Chapter 12:
She turned her gaze toward me briefly, catching my eye, and gave me a faint nod. I returned the gesture, though I couldn’t suppress the unease that had settled deep in my chest since the day Dante returned.
In the forest beyond Talon Pack’s borders, nightfall shrouded the trees in shadows, but I didn’t need light to navigate. This land had once been my home, and I knew it as intimately as I knew the wolves who had cast me out.
Talon Pack had always claimed loyalty as its greatest strength, but loyalty was nothing without power to back it. I had tried to show them that, to make them understand. They hadn’t listened. Instead, they’d branded me a threat and banished me, as if my vision for strength and dominance was something to fear.
The memory of Marcus’s judgment was as sharp as ever.
“Your ambition blinds you to the needs of the pack,” he had said.
My ambition? No, it had been their lack of vision that doomed them. They couldn’t see that diplomacy and peace would make them weak, that their so-called unity was a crutch. I had wanted to make Talon Pack a force to be reckoned with—a pack other wolves would bow to, not out of respect, but out of fear.
They hadn’t seen it. So I had built my own pack from the wolves the others had cast aside: the fighters, the rogues, those who had been too strong, too aggressive for their soft-hearted leaders. I had forged something real, something unbreakable. And still, the sting of Talon Pack’s rejection burned. They had taken everything I’d wanted and handed it to someone else—a young, untested Alpha named Elara.
As I watched Dante training the younger wolves, that unease settled deeper into my chest. He moved with precision and confidence, the younger wolves hanging on his every word. Their admiration for him was palpable, as if they had already decided he was the hero they needed. It wasn’t just them—the older wolves were watching, too, their expressions unreadable. Some of them had memories of Dante that could rival the ones I carried of Silas. Memories of a wolf they had once trusted to lead them.
“You’re staring,” Celia said, breaking me from my thoughts. She approached quietly, her hands clasped behind her back, her expression neutral but her eyes sharp.
“Can’t help it,” I muttered, nodding toward Dante.
“You see how they look at him? Like he’s already taken over.”
She followed my gaze, her lips tightening.
“They’re drawn to him because he’s new, Osric. Wolves gravitate toward confidence, especially when things feel uncertain.”
I shook my head, a low growl rumbling in my throat.
“It’s not just that. He’s got history here. He left, but he’s still remembered as one of the strongest wolves this pack has ever had. Some of them wonder why he isn’t Alpha now.”
“And do you?” she asked, her voice calm but probing.
“No,” I said firmly.
“Elara’s earned this. She may be young, but she’s steady, reliable. She listens, even when she doesn’t agree. That’s what makes a good Alpha.”
“And yet,” Celia said softly, “you worry.”
I let out a slow breath, my gaze returning to Elara.
“Because I’ve seen this before. Divided loyalties tear packs apart. And it’s not just the young ones looking to Dante. Some of the older wolves—they remember him as the Alpha we could’ve had. They don’t see him as a threat yet, but give it time.”
Celia frowned, her gaze drifting toward Elara.
“She’s stronger than you give her credit for, Osric. The others will see it in time.”
“Maybe,” I muttered.
“But we don’t have time. Silas is watching, waiting. If he sees us divided, he’ll strike.”
In the shadowed forest clearing, Silas stood before his pack. They gathered around him like predators awaiting the kill, their eyes gleaming in the faint moonlight. A captured…
A rogue knelt in the center of the circle, his body trembling, his gaze darting around for any sign of mercy.
“Tell me,” Silas said, his voice cold and cutting, “why did you think you could betray me?”
