"Because you're out of options." Alex held Lucas's pale gaze, ignoring every screaming instinct to submit.
"In another generation—two cubs if you're lucky—there won't be a Northern Wolf Pack left. The Silver Fang sitting unused in your lodge isn't protecting you; it's just a reminder of everything you've lost."
He drew a shallow breath, feeling the babies shift inside him in response to his racing pulse.
"But mostly," Alex said more softly, "you should trust me because I'm not forcing you to choose between heritage and survival. "
" I'm offering a way to honor what the Silver Fang truly represents—fertility, prosperity, continuation—while actually achieving those things instead of wishing for them."
Lucas went predator-still, the dangerous pause before strike or acceptance.
The river roared below. Wind carried snow, pine, and the held breath of two hundred wolves.
Then Lucas's lips curved—not quite a smile, not quite a threat.
