Fenrir, the white wolf elder, looked around the boardroom, the round table holding eight of the most powerful alphas of their region.

He took a deep breath and started, the shadowy pictures of the Wendigo running like a reel behind him. "We're at that point, gentlemen. Something has to be done."

Raiden, the red alpha, snorted and leaned back in his seat, his fiery red hair like a flame. "Right, like you haven't been spending the last year trying to handle it."

"Her," Adam, the green alpha, reminded darkly. "She's a wolf."

"She's an anomaly," The black alpha, Zarrar, growled. "We should have handled her the moment she took the pack."

Fenrir's eyes flicked to the silent, broody man standing away from the table, leaning against the wall, his eyes on the cityscape behind him. "Would you care to join us, Alec?"

Alec didn’t move at first.

He stood with his arms crossed, the leather of his jacket creaking faintly as he shifted his weight. His electric-blue hair was damp from the rain outside, a stray drop still clinging to the curve of his jaw. He didn’t look away from the city skyline.

“Thought this was an alphameeting,” he said dryly, voice gravel-soft but carrying. “Didn’t realize the elders were throwing tantrums now.”

He turned, slow and deliberate, his blue-gray gaze raking across the room like a blade.

“You’ve been talkingabout her for five damn years. Now suddenly it’s an emergency because you couldn’t control her? Because she didn’t bow like a good little dog?”

He stalked forward a step, booted feet echoing faintly on the polished floor. His eyes narrowed at Zarrar.

“She took the pack because she earned it. She held the border when the rest of us were licking our wounds. And all of you—” he gestured to the table, scorn threading his tone, “sat safe and smug behind your lines while her wolves bled.”

He paused, letting the silence sharpen.

“So go on then, Fenrir. What’s the real reason you dragged me into this little circus?”

His voice dropped, darker now.

“What did you do?”

Fenrir's jaw tightened. "Watch your tone, Blue."

Zarrar bristled. "She bleeds for our border. We know that. We need her to come in and be civil. She needs a mate. We cannot let Shadowgrove fall into disarray. But we can't let it die with her. Her father was council."

Red smirked. "You just wanna breed her. Be honest."

Adam's eyes darkened. "That's not funny, Rai."

Alec let out a breath through his nose—something between a scoff and a growl.

“Oh, we’re doing thatnow?” His eyes cut toward Red, cool and unimpressed. “Cracking jokes about forcing wolves into heat like we’re managing cattle?”

He turned slowly, gaze sweeping over them again. “You want her civil? She’s kept every beast on the other side of the line from walking into your precious cities. That is civil. She didn’t need your council, your rites, your bloodline matchmaking bullshit. She made something stronger without it.”

Then he looked at Zarrar.

“You don’t care about her pack. You care that she didn’t ask permission.”

His voice dropped, low and laced with disgust.

“And now you’re cornered. Can’t buy her, can’t bait her, can’t break her. So what’s next? You gonna try and breed her like a damn broodmare? That's what we’ve come to?”

He turned to Fenrir again, expression flat.

“You called every alpha to this room. That wasn’t to talk. That was a distraction. So I’ll ask again.” His jaw flexed, eyes deadly now. “What did you do?”

Fenrir exchanged a glance with Zarrar and sighed. "Believe it or not, we appreciate what she's doing, but she cannot be left unchecked, even you know that, Alec. You are the law. Her wolves come and go, we don't know how many she's taken into her pack. More wolves disappear into those damnable woods every week. You've seen the reports. She needs to register them. Like everyone else."

Zarrar leaned back in his seat. "It's breeding or the knife. She can't be unchecked. No one is."

Red licked his teeth and let out a hungry rumble. "Oh, I've had her blood in my teeth, but that thing is slippery. She's like shadow and bone. No woman in there. I'm telling you."

Adam glared. "That's because she got away."

The lazy wolf with the purple hair yawned. "I'm tired of being nice to the belle. Mon dieu, she doesn't melt mes amis."

Alec’s nostrils flared, slow and dangerous, but his expression didn’t change. It just cooled. Like the calm before a thundercrack.

He took another step forward, boots silent this time.

“You appreciate her?” he repeated, voice low and sharp. “Is that what you call dragging her in chains like a rogue? Locking her in a basement like a beast you’re too afraid to face?”

The room fell still.

Because that was Alec.

Always listening. Always watching.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to glare at Zarrar over his shoulder.

“You don’t want her checked. You want her owned. But here’s the part that really pisses me off…” His hand came up, a single gloved finger pointed toward Fenrir, then the rest. “You think this won’t blow back. You think you can take the spine of Shadowgrove and not split the forest in half.”

Then his gaze dropped, voice going dead cold.

“You locked her up. Without trial. Without council vote. Just… took her.” A pause. “You abducted an alpha.”

The blue in his eyes lit with something electric. Rage—but held.

“Tell me you haven’t laid a hand on her.”

A pause.

“Because if you have, there’s not a cell in this city strong enough to keep me from burying you.”

Red was sitting up immediately. Most of the alphas were.

Raiden's jaw unhinged. "You've got her down there? Right now?"

Adam looked worried. "You took her?"

Fenrir held Alec's eyes with a flicker of fury. "Watch your place, Alec. You're the law in the city, but this council does not make you above us."

Zarrar growled, warning. "No one has touched her. But we need to come to a decision now."

Remy, the lazy wolf, was alert too.

Every wolf alpha had his eye on the ground like they could hear her heartbeat through concrete.

Alec didn’t blink.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t yield.

He stepped closer to the table now, gaze cutting through Fenrir like steel dragged across bone.

“My place,” he said softly, “is making sure the laws we all agreed to apply to everyone. Even you.”

