Chapter 165 – Surrounded by Traitors
Ronan
At this hour the pack sleeps, their breath fogging cabins, their wolves curled in warmth against the creeping frost. Blackthorn rests. But I do not. I can’t.
The map sprawled across my desk is worn soft at the edges, corners smudged with ink and sweat. I’ve traced the same borders over and over until they blur, as if I could redraw the world by sheer force. It doesn’t change. The names don’t move. The allegiances don’t shift no matter how hard I will them to.
Hollowrock is our only ally left.
Every other pack is drifting toward Silvercrest. Some have openly pledged their support to Alaric, promising warriors and supplies. Others take refuge in silence, feigning neutrality while sending their emissaries east.
I already know where they’re going to end up. They won’t be rallying behind Blackthorn. With enough coin, Alaric buys their loyalty like cattle at a market. The man has no honor, but who cares about respect when gold and fear are easier currencies?
My fist clenches around the quill until it splinters in my hand.
I could beat them, any one of them, even if they come at us with three packs at once.
I could tear through their lines with Blackthorn steel and Blackthorn wolves. But all the packs together, backed up by mercenaries, are different.
Alaric has no loyal army of his own, but mercenaries don’t care about oaths, they only fight for gold. The vast majority of our neighboring packs do the same now, it would seem.
They’ll be coming for us from every direction. And as skilled as I am, I can’t be everywhere.
That’s the part that keeps me here long after the fire burns low. Not the thought of defeat. Not even the thought of death. But the thought of Eli in Alaric’s grip.
I close my eyes, and the image rises unbidden.
Eli, bound, dragged through Silvercrest’s stone halls, his laughter smothered, his sharp tongue gagged. His fire dimmed under the weight of chains. My Omega, my mate, the one who burns brighter than anyone I’ve ever met, held by a man who knows nothing of love, only possession.
My jaw aches from how hard I grind it. My blood feels hot enough to burn through my skin.
I killed my father to keep him from robbing this pack of a future. And now his shadow reaches again, through Alaric, through mercenaries, through cowards willing to trade loyalty for coin.
The candle gutters, wax pooling thick at the base, but I still don’t make a move to get up.
My desk is littered with discarded notes. Lists of supplies, numbers of warriors, tallies of weapons. None of it matters. Strategy against mercenaries is like fighting smoke. You can cut it apart a hundred times, and still it seeps through the cracks.
I stare at the map until my eyes blur, making the ink bleed.
Hollowrock glows faintly in my mind, a single ember in a field of ash. Vaughn has stayed loyal. He says he won’t bend.
I know I should be grateful, but all that churns in my gut is suspicion. How long before he, too, decides survival is easier bought than fought for? That being tarnished by association with Blackthorn isn’t in his pack’s best interest.
I should go to our cabin and get some sleep. I can picture Eli in our bed, stretched out across the furs, waiting for me. Tossing and turning restlessly. I know he doesn’t sleep well without my presence. I make him feel safe.
That’s my job. I’m his Alpha. His mate. His dominant. My most important responsibility is to ensure that his smart mouth keeps smiling and taunting with glorious abandon, knowing I’ll always be there to catch him. I can’t do that if I’m dead.
He’ll start stirring soon. There’s no way to avoid him feeling my strain via the bond. My anger and frustration will bleed into him even in dreams.
He’ll come padding over here barefoot and mostly naked, to glare at me with sleep-heavy eyes, and tell me to stop being a brooding bastard and come to bed. He’ll climb into my lap and distract me until all thoughts of maps and mercenaries dissolve in heat.
I still don’t move. Because the moment I leave this desk, I admit I can’t see a way for us to win if this comes to war.
I imagine carving a path straight to Silvercrest, clawing my way through Alaric’s mercenaries, splitting them open until the stones run red. I imagine holding Alaric’s throat in my hand and squeezing until his last breath leaves him.
The image should calm me, but it doesn’t. Because in every vision, no matter how fast I run, Eli is always one step behind me, always at risk of being caught. And I won’t allow that. He has to be safe.
I shove the chair back, pacing the length of my office. For a moment I hear my father’s voice, sharp and scornful. You’ll never be strong enough to lead this pack. Constantly bleating about fairness and choice. Nobody has any use for a weakling like you.
I snarl low in my throat. I will not be him. I will not rule through fear. But gods, he was right about one thing. Love makes you vulnerable.
I stop at the window, breath fogging the glass. Most of my wolves are asleep in their beds, unaware of the weight pressing down on me. They trust me to lead them. They trust me not to fail. And I’ll do everything in my power not to disappoint them.
But how do you fight shadows? How do you guard against mercenaries who slip through cracks you can’t see? How do you protect the one thing you can’t bear to lose when every enemy knows who that is?
The answer doesn’t come. Only the same fury, the same helplessness, circling like flies around a wound.
I press my forehead to the cold glass, close my eyes, and breathe. All I can do is swear it again, silent, raw and absolute. Eli will never belong to anyone but me. Alaric will never touch him. I’ll rip the world apart before I allow it.
I sit down again, hands braced on the desk. My mind churns through possibilities.
Could I move the pack deeper into the mountains, fortifying the terrain with Hollowrock’s reinforcements? Or should I split our forces into smaller units, concealing which one Eli’s with and spreading the mercenaries thin? We could force them into ambushes, picking them off one by one.
None of it is enough though. Numbers always win eventually. The mercenaries don’t know the surrounding terrain, but the other packs do. My warriors are unmatched, but even they can’t face ten to one odds for very long.
The truth claws at me, ugly and merciless. I’m afraid. Not for myself. For him.
I lift my head and whisper into the dark, a vow I have no right to make. “I’ll find a way.”
The words vanish into the silence, swallowed by the night. Failure is not an option. Not when Eli is mine.