Chapter 156 High Council Guard
Fennigan leaned against the heavy oak frame of the front door, the wood cool against his shoulder. He watched the sunlight dance across the garden, where the air was finally sweet again, untainted by the metallic tang of fear. The front doors stood wide open, inviting the mountain breeze to scour away the lingering shadows of the "rot" sealed deep within the study and the basement.
In the center of the green, Leela was a vision of steady, radiant light. She was surrounded by the younger pack members, their eager faces upturned as she explained the healing properties of the mountain flora. Every few minutes, a ripple of laughter would break out as Caspian and Briar, drunk on their newfound mobility, would suddenly bolt toward a butterfly or a stray dandelion. The teenage guards-in-training would grin, darting after the twins to scoop them up before they reached the koi pond, returning them to Leela like precious, squirming cargo.
It was pure innocence. It was the very reason Fennigan drew breath every morning. His heart felt dangerously full, anchored by the sight of his world finally at peace.
Then, the sharp, rhythmic crackle of the radio on his hip shattered the magic.
"Alpha," the voice was grim, filtered through the static of the perimeter guard. "We have a man here at the Western Marker. He’s in bad shape. He says he was part of a Council detail in the Capital... says they’ve been cleaning out Vane’s estate for days. They’re scrubbing the place, Alpha. They don't want a single paper trail linking their high-ups to Vane's experiments."
Fennigan’s gaze didn't leave Leela, but his eyes hardened, the warmth draining out of them to be replaced by the cold, tactical steel of an Alpha.
"He wants to talk to you," the guard continued. "Says he started asking the wrong questions and they beat him within an inch of his life. They left him for dead in the ravine, but he crawled out. He’s bad, Alpha. Really bad."
Fennigan let out a long, slow sigh that felt like the weight of the world settling back onto his shoulders. So much for normalcy, he thought bitterly. The Council wasn't just retreating; they were biding their time, letting the Blackwoods get "comfortable" while they turned the evidence of their crimes into ash.
"Bring him to the interrogation room," Fennigan commanded, his voice a low, vibrating rumble. "Get Magda down there to patch what she can. We’ll find out exactly what they’re trying to hide."
He caught Leela’s eye across the yard. She paused, her hand hovering over a blooming herb, her elemental senses likely picking up the shift in his energy. Fennigan didn't let the worry reach his face. He simply gave her a reassuring smile—the smile of a man who would burn the world down before letting it touch her—and waved a silent "all is well."
Then, he turned and stepped back into the shadows of the house. The peace of the morning was over. As he headed toward the armory to pull on his tactical gear, his mind was already moving three steps ahead. If the Council wanted to play a game of shadows and silence, they had picked the wrong Alpha to target. By the time he reached the basement, he wouldn't be the husband watching the garden; he would be the predator the High Council feared most.
The scene in the garden was a beautiful, dizzying blur of golden sunlight and toddler energy. Leela stood amidst the waist-high herbs, her basket half-full, laughing as she tried to maintain some semblance of order.
"Would you guys corral the babies for me and help me get this stuff in?" she asked the teenagers, her voice light.
"No problem, Luna!" they chirped back, but it was, in fact, a hilarious problem.
The moment the older kids stepped toward them, the twins seemed to share a silent, mischievous thought. With high-pitched squeals that echoed off the mountain stone, Caspian and Briar took off. For two children who had only mastered walking a day ago, they were shockingly fast, their little legs pumping in a frantic, wobbly sprint. It was a chaotic, playful sight—the future of the Blackwood pack being chased through the lavender and sage by a dozen grinning teenagers.
Finally, with a lot of giggling and several "tactical" pounces from the older kids, the twins were gathered up. Leela led the procession back toward the house, her basket heavy with fresh-cut herbs and flowers. She kept shaking her head, a soft smile on her lips; the twins had clearly found their new favorite game. If they ran, Sarah or Toby or any number of the other children would drop everything to chase them. The pack house was filled with the music of baby squeals as the heavy front doors finally swung shut behind them.
But the moment she crossed the threshold, the warmth of the sun seemed to drop away.
The house felt different. The front doors were still open to the breeze, and the smell of Vannie’s kitchen was enticing, but the air was charged with a familiar, cold weight. She scanned the Great Room and the hallway.
Fennigan wasn't there.
She remembered the way he had looked at her from the porch—the smile that hadn't quite reached his eyes, the subtle shift in his shoulders that shouted Alpha louder than any roar. She knew that look. It was the look of a man who was walking into a storm so his family didn't have to feel the rain.
Leela carried her basket into the kitchen, where the atmosphere was a mix of domesticity and watchful waiting. Ginny was perched on a sturdy wooden chair, her face looking more rested but her eyes sharp, listening intently as Vannie held up a handful of dried peppers, explaining the nuance of different mountain seasonings.
Leela set her herbs down on the butcher block, her heart fluttering with a sudden, sharp spike of anxiety. She looked at Ginny, and she knew the Beta's mate felt it too. The twins were still giggling in the corner with Sarah, but the man who anchored this house had disappeared into the shadows of the lower levels.
"He went to the interrogation room, didn't he?" Leela asked softly, her voice cutting through Vannie's talk of spices.