The charge in the room shifted. Wolves were listening now—really listening. Some with their hackles raised, others with wariness creeping in around the spine.

He turned to the others.

“You want to talk about her wolves? The ones you call ‘disappearances’? Maybe they ran. Maybe they choseher. Maybe she gave them something this room hasn’t offered in a decade—freedom without strings.”

Then he looked back at the table, letting the silence settle.

“She’s not a myth. She’s not your breeding mare. She’s an alpha. You treat her like less, you prove everything the Shadowgrove wolves whisper in the dark.”

His voice lowered.

“And if she walks out of this building in chains, the whole damn border will burn.”

Beat.

“So I’m saying it now. Let. Her. Go.”

Zarrar shook his head. "We can't. We lost men getting her here. She stays until she learns to use her damned words instead of her claws." A muscle worked in his jaw. "We've sent her pretty omegas. In heat. Willing, and she nearly tore them apart. There's something wrong with her."

Remy winced. "Oh dieu, that's...not right. Mais oui. She didn't even look at me. And....well." He smirked, stretching his arms behind his head as he stretched his beautiful body. "Look at me."

Red pretended to gag.

Adam's eyes were troubled, but on the door like he wanted to move.

Alec’s hand flexed at his side, jaw tightening until it creaked.

Then he laughed.

Once. Dry. A scoff dragged from somewhere dark.

“You sent her bait,” he said with deadpan scorn. “And called it diplomacy.”

He didn’t look at Remy. Didn’t needto.

“And when she didn’t roll over, you decided she was broken?” He stepped closer to Zarrar, voice dropping to a growl. “You think the problem is her because she didn’t want what you offered? You ever stop to think she didn’t want to be wanted like that?”

His eyes were hard now, brutal. Furious.

“You sent her omegas in heat and thought that was a peace offering? No wonder she tore them apart.”

He turned in a slow circle, gaze sweeping the room like a challenge.

“Here’s what’s wrong with her—she doesn’t want to be owned. She doesn’t want you. She wants out. And every day she’s down there, you’re making her into the very monster you’re afraid of.”

He stopped when his eyes landed on Adam, quiet now, watching the door.

“You want to be remembered as the council that chained the one wolf who never bowed to fear? Or the one that burnedthe future to keep your seats warm?”

Alec’s voice was low and final.

“I’ll go down there myself.”

Pause.

“Anyone want to stop me?”

Zarrar blinked at Alec. "You?"

Fenrir frowned and shook his head. "You misunderstand, Alec. We're trying to give her a chance. No alpha can resist a willing omega. Not like that. But she didn't even look. You know those disappearances are making everyone anxious. She can't take or call wolves and not let them back out. That's not balance or law. You of all people know how those numbers are racking up. And they've gone up since she's taken over. You know it."

Red stared at Alec. "Dude, trust me. Putting her down would be a mercy; she doesn't even have a face, they say. She moves like smoke and barely talks. And the antlers!"

Adam rolled his eyes. "Wolves don't have antlers."

"Wendigos do," Remy shrugged.

Adam scowled. "She's a wolf!"

Alec’s lips curled, just slightly.

Not a smile.

A warning.

“She’s not a wendigo,” he said, eyes still on Zarrar. “She’s a woman. An alpha. A wolf who’s survived everythingyou’ve thrown at her and still held the line.”

He turned toward Fenrir now, shoulders squaring as the weight of his voice dropped into something colder. More final.

“You’re scared because she doesn’t follow your rules. But the thing about rules is—” his gaze flicked briefly to Red, unimpressed, “they don’t mean a damn thing if you break them first.”

He took a step toward the door.

“You want me to count numbers, Fenrir? Fine. I’ll start with hers. One wolf. Five years. Zero breaches on her border.”

Another step.

“You want proof of life? I’ll bring it.”

Then he stopped just at the edge of the room, glancing back.

“And if she does have antlers?”

A pause.

“Then maybe we should’ve asked her what they meant instead of trying to saw them off.”

He opened the door.

And walked into the dark beneath the council.

Shaka, the big brown wolf, grinned, his brown skin rippling under the tattoos as he rose from his chair. "Mind if I watch?"

Adam stood behind him. "Alec is right." He glared at Fenrir and Zarrar. "You should have told us.

Red jumped out of his chair. "This I gotta see. When Blue pisses himself someone better bring a towel." Remy stayed right where he was.

"Non. Remy's more than happy to hear it all from the grapevine."

Alec didn’t stop walking.

But the grin tugged at the corner of his mouth this time was real—and feral.

“By all means, Shaka,” he called over his shoulder. “You want front row seats when I don’t piss myself? Knock yourself out.”

He didn’t even glance at Red. Just let the echo of his boots do the talking as he hit the stairwell, jacket flaring behind him with every step.

Down into the underbelly.

The place they thought was strong enough to hold her.

He could feel the shift in the air, the deeper he went—something old and heavy. Not magic. Not madness.

Just presence.

The kind that sinks teeth into your instincts and says:

Run.

Or kneel.

But Alec?

Alec kept walking.

One hand on the chain at his side. The other brushing the lanyard of keys clipped to his belt.

Until he reached the final door. The one with the reinforced lock and the thick scent of silver in the air.

He glanced back once.

Then looked forward and muttered, just loud enough to carry:

“Let’s see if the Wendigo’s real.”

And slid the key into the lock.

Adam sighed. "Female alphas used to be sacred in our lore, ya know. They come like once in a thousand years."

Shaka snickered. "But they always play nice and pick a man."

Red shrugged. "Maybe she likes girls."

And then the door swung open into the dark chamber. The lights had been ripped from the walls. The smell of ozone, blood, and electricity rippled through the air.

