We pulled up to the Northcrest border checkpoint at a little after three in the morning—me in the back of a rented black SUV, Kyle riding shotgun. The windshield was already slick with dew, the air so cold it sucked the warmth out of your lungs as soon as you stepped into it. The checkpoint was nothing more than a prefab trailer and a steel gate, both painted the same shade of government beige that always reminded me of old teeth. Armed guards in thick utility jackets paced the perimeter, their hands never straying far from the heavy stun batons on their belts. They didn't bother asking for our names; they already knew who we were.
The guard at the window gave us a look I'd seen a thousand times before—the oh fuck, it's Blackwater look, equal parts disgust and poorly concealed fear. He scanned our IDs, double-checked the manifest, then pressed a button. The gate rattled open on its track, stuttering for a second before the gears caught.
I leaned forward so my mouth was right behind Kyle's ear. "If they search us, you let them. I don't care if they find the pistol. Don't twitch."
Kyle didn't look back at me, but his knuckles tightened on the wheel. "Copy that." His voice had no shake, but I could smell the spike in his adrenaline—a sharp, medicinal tang beneath the sweat and gasoline stench that filled the car. He was scared, but he wouldn't let it touch his hands.
We rolled through the gate, tires crunching on gravel, and stopped as two more guards motioned us to park in a pool of yellowed security light. They stood with feet braced wide, each holding a submachine gun at port arms—not aimed at us, but not pointed away, either. I opened my door and stepped out into the cold.
The Northcrest air was different than home—pine and ozone, with a sour note that might have been fertilizer or rotting meat. I stood very still, letting the guards see I wasn't armed, then waited while Kyle circled the SUV and joined me.
One of the guards, a grizzled old wolf with a facial scar like a train track, nodded at me. "This way, sir." He didn't call me Alpha, didn't even use my pack name. I clocked the insult but said nothing. Kyle and I followed, the other guard falling in behind us so close I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. They marched us past the trailer, through a gatehouse that stank of stale coffee and chewing tobacco, and then along a gravel path flanked by cyclone fencing. I did the math—forty meters from gate to building, two guards on us, four in the towers. At least three more in the woods.
We were led to a squat stone building that might once have been a maintenance shed, now converted to a meeting space. A blast of warm air hit me as the guard opened the door. Inside, the room was cave-dark except for the line of lights hanging over a polished wood table. The only decoration was a strip of frosted window high on the back wall, and the table itself was scarred with a thousand knife marks and burn rings.
There were six Alphas in the room. That was the first surprise. The invitation had said two. Five Alphas plus their betas, and every single one of them had already turned to face me before the door even clicked shut behind us. A trap, but not a subtle one.
The second surprise was who I saw at the head of the table: not just the Northcrest Alpha, but Roman Daniels, head of the Moonriver pack and an old friend of the Silvermoons. He wore a simple black turtleneck that made his face look even paler than usual, the kind of man who could order your murder with a smile and never spill a drop on his cuffs. The line of his jaw was sharp enough to bleed on. The rest of the table was a gallery of faces I recognized from online—Torrance of the Westerners, Liao from the Riverfront, two others I didn't recognize, probably from out of state.
Kyle shot me a look, but I didn't acknowledge it. I took the only open chair, the one at the foot of the table, and let my gaze sweep the room. The walls were stone, mortared together by someone who'd valued function over aesthetics. There was nothing on them—not a clock, not a sigil, not even a flag. Just stone and lantern-light and the cold, assessing eyes of men who'd kill me for sport if they thought they could get away with it.
Roman was the first to speak, his voice low and almost bored. "Blackwater. Congratulations on your new territory. I heard your father's death was… eventful." He let the silence hang, daring me to deny the rumors.
I smiled. "He was old. It was time."
The Northcrest Alpha, a squat brick of a man with a face like a bulldog and the scars to match, nodded with exaggerated solemnity. "We all lose fathers, one way or another." He leaned in, eyes glinting with amusement. "But few have the balls to make it happen on their own terms."
A ripple of laughter went around the room. Kyle tensed beside me; I could hear the wet click of his jaw as he ground his teeth. I put a hand on his arm—not friendly, just enough to remind him to stay. The room smelled of old sweat and expensive whisky, with an undercurrent of tension so thick I could almost taste it.
