"Pack law is clear about exposure," Rowan continues when I don't answer. "But pack law doesn't account for mates."
“Pack law was written when survival meant secrecy,” I say. “Not when secrecy started attracting predators.”
Rowan turns fully toward me. “You break law for a human and you fracture the pack.”
“And if I don’t,” I snap, “I fracture her.”
The bond flares in brutal agreement, pain threading through my ribs like wire.
"She's not…"
"Cut the shit, Caleb. I can smell the bond on you from here. It's eating you alive, and everyone knows it." He turns to face me fully. "The question is whether you're going to let it kill her to preserve our secrets."
Through the window, Ellie stands, gathering her papers with sharp, decisive movements. She's leaving, heading somewhere I won't be able to follow without revealing myself.
The bond screams against my restraint.
"The council won't understand," I say.
"The council isn't watching their mate walk into a trap."
The call comesat 3:47 a.m. Not through official channels—through the pack bond, raw terror flooding my consciousness like ice water.
Alpha. Now. The old quarry.
Rowan's voice in my head carries a panic I've never felt from him. I'm moving before I'm fully awake, pulling on clothes while my wolf claws at my restraint.
The drive that usually takes 20 minutes, takes twelve. I push the cruiser harder than I should, emergency lights cutting through pre-dawn darkness. The quarry sits abandoned fifteen miles north of town, a gaping wound in the earth where limestone once fed construction projects decades ago.
I smell blood before I see anything else.
Rowan meets me at the tree line, his face pale in the headlight glare. "It's not hiding anymore."
“No,” I agree. “It’s correcting us.”
Rowan’s head snaps toward me. “Correcting?”
“For thinking we could keep pretending this was contained.” I stare at the symbols, at the blood still wet in the stone. “This is what happens when rot gets ignored long enough.”
Three bodies arrangedin a perfect triangle at the quarry's edge. Not random violence—deliberate placement, ceremonial positioning that turns my stomach. Each victim displays wounds that speak of prolonged suffering, methodical cruelty.
But it's what's carved into the limestone wall that makes my blood freeze.
Symbols. Ancient ones that predate human settlement here, scratched deep into rock with claws that left gouges inches wide. The markings pulse with something that makes my wolf whimper and retreat deeper