Raiden blinked, scratching his red hair as she stood beside Alec. "It's empty."

Shaka went still. "No. It's not."

And then, as their eyes adjusted, they saw it, reinforced silver hooks in the wall extended up, and then they saw it. A black shadow suspended from the ceiling with burning red eyes.

Adam paled. "Fuck."

Alec didn’t move.

Not at first.

The others behind him were shifting—sniffing, murmuring, posturing like startled dogs trying not to look startled.

But Alec?

He just looked up.

The room was soaked in shadow, thick with the taste of power, and that scent—gods, that scent—wild and sharp like pine and storm and blood freshly drawn. It coiled in his lungs, slid down his spine.

And there she was.

A shape of dark muscle and myth, suspended like something ancient and wronged. The faint glint of a silver chain gleaming where it met black fur. Her limbs hung loose, but not limp. Not broken.

Tense.

Coiled.

Watching.

Those eyes locked onto his—glowing red and unreadable—and he felt it hit him in the chest. Not fear. Not exactly.

Recognition.

A wolf. Not a ghost. Not a god. Not a beast.

Something worse.

Someone alive.

Alec’s voice came low and steady, not for the others. For her.

“…you been listening this whole time?”

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t posture.

Just stood there.

Waiting.

The shadowy head seemed to twist, and he slant of light caught the white, and it looked like a skulled beast and less shadow. True to her name. Wendigo. She clung to the ceiling, her claws in the concrete as she saw the four alphas framed in the light from the doorway.

The one that spoke to her.

She saw his nostrils flare with her scent, and she snarled, low and warning.

And then she smelled it.

The red wolf, who had nearly ripped through her, and her soft snarl became a roar of fury.

Raiden took a step back. "Oh crap, she remembers me."

Alec didn’t move.

The others did—their instincts twitching like old wounds, like their bones remembered a time when theyweren’t at the top of the food chain. Raiden backed up, Shaka’s hand hovered near his belt, and even Adam looked like he wanted the door to shut behind him.

But Alec just… stepped forward.

One bootfall into the dark.

“Yeah,” he muttered without looking back, “she remembers you.”

The roar still rang in the air, sharp with fury and something deeper—betrayal. Alec felt it thrumming through the floor, his bones, the walls themselves.

She didn’t just remember Raiden.

She remembered everything.

His eyes stayed on her—up there, claws buried in the ceiling, a white skull-shape splitting from her darkness like a ghost that had chosen to remain angry.

His voice dropped lower. Steel wrapped in something slower.

“Wen.”

He said it like a name.

Not a title.

Not a myth.

“Look at me.”

He tilted his chin slightly, gaze unwavering.

“They brought me here. But I’m not them.”

Beat.

“If you want out—if you want this to end—I’ll get you out.”

A flicker of danger lit in his voice, a promise as sharp as his teeth.

“And I swear, no one here will touch you again.”

Silence.

Breath.

“Your call, Alpha.”

Adam blinked at Alec. "What the hell are you saying? You can't unchain her like that. I want to help you get her home, but in that state, she'll rip into us all."

Shaka's fangs glinted up at her. "Or she can try."

Red sighed and stepped away. "Fuck, I am not in the mood to ruin these clothes."

But Wen, her eyes now rooted to the blue-haired alpha, looking up at her like he knew her. She huffed out an angry, humorless huff through her nose and leapt.

She landed in the shaft of light streaming in from the open doorway as the men shifted. The ground rumbled as her boots hit the ground.

And then she rose to her full height, and they got a good look at her. She was tall, lithe, with more muscle than supple curves. But those curves...they were all woman. Her wild black hair was open around her shoulders, nearly touching her waist.

Her hands were claws, white and black fading into the creamy hues of her skin. She wore a black tank, cargo pants, and combat boots. And she kept her wolf face. The white skull pattern on her black fur, eyes like burning coals, and lips curled away from sharp canines. Even half transformed. She was all wolf. Shaka stilled. Adam stared, and Raiden looked like he was regretting every choice he ever made.

Alec didn’t flinch.

Didn’t step back.

Didn’t even breathe wrong.

He stood steady as the air shiveredwith her landing—stone groaning, wolves stiffening, the scent of adrenaline hitting the floor like a flood.

She rose, and the light caught her—truly caught her.

And gods, she was terrifying.

Not because of the claws. Or the height. Or even the mask of death she wore like a birthright.

But because she was whole.

Unbroken.

Unclaimed.

Unapologetic.

A truth in a room full of men who’d lied to themselves.

Alec let his gaze rake over her once—not hungrily. Not fearfully. Just… seeing. Seeing her as she was. What she was.

Then he dropped his chin, just slightly.

And said, quietly but clearly—

“…damn. No antlers.”

A single corner of his mouth twitched.

And when he spoke, his voice didn’t rise. It anchored.

“You’re not what they said you were,” he said calmly. “But I think you knew that already.”

He took a single step forward—not a challenge. Not fear.

Recognition.

“I’m not one of the bastards who dragged you in. And neither are they.” He jerked his chin slightly, indicating the others. “We didn’t sign off on this.”

Then his tone sharpened, just a touch.

“But I am the law. You’ve got wolves disappearing across the border, and no one knows where they end up. You don’t answer summons. You don’t register movement. That matters, Wen. You know it does.”

A breath.

“We’re not enemies. Yet.”

He let the weight of that word sit there.

Then softer, steadier—

“Tell me what you want. If you want justice—we’ll fight for it. If you want war—”

His hand hovered just above his belt.

“—don’t make me pick the wrong side of it.”

And he waited.

Not tense.

Not loose.

Just ready.

