together in an attempt to decide what comes next.
I hate Lawson. He destroyed everything.
But my personal feelings aside, he’s Ridge’s brother, and Ridge still loves him. So my number one job as Ridge’s mate is to support him, to trust that he knows what’s right, what’s wrong, and what changes everything.
Near the forest just beyond the village line, Ridge slides to a stop just as Lawson bursts from the trees.
I can’t stop the gasp that comes from me at the sight of Ridge’s brother. He’s badly injured—he’s limping on a back paw, and his fur is muddy and missing clumps from parts of his head, neck, and torso. He’s missing almost an entire ear, and one side of his head is soaked in dried blood.
And he’s not alone.