Roman steepled his fingers. "You know why you're here."
I did. I'd left a trail of breadcrumbs online for months, letting myself be seen—just enough—to suggest my growing dissatisfaction with the Silvermoons. An angry comment on a conspiracy forum here, a carefully staged photograph of a bruised jaw there, a leak to the right gossip columnist about my "strained relations" with the crown. Every word calculated, every photo vetted and sent from proxies. I wanted them to contact me. I needed them to believe I could be turned.
"I'm here," I said, "because I have a problem. The same problem you all have, though maybe you're better at hiding it."
Torrance, a broad-shouldered man with a busted nose and hands like meat mallets, snorted. "Our problem is that the Silvermoons think they're royalty." He spat the word onto the table, the disgust curling his lips. "Always have. The rest of us bend the knee, they make the rules."
I shrugged. "Maybe it's time for new rules."
That got their attention. Even Roman's eyes ticked up a fraction, the barest hint of interest.
Northcrest Alpha leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. "You said in your message that you were ready to talk. So talk."
I glanced at Kyle. His face was composed, but the vein at his temple throbbed with every beat of his heart. I could feel his anxiety like a second pulse in the room. My wolf was awake now, pacing just beneath my skin, claws scraping against the inside of my ribs. I liked the feeling.
"The Silvermoon heir took my mate," I said. "He thinks that means I'll roll over and play nice. Maybe he's right." I bared my teeth. "But I don't think so."
Roman's lips twitched. "Is this about a girl, then?" He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "How romantic."
My knuckles whitened against the table edge. "It's about pride." The word came out as a low growl. "No one walks into my territory and takes what's mine. Not even a crown prince." I leaned forward, letting my wolf rise close enough to the surface that they could see the amber flicker in my eyes. "He humiliated me in front of my own pack. That can't stand."
Torrance rapped his knuckles on the table. "You're not the first to want a Silvermoon dead, Blackwater. Or the second, or the tenth."
I lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug, like a man acknowledging the weather might turn bad but planning to go hiking anyway. "But I might be the first to get close enough to do it," I said, my voice flat.
Roman let the silence breathe a moment, then tilted his chin at Northcrest Alpha. "Enough small talk," he said. "We didn't gather in the dead of night to stroke each other's egos. Blackwater—what do you want to see happen to the Silvermoons?" The words came out like an accusation, but I caught the faint curl of amusement at the corner of his mouth. He wanted a show.
I gave him one.
I leaned in, bracing both elbows on the table. "You know what I want." My voice sounded calm, but even I could hear the tremor in it—anger, or hunger, or maybe both. "I want to drag Derick Silvermoon to his knees in front of Cassy. I want her to watch while I open him from throat to navel. I want her to feel his blood cooling on her skin when I mark her as mine, right there beside his corpse." My fingers curled into claws against the wood. "And I want the Royal Pack to see it all happen before I tear them apart."
The room went still. Someone's glass clinked as they set it down too quickly. Torrance shifted in his seat, the leather creaking beneath him. Even Kyle had gone rigid beside me, his breath shallow. Only Roman leaned forward, his pupils dilating like a wolf scenting fresh blood.
"That's a start," Roman said, his voice rich with appreciation while the others exchanged uneasy glances. "But what then? You take the crown for yourself? Or are you just another dog chasing a car, not knowing what to do when you catch it?"
I could feel the old pressure building behind my eyes—the familiar weight of my wolf straining for release. Claws pressed against the inside of my fingertips, teeth itching beneath my gums. I clenched my hands so tight my knuckles ached.
"I don't give a shit about crowns," I said. "Let someone else wear the silver." My lip curled, the words scraping like gravel in my throat. "I just want her back. I want Cassy back. He stole her." I pointed a finger at the table, at the imaginary line where my obsession ended and theirs began. "I'll kill anyone who stands between me and my mate. You want to use me for your war? Fine. But I don't fight for anyone but myself."
The tension around the table snapped taut. Liao's beta, a wiry kid with jittery hands, made a small choking sound. Northcrest Alpha smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. Even Torrance looked unsettled.
Roman, though, smiled for real this time. "You're very certain she wants you back." The words could have been mocking, but the respect in his tone was real.