Shaka leaned against the doorframe, his fangs glinting, all dark and leashed brutality. "Damn, Blue. Way to assimilate her. Equal huh. Lady wolves are hardly ever equal, but this..." His eyes ran over Wen. "That's not a lady."

Wen's red eyes narrowed as the blue alpha stepped forward, a ripple of warning in her growl as she let her eyes slide over the four men. Assessing.

Adam stood behind Blue, the green alpha's eyes on her. "Maybe if she promises to only eat Red."

"Hey!" Raiden bristled but wisely stayed outside the door.

She let out a frustrated, annoyed breath, and her jaw opened, her tongue sliding along her teeth before she finally spoke, a rasping, unused human voice. "You four are my rescue party? Funny, I thought they sent me another breeding request."

Alec’s jaw ticked once.

The only sign she’d landed a hit.

But when he met her eyes again, it wasn’t with offense. It wasn’t even with humor. It was that same steady force he'd carried into the room—something too grounded to be shaken, too real to pretend.

“You’re not here because of us,” he said flatly. “You’re here because they decided you were a problem that needed caging.”

He didn’t look back at Shaka or Adam or Raiden. He didn’t need to. She’d already read them. All he could do now was answer her.

“But I’m here now,” he said, gaze hard and level, “because no one—alpha or not—deserves to be chained without a hearing.”

Then he added, drier, just a touch of gravel humor in his tone:

“And if this is a breeding request, it’s the worst-coordinated one I’ve ever been dragged into.”

A faint grunt from Adam. A scoff from somewhere behind.

Alec didn’t flinch. His eyes were still on her. Still holding ground.

“You want out,” he said finally, “you’ve got two options: we go back up there together and face them with words, or you fight your way through it and prove every story they’ve told.”

Beat.

“Choose.”

She growled, bristling. "You want to drag me up into that boardroom like they did. How are you any different?" She spat.

Shaka shrugged. "It's actually not that bad, bruh. Coffee machine and leather seats. You oughta try it before you knock it, babe."

"Don't call me babe," she snarled.

Adam cleared his throat. "Shut the fuck up Brown, you're making it worse."

Wen's eyes flicked to Alec. She lifted her wrists where the silver had made them bloody.

Raiden stiffened. "Uh...Blue. Maybe get her word first? Maybe in blood?"

Alec’s eyes dropped—just once—to the wounds on her wrists.

He didn’t recoil.

But something in his jaw turned to stone.

Slowly, he stepped forward—still careful, still measured—until he was standing just shy of her reach. His voice dropped, quiet enough that it didn’t echo, but sharp enough to cut through the heat.

“I’m not dragging you anywhere,Wendigo.”

Not mockery. Not reverence.

Just her name. As it was.

“You walk out that door on your own feet. Or you don’t. That choice is yours.”

A breath.

“But if you do… theywill see you. Bleeding. Standing. Unbroken.”

His gaze flicked briefly to Shaka and Raiden—low enough to shut them up without calling them out.

Then back to her.

“They’ve got stories,” Alec said. “Whispers. Fear. A dozen excuses to keep treating you like a myth they need to cage or breed or bury.”

He reached up, then—not a weapon. Just fingers to the clasp of a pouch at his belt. He pulled a clean cloth from it—something small, something simple. And held it out between them.

For the blood.

“Give me your word. Doesn’t have to be in blood. Doesn’t have to be pretty. Just make it yours.”

Beat.

“So I can walk back up those stairs and say: She chose.”

Her head tilted, her muzzle rippling almost like it was a smile. And then she moved like lightning. Her claws wrapped around his wrist, and she yanked and spun him into the wall behind her, her mouth at his throat. Her claws pinning his wrists to the wall.

"Alec!" Shaka moved a step, but Adam grabbed him. "What the fuck Green!"

"Wait," Adam muttered.

Alec didn’t fight.

His back hit the wall with a dull thud, and her breath was fire against his neck, claws biting cold into his wrists. The others shouted behind them—some startled, some angry—but Alec didn’t react.

Didn’t snarl.

Didn’t flinch.

His breath came slow.

Controlled.

Even with her fangs a whisper from his pulse, his voice stayed low. Steady. Undeniably Alec.

“…that your answer?”

No mockery. No challenge.

Just the quiet gravity of a man who never bowed, even when pressed to the brink.

Another breath passed. He could smell blood. Hers. His.

And still—he didn’t pull away.

“If you’re going to tear out my throat,” he said, calm as steel, “do it now.”

Beat.

“But if you’re just trying to figure out if I’m like them—”

A subtle shift in his tone. Rougher now. Realer.

“—then you already know.”

She’d felt it. In the stillness of him. In the lack of fear.

A man who didn’t come to tame her.

A man who saw her.

“Your move, Alpha.”

She rumbled, her jaw opening against his throat, her wolf muzzle big enough to snap his human neck in two. He could have shifted. Her claws tightened around his wrists.

He should have shifted. He was strong. She could smell it on him. And so very steady.

Oh, she shouldn't.

But her tongue slid out and tasted his skin, and it was like an electric wire snapping in place.

Shaka was still growling, Adam was still holding him in place, and Raiden peeked over their shoulder like he was just enjoying the show.

Alec felt the breath against his throat change—the shift from rage to something hungrier. Wilder. That lick—hot and sudden and wrong in all the ways that made it hard to breathe—sparked every nerve like it was being mapped for the first time.

His jaw tightened. But he still didn’t shift.

Not because he couldn’t.

Because he wouldn’t be the first one to break the moment.

His breath was rough now, just barely catching, but his voice stayed solid.

“You taste law on me?” he murmured, eyes locked with the burning red of hers, his head tilted just enough to bare his neck further—intentionally.

“You think I came down here to collar you?”

He pulled against her grip—not violently. Not to escape.

Just enough to show her he could.

That he was strong enough to snap these walls like ribs if he wanted.

But he didn’t.

He held her eyes, voice a low rasp.

“I came to see if the Wendigo had a voice.”

Beat.

“And now that I’ve heard it… I think they should, too.”

The weight behind the words wasn’t just political. It wasn’t just moral.

It was personal.

And gods help him, she smelled like everything he wasn’t supposed to want. Blood, fury, forest, freedom.

Still pinned, Alec met her muzzle with nothing but that steady, dangerous calm.

“Are you done tasting me, or should I close the door on your council trial and just let them think you ate me alive?”

Her tongue was tingling now and then, and she stepped away, the chains still coiled around her as she stood before him. Her breath was a little shallow, her tongue still working in her mouth like she was masticating his taste. "I taste lightning on you," she rumbled, and then for the first time in years, she put her claws down.

And the fur and fangs faded.

Just a shadow and then she was human, creamy skin, big hazel eyes, a pert little nose, and a full red mouth as she flexed her human fingers for the first time in what felt like forever. She licked her mouth and shifted her head to get a crick out of her neck. All woman now. "I could still eat you."

Shaka stilled. Adam's mouth dropped open. Raiden salivated a little. "Oh holy shit, she's a babe."

She snarled over her shoulder. "Don't call me babe."

Alec exhaled—once.

It wasn’t relief.

It was release.

Like something inside him finally let go when she did.

He straightened from the wall, blood still slick on his wrist, throat damp with her claim, and looked at her—reallylooked at her—as she shifted. No more shadow. No more myth.

Just a woman.

And fuck if that wasn’t the most dangerous part of her.

Creamy skin marred by shackles, hair like wild ink, and a mouth that could kill or kiss depending on the wind. Her eyes weren’t red now. But they were alive. Fierce. And watching.

“I’m not doubting that,” Alec said, voice roughened by the moment, by her. “But if you were gonna eat me, you’d have done it already.”

Then, calmly—like they hadn’t just played a game of death-and-dominance under council ground—he unhooked the pouch from his belt, tore it open with his teeth, and wrapped a strip of gauze around his own bleeding wrist with methodical ease.

“Besides,” he added, not looking at her this time, “I’m told I taste like ozone and poor decisions.”

A glance up. Sharp. Dry.

“I’ll be your shield up there, not your leash. You walk on your own feet.”

Beat.

“You ready?”

She looked at where her claws had cut him, and for a moment, it looked like she might apologize. Then she met his eyes instead, gold on blue. "No. But you promised to let me lick you later."

Then she turned and started for the door.

Raiden blinked at her. "No, he didn't!"

Adam and Shaka were jostled a little as she shouldered past them. Shaka looked like he wanted to bite her. And not all in a good way.

Alec didn’t smile.

But something in his expression twitched. Like he might’ve, in a world that wasn’t watching.

He pulled the gauze tight with his teeth, clipped it off, and dropped the used strip in the corner as he stepped after her—no rush, no fanfare. Just presence.

“She heard what she wanted,” he said dryly, brushing past Raiden without breaking stride. “Can you blame her?”

Adam snorted. Shaka swore under his breath.

Alec caught up in three long steps and fell into place beside her—not in front. Never in front. He didn’t lead her through that door.

She could burn it down herself.

But when they reached the stairwell—where the light grew colder, cleaner, more exposed—he leaned in just enough for only her to hear, voice low and dangerous with the edge of something new:

“I didn’t say no.”

And then he took the first step up—bleeding, marked, and very much hers to bite again.

"I know," she said without missing a beat, and threw open the doors to the main halls of the council. "You don't have to say it, Lightning boy."

Then she strutted through the staring people, the agape mouths like she hadn't set fire to the whole status quo. For him. Then she walked through the boardroom doors with the four alpha males astride, like sides had been picked. Maybe they had.

She looked at the yin and yang of their council. "The first one who talks about breeding me can talk to him." She jabbed her thumb at Alec.

Raiden choked a little. "Like her damned lawyer."

Fenrir and Zarrar looked like someone had struck them.

Adam grumbled. "No dumbass. Those are not lawyer vibes."

Shaka fell into his chair and kicked the chair of the alpha, that has been dozing behind his sunglasses the whole time. "Wake up, Luca, this is fun."

Remy looked like he was a hormone.

Alec stepped in behind her, quiet as thunder before it breaks.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

His presence was enough—broad-shouldered, bleeding, and unbothered by it. His gaze swept the room like a blade: from the gaping council elders to the alphas who knew better than to smirk too loud. His jaw was set, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin doing nothing to cool the charge still bleeding off him like static.

He didn’t stand in front of her.

He stood with her.

And when she threw her thumb at him like a weapon—"talk to him"—he just tilted his head, slow and deliberate, and locked eyes with Fenrir.

He didn’t raise his voice.

But gods, he didn’t have to.

“If anyone’s unclear about her status,” Alec said, voice iron-wrapped velvet, “she’s free.”

A pause. He glanced at Zarrar.

“And unless this council wants to defend shackling a recognized alpha without a vote, without trial, and with intent to breed—I suggest you sit the fuck down and start explaining.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, one wrist still bloodstained, still bandaged, like a signature.

“And if not…”

A breath. Calm. Measured.

“You’ll be dealing with more than just her next time.”

Zarar balked. "Are you ingraining her into the council?"

Adam's eyes narrowed. "Isn't that what you wanted. Alec got her here, didn't he?"

Fenris ran a hand through his white hair and looked rattled. "This isn't what we expected, but..." He looked at Zarrar, and the black wolf settled. "Yes, the Wendigo Wolf can have a seat."

Remy patted the sea beside him with a grin. "Come sit with ma jolie petite cherie."

Wen turned to Alec without missing a beat. "Where are you sitting?"

Shaka leered. "Damn."

Alec didn’t look at Remy. Didn’t even acknowledge the pat-pat of that empty chair.

He kept his eyes on Wen.

Still and unreadable—for a second too long.

Then finally, with the quiet finality of a man who made his own rules, he uncrossed his arms and rolled his bandaged wrist once.

“I don’t sit.”

His voice was smooth. Controlled.

But his eyes—those ice-and-storm eyes—held hers with something else entirely.

Deference.
Recognition.
A kind of quiet claim that had nothing to do with power and everything to do with choice.

He stepped aside, leaving her path open. Not ushering. Not commanding.

Letting her choose.

But his voice followed her as he turned his back on the council table and leaned against the wall behind it—arms folded, gaze sharp, stance steady.

“I’ll stand. You sit.”

Beat.

“Make them look up at you.”

"No." She walked to Alec, leaned her shoulder against the wall beside him, and her body turned to him in a clear 'I'm with him.'

Her hazel eyes lifted to the table as the other alphas sat. "Ask your questions. This one is taking me home soon."

A ripple passed through the room.

Not a growl. Not a word. Just… shift.

As if the entire boardroom had just recalibrated its center of gravity.

Wen didn’t just refuse the seat.

She redefined it.

And Alec?

He didn’t move.

He let her lean in, let her stake the moment, and he held his silence like a weapon—like backup. Not a leash. Not a shield. Not a man in front of her.

A man at her side.

One brow lifted slightly as she said, "this one is taking me home soon."

His voice came quiet and bone-dry:

“…I assume that’s not a euphemism.”

Shaka coughed into a fist. Adam definitely smirked. Raiden choked on his own saliva. Remy fanned himself.

Alec still didn’t smile.

But his eyes—just for a second—sparked.

Then he looked at Fenrir and Zarrar, cool as ever.

“You heard her.”

Beat.

“Ask your questions while she still feels like answering.”

The two elders seemed to bristle before Fenrir took a deep breath. "Well I'm fucking glad she's talking. That's better than speaking with sending our wolves back in body bags."

"I didn't kill them. They trespassed," Wen said plainly.

Raiden put his chin in his hands as he grinned at her. "Are you really into girls?"

Adam groaned. "Red! Seriously."

Wen's eyes turned to Raiden with enough murder to make him freeze. "I'm into sheep and deer and occasionally bunny. It doesn't matter the gender when they're in my teeth."

Shaka threw his head back and laughed.

Alec didn’t laugh.

But damn if his shoulders didn’t twitch like he nearly did.

He let the room breathe through the laughter—Raiden paling, Shaka cackling, Fenrir looking like he might develop a stress ulcer—before cutting the air clean again with a single look.

“You want to talk about her appetites,” Alec said, voice colder now, eyes on Raiden, “take it outside. Or bring a will.”

Then he turned back toward the table, arms still crossed as he tilted his head at Fenrir and Zarrar.

“But if you actually want answers? Stick to questions that matter.”

He paused. Then, quieter, like a warning wrapped in velvet:

“She is talking. Try not to waste it.”

Behind him, the mark on his wrist throbbed beneath the gauze.

And still, he stood there—between myth and law, storm and silence—like he belonged.

Raiden scowled. "What the hell, Alec. Why are you her advocate and shield suddenly? It's clear she didn't need one."

Remy sighed sadly. "Whipped."

Luca leaned over, his glasses still on his eyes. "Which one?"

Shaka leered. "All of them."

Alec turned his head just enough to glance at Raiden, then at Remy, then at the slow, sarcastic swirl of testosterone around the table.

His expression didn’t change.

But the temperature in his stare dropped.

“I’m not her shield,” he said, voice flat as frost.

“I’m her witness.”

That landed with a different kind of weight.

Fenrir growled, and the room stilled. "Like pups. Honestly." He shook his head and met Wen's eyes. "You can't take wolves into your pack without acknowledgement. Without letting them return to their families."

"I can't," she said turned him down immediately. "They are only let in if they agree to never go back. That's my only rule."

Adam frowned. "That makes no sense..."

"It does for how many wolves I lose every day." She said simply.

Alec looked to Fenrir, not challenging this time—but measured. Like one alpha to another who finally remembered what the title meant.

“She’s not stealing wolves,” Alec said. “She’s giving them a choice. The fact that they choose her, even knowing they can’t go back—that should scare you more than the claws.”

Then his voice dipped, quieter, darker.

“I’ve seen pups shoved into ranks they didn’t ask for. Betas forced into wars they didn’t start. I’ve cleaned up the blood after your rules failed to protect them.”

He nodded once, toward Wen.

“She’s keeping them alive. You want her to let them go back? Give them something worth going back to.”

He fell silent again.

Letting her words stand.

Letting them feel it.

"Oh, I'm not keeping them alive," she turned those hazel eyes to Alec without flinching. "I'm leading them to their deaths." The alphas went still.

Alec didn’t react like the others.

He didn’t stiffen. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t ask why.

He heard her.

And in that moment—when every other alpha tensed, when even Fenrir leaned forward like he might interrupt—Alec just watched her.

She smiled at Alec, really smiled. It was unused and cracking, but it was there. "Anyone who comes to my border has to go up against the hordes we face every day. Beasts bigger than them. Some with horns, some with fangs, some with venom. If they are connected to their families. To things outside, they won't be able to face it. We die every day, best to let the families mourn once."

The silence that followed was chilling.

Alec’s eyes didn’t leave hers—not for a second.

