Chapter 108
Brittany climbed the rickety ladder to the hunter’s blind with careful steps, one hand cradling the sleeping newborn against her chest, the other gripping the rough wooden rungs. The platform was old, half-rotted, hidden high in the branches of an ancient oak at the northern edge of Blackwood territory. No pack sentry ever patrolled this far out. No one came here except ghosts and secrets.
Smoke drifted lazily upward before she reached the top—thin, gray, curling like a question mark in the moonlight.
She pulled herself onto the planks.
The man was already there.
He sat with his back against the tree trunk, legs stretched out, one knee bent. A thin black cigarette dangled from his lips. The ember glowed every time he inhaled, briefly illuminating the sharp line of his jaw, the faint scar that cut through the corner of his mouth. His hood was up, face mostly in shadow. Dark leathers, scarred boots, no pack colors. Just a man who looked like he belonged to no one.
He didn’t look up when she arrived. He simply exhaled a slow stream of smoke that drifted toward the stars.
Brittany stood over him for a moment, breathing steady despite the climb and the weight of the child. The baby stirred once, let out a soft sigh, then settled again.
She spoke first, voice low and tight.
“I’m doing my best.”
The man took another drag. The ember flared orange.
“But I didn’t expect her to return with Hardin,” Brittany continued. “I thought the river took her. I thought the palace would keep her forever. I thought—”
The man cut her off without looking at her.
“You thought wrong.”
His voice was rough, bored, like he was commenting on the weather or a poorly told joke.
Brittany’s jaw clenched. She shifted the baby’s weight.
“I have everything under control,” she said. “Rhianna’s back, but she’s confused. She doesn’t know who to trust. Sebastian is falling apart. The pack is listening to whispers, but they still see me as the mother of the heir. I can handle her. I can—”
The man exhaled again. Smoke curled upward.
“You can’t handle shit,” he said flatly. “She remembers. She’s talking. She’s digging. And she’s got Hardin wrapped around her finger again. You’re losing ground, Brittany. Fast.”
Brittany’s free hand curled into a fist.
“She’s a ghost,” she hissed. “She should be dead. I made sure of it. The rogues were supposed to drown her. The river was supposed to finish her. How did she survive? How did she come back stronger?”
The man finally looked at her. Pale gray eyes, almost colorless in the moonlight. No anger. No sympathy. Just cold amusement.
“People like her don’t die easy,” he said. “You should have cut her throat yourself. Instead you sent idiots. Amateurs. They let her escape. They let her live. And now she’s here. In your territory. In your pack. In your way.”
Brittany took a step closer. The platform creaked.
“I didn’t have a choice,” she said. “Sebastian was still bonded to her. The elders would have smelled murder on me. I had to be careful.”
The man laughed—short, dry, humorless.
“Careful people don’t send amateurs to do their killing.”
He flicked ash over the edge. It spiraled down into the dark.
Brittany’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“She’s going to ruin everything. She looked at me like she knew. Like she remembered the men. The chase. The river. She threatened me. Said she’ll find evidence. Said I’m doomed when she does.”
The man studied her for a long moment.
“You want her gone again?” he asked. “Permanently?”
Brittany hesitated. Her arms tightened around the baby.
“I want her silenced,” she said. “I want her memory gone again. Or… I want her gone. I don’t care how. Just make sure she doesn’t talk. Doesn’t dig. Doesn’t ruin what I have.”
The man stubbed out the cigarette on the wood. Sparks died instantly.
“I’ll handle it,” he said. “But it will cost more this time. And it will be messy. You sure you want that?”
Brittany looked down at the sleeping baby. The tiny chest rising and falling.
She looked back at the man.
“Yes,” she said.
The man stood. Pulled his hood lower.
Then he paused.
“Won’t you ask me about your child?” he said softly. “About our child?”
Brittany froze.
The baby stirred in her arms, let out a small, sleepy sound.
The man stepped closer. His shadow fell over her.
“You think Sebastian is the father?” he asked. “You think I didn’t make sure my blood runs in that boy? You think I let you play house without leaving something behind?”
Brittany’s face drained of color.
“No,” she whispered.
The man’s smile widened—thin, sharp, empty.
“Yes,” he said. “He’s mine. And when the time comes, I’ll come to collect what’s mine.”
He turned.
Walked to the ladder.
Climbed down without another word.
Brittany stood frozen on the platform, the baby warm against her chest.
She looked down at the sleeping face.
Her son.
His son.
The man’s son.
The wind picked up.
The trees whispered.
And Brittany began to tremble.
Not from cold.
From fear.
Deep, bone-deep fear.
Because the past wasn’t just coming back.
It was already here.
And it had teeth.
She clutched the baby tighter.
She looked out into the dark woods.
Somewhere out there, Rhianna was remembering.
Somewhere out there, Hardin was healing.
Somewhere out there, the man who had just left was planning.
And Brittany knew—knew in her gut—that everything she had built was about to burn.
She turned back to the ladder.
Climbed down slowly.
The baby woke. Cried softly.
Brittany rocked him as she walked back toward the pack house.
She whispered to him.
“Shh. Mama’s got you.”
But her voice shook.
And in her mind, she heard the man’s words again.
He’s mine.
And when the time comes, I’ll come to collect.
She quickened her steps.
The night felt colder.
The pack house lights were dim.
Sebastian would be waiting.
Drunk. Broken. Useless. She would have to lie to him again. Tell him everything was fine. Tell him Rhianna was nothing. Tell him the baby was his.
But she knew the truth now. And the truth was coming for them all. Brittany reached the house.
Opened the door.
Sebastian was asleep on the couch, empty bottle on the floor.
She looked at him. Then at the baby.
Then at the dark woods outside the window.
She closed the door. Locked it.
And for the first time in years, Brittany Blackwood felt truly afraid.
The game she had played so carefully was over.
And she was losing.
Badly.