"It doesn't matter what she wants," I said, and this time my voice came out with an edge of growl. "She's mine. Whether she comes willingly or I have to drag her back screaming, she will be mine again."
Kyle shot me a sideways look, half warning and half concern, but I ignored it. The itch behind my eyes was now a burning heat, and when I blinked, I caught a flash of amber in the reflection of the lantern light. My canines pushed out, puncturing my lower lip until I tasted blood.
Roman leaned back and spread his hands, as if welcoming me to a stage. "So you're not an idealist. Good. I have no use for those." He looked around the table, his voice a cold monotone. "Let's be clear: the Silvermoons have ruled for too long. They're weak. Soft. Their heir spends more time playing hero than ruling. If the Royal Pack falls, the rest of us can take whatever we want from the ashes." He fixed his gaze on me. "But you get the first bite, Blackwater. If you bleed for us, you get your mate. No one will stand in your way."
The other Alphas exchanged glances. A few of them, sensing the tides, nodded agreement. One looked away, not willing to meet my eyes. I could feel the hunger around the table, a pack of wolves scenting blood, each waiting to see who would make the first move.
Northcrest Alpha leaned in, the lines in his face deepening. "You're volatile, Blackwater. But maybe that's what we need. The rest of us are too… reasonable." He laughed, the sound thick with contempt. "Maybe we let you off your leash, see how much chaos you can sow before you burn out."
I met his gaze, unblinking. "Try it and see who burns first."
The beta from the Riverfront pack made a small movement, as if to protest, but his Alpha slapped a heavy hand on his shoulder and silenced him.
Roman looked at me as if appraising a new weapon. "You'll get what you want," he said. "But you're expendable, Blackwater. Fail, and you're a useful distraction. Succeed, and you get your prize. Either way, we win."
I let the wolf rise, just enough. My fingers curled, claws dragging faint lines across the table's surface. My next words came out raw, barely human. "Just point me at the prince."
Roman stood, moving with the slow certainty of a man who had never in his life been challenged and lost. He circled the table, boots soundless on the stone. When he reached me, he didn't hesitate. He placed a hand on my shoulder, gripping hard enough to test me. I bared my canines in a smile, letting him see the beast behind my eyes. He smiled back, the gesture pure violence.
"We're going to do great things together," he said, and for a moment, it was just the two of us—no council, no history, nothing but hunger and purpose.
I thought of Cassy—her green eyes, the way she'd looked at me in the hallway that last day, not with fear but with something else. I thought of Derick's smug face, the way he'd taken her without even bothering to fight. I thought of my father, the way his skull had caved beneath my boot, the wet pop of cartilage giving way to destiny.
Roman released my shoulder and extended his hand. "Welcome to the revolution, Alpha Blackwater."
I took it. His grip was cold as marble and twice as hard.
Around us, the other Alphas murmured assent. Plans were made—subtle, coded, nothing written down but everything understood. Matt sat rigid at my side, sweat beading on his brow. He didn't speak, but I could feel the tremor in his leg, the way his body vibrated with anticipation and dread.
Roman's hand lingered in mine, the skin-to-skin contact electric. "We'll let you know when it's time. Until then, keep playing your part. Let them think you're broken. Let them think you're nothing."
I grinned, baring every tooth. "I'll make them regret it."
The room emptied in a slow, orderly fashion—no one wanted to be the first out, no one wanted to be the last. Kyle and I waited until the guards outside gave the all-clear. We walked out into the cold, Kyle trailing behind, eyes darting in every direction.
At the car, he finally spoke. "You lost control in there."
I wiped the blood from my lip, the pain already fading. "Did I?"
Kyle nodded. "Your eyes. Your teeth. They saw it."
"Good," I said. "That's what I wanted."
He didn't answer, just got in the car and started the engine. As we drove back toward the border, I stared out the window, watching the world slip past. Every muscle in my body was wound tight, vibrating with purpose. The old hunger was back, and it felt better than anything I'd known in weeks.
I closed my eyes and pictured Cassy's face—not as it had been, but as it would be, after I tore her away from the prince and made her remember who she belonged to. My wolf purred in my chest, claws flexing.
Let them plan and plot and posture all they wanted. In the end, the only thing that mattered was who had the hunger to finish what they started.
And I was starving.