Not when that smile broke across her face like thaw through winter. Not when her words came like bone-deep truth, not designed to persuade, only declare.

She wasn't hiding.

She was done hiding.

And gods, the honesty of it… it was colder than her claws had ever been.

The room had gone still. The kind of still that meant listening.

Alec finally spoke.

His voice was quiet again. Not weak. Reverent.

“You’re cutting their tethers,” he said. “So they don’t flinch when death comes.”

He said it like he understood.

Like he’d done it, once. Or almost had.

He turned, slow, back to the table.

“She’s not building an army.”

A breath. A pause.

“She’s building wolves who won’t run.”

And that, more than anything, made the silence dangerous.

Because now they understood.

And some of them would fear her more than ever.

But some… might start to follow.

She watched Alec for too long, then lifted her eyes to Fenrir and Zarrar. "So no. I won't breed. No kid of mine will face what I face every day. What I became when my father threw me into the fray. You remember him, your little council elder who gave you assassins and secrets and played your game. You're just sore I'm only doing my job and not feeding your narrative."

Zarrar growled. "You dare..."

Fenrir put a hand on his arm and sighed. "Different times, Wendigo Wolf." His eyes flickered with memory. "Which daughter were you? Melusine? Aylani? Sora? Who'll be alpha after you?"

"Someone." A muscle worked in Wen's jaw. "None of your business. Wendigo is fine with me." But hearing her dead sisters' names cut into her like razor blades. She pushed away from the wall and looked at Alec. "Ready to go?"

Alec caught the flicker—the way her jaw flexed like it was holding in blood. The razor hidden in that calm. The names had drawn it. Carved it. And still, she stood.

Not untouched.

But unbroken.

He nodded once. No questions. No sympathy.

Just readiness.

Always steady.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Let’s get you home.”

He pushed off the wall, boots echoing in the silence, his presence falling in beside her with practiced ease. Like he’d been there before. Like he would be there again.

Then he turned his head just enough, gaze skimming Fenrir and Zarrar one last time.

“She gave you more truth than you deserved,” he said. “And you gave her chains.”

His eyes didn’t burn.

But they cut.

“Next time, don’t expect her to walk out. Expect her to burn her way through.”

Then he fell quiet again, moving beside her without another word.

Because she'd spoken.

And now it was time to leave.

Wen ran her eyes over the alphas around the table. Her eyes lingered on the four that had come for her. Then she followed the one who set her free. Followed. Yeah. It wasn't lost on her.

Alec didn’t look back.

He didn’t need to.

He felt her behind him—like the shift in weather before a storm. The weight of something wild, something real, walking at his heels, not because she had to…

But because she chose to.

He held the door open—not out of chivalry, not some performance of control—but like a man who knew what it meant to make space for something sacred.

As she passed through, he said nothing.

Did nothing.

But the quiet between them was no longer tense.

It was full.

And for a man who lived by law, and a woman who’d defied it with every bone in her body—

That silence?

It was the first understanding.

And it wasn’t lost on him either.

She let him lead her out of the building and into the red gold glow of the evening. She raised an eyebrow when he stopped behind a big blue bike. "For real?"

Alec glanced over his shoulder, one brow arched in reply.

“Don’t let the paint job fool you.”

He swung a leg over the sleek midnight-blue machine, matte finish catching the fire of the setting sun. The chrome details were scratched, worn in places—this wasn’t a showpiece.

It was ridden.

He looked up at her, hands settling on the handlebars like it was second nature.

“You wanna walk, Wendigo, I’ll match your pace.”

A pause, deliberate.

“But if you’re tired of chains and slow exits—” he patted the seat behind him without smirking, “—I’ve got horsepower and bad decisions.”

Beat.

“Your call.”

"You want the Wendigo Wolf at your back. Brave." She shrugged and swung her leg behind him, and suddenly she was snug against his back, her feminine curves plastered to him as her hands landed on the top of his thighs as she grinned against his ear. "If I lick you again, will you crash us?"

Alec let out a breath that was definitely not a laugh.

But it was close.

His fingers flexed once around the handles, the faintest hitch in his jaw betraying that yes—he feltevery inch of her pressed against him. The bruises on his wrists, the dried blood at his throat, and now this—

This was a test.

“You licking me wasn’t the problem,” he said, voice low, half growl, half gravel. “It was the part where you almost unhinged your jaw after.”

He revved the bike once, the engine purring like a beast beneath them, then leaned just enough to let his words graze her skin.

“Try it again, Wen…”

And with that, he kicked the bike into gear—taking them both straight into the burn of the setting sun.

Her arms wound around him, hands flattened against his chest as she stayed against him, her chin on his shoulder, her mouth at his ear. "No. I don't think I will. If I lick you again, I won't stop."

Alec’s grip tightened on the throttle.

Subtle.

Controlled.

But his whole body stilled—the kind of stillness that came from a man who’d been hit in the ribs and refused to stagger.

The engine growled under them like it knew.

He tilted his head just enough for his voice to thread back to her—low and dark and taut with everything he wasn’t letting show.

“Then you better hold on tight, Wendigo.”

A pause.

“You start something like that…”

His eyes cut to the road ahead, sharp with promise.

“…and I won’t stop either.”

She opened her mouth against his ear and chuckled when he went still. "Relax, Blue. I can't eat either if my pack is starving. But I didn't want to tell them that."

Then her voice dropped low. Gravel. Real. "But doesn't mean I don't want to."

Alec’s breath dragged in—sharp and quiet like a blade being drawn, not for show, but for use.

Her words weren’t flirtation.

They were confession.

And gods help him, it hit harder than teeth.

He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t need to. The roar of the engine filled the silence between them, heat rolling off the road, her body heat coiled against his back like temptation wrapped in survival.

Then finally, over his shoulder, voice dark and barely audible beneath the wind:

“You get them fed…”

A pause.

A flick of tension down his spine.

“…then come find me.”

And in that quiet promise, was something raw.

Not ownership.

Not surrender.

But invitation.

Because if she was hunger—

He wasn’t afraid of being devoured.

She sighed and leaned her forehead against his shoulder. "I can't. My battle never ends. Not until I'm dead."

Alec’s hands tightened on the grips—not to rev the engine, not to run.

Just to breathe.

That quiet truth from her—not until I’m dead—wasn’t drama.

It was resignation.

It was reality.

And it landed harder than all her teeth ever could.

His voice came low, barely carried over the rush of wind.

“Then I won’t ask you to stop.”

He didn’t glance back.

But he leaned into her just enough that she’d feel the weight of it—of him.

Of someone who wasn’t trying to rescue her. Or change her.

Just ride with her.

“For as long as you’re fighting…”

His chest rose slow beneath her hands.

“…you don’t have to do it alone.”

"Yeah, I do." She watched the woods come into view and pulled away from his back slightly. "If they can't have outside ties, then neither can I. I could go any moment. Tonight, if the beast I face is bigger. Less scared of my face. I'm not a bad decision, Blue, I'm a bad choice."

The bike rolled to a stop and she stayed there in his heat for a moment longer before swinging her leg off, raking a hand through her wild hair.

Alec didn’t reach for her.

Didn’t stop her.

But gods, he felt her absence the moment she pulled away—like air pulled from a room, like something vital leaving with the cold.

He cut the engine.

The silence after the bike’s growl was deafening.

She stepped off like a storm fading into mist—wild hair, wolf eyes, a woman carved from war.

He didn’t follow.

But he looked at her.

Really looked.

“You think I don’t know what that is?” he said quietly, his voice stripped down to its barest edge. “Being a bad choice doesn’t scare me, Wen.”

A beat. The wind stirred her hair, and he didn’t move, still seated, still grounded.

“What scares me is knowing I saw you, and still letting you go like it didn’t matter.”

Another pause. Raw. Steady.

“Don’t ask me to lie about that.”

His voice dropped.

“I won’t.”

She stepped against him suddenly, while he sat on the bike and pressed her mouth to his jaw, a shudder going through her body, hands braced on the bike, one behind his ass, and one between his legs. Like she had right. Like she could. Like she wanted to.

"I wish I'd never met you..."

Alec froze.

Not out of fear.

Not out of confusion.

But because everything in him—everything—was screaming to move, to grab, to answer that heat with his own.

But he didn’t.

Not yet.

Her mouth burned against his jaw. Her hands branded him—possessive, aching, final.

And still, he didn’t grab her.

He endured her.

Like a man who knew exactly what it would cost if he gave in.

His breath shuddered out, rough against the space between them.

“I know,” he said, voice raw, breaking at the edges. “Me too.”

He didn’t reach for her.

Didn’t pull her closer.

But he leaned his head just enough that his forehead touched hers, the gesture more intimate than teeth, more honest than lust.

“I’d burn the world if it meant you didn’t have to carry it.”

He swallowed once, slow.

“But you’re not mine to save.”

And gods, did that truth taste like ash.

She kissed him like she couldn't help herself. One moment of weakness. Of indulgence. Of taking something she wanted. And it tasted like ash and tears and salvation all in one.

Alec shattered into it.

He didn’t devour her.

He received her.

Like something precious and damned and far too fleeting.

His hands didn’t grab.

They hovered—one ghosting over her hip, the other bracing himself on the bike—because if he held her, he might never let her go.

She kissed him like she was falling.

He kissed her back like he knewhe couldn’t catch her.

But gods, he’d try.

And when she pulled away—if she did—he’d still be there.

Marked.

Quiet.

And hers in all the ways that mattered. Even if it destroyed him.

She let their lips cling. Want. Just one more.... Then she let them slip away. Her forehead still pressed to his. "I haven't been human in decades," she whispered. "Thank you..."

Alec didn’t open his eyes.

Not yet.

He just breathed her in—wildness and blood and something achingly human beneath it all. Her words sank through him, soft as dusk, sharp as bone.

He pressed his forehead to hers a little harder, just enough that she’d feel how steady he was. How real.

“You still are,” he murmured. “You just forgot what it felt like.”

His hand, finally, finally, touched her—light on her side, fingers splayed warm against the curve of her ribs, not to hold her down.

But to remember her by.

“If this is the only time…”

Alec swallowed, throat working once.

“…I’m glad it was with me.”

And he meant it.

Every word.

"It's the only time," she said with heartbreaking finality and brushed her lips against his one last time, like she couldn't stop herself. Didn’t want to.

Then she pulled away, her human softness melting into the horror and reality of her wolf. Half turned, half wolf, half human. All killing machine.

Her red eyes burned into his one last time, and then she walked into the trees. And she knew, she'd never really be human for anyone else.

Ever again.

Alec watched her go.

Didn’t call her back.

Didn’t beg.

Just watched—like a man trying to memorize the shape of something that would only ever pass through his life once.

The kiss still clung to his mouth like a wound he didn’t want to stop bleeding.

And as her silhouette melted into the treeline—wild and terrible and sacred—he finally exhaled.

He stayed there on the bike, unmoving, the evening wind slipping through the space she’d left behind.

“She’s not coming back,” he said aloud, not to the trees.

To himself.

Then he closed his eyes.

And whispered, just once:

“Run well, Wendigo.”

And with that, he turned the key, kicked the bike into gear, and rode off into the gold bleeding out of the sky—marked, haunted, and a little…grateful.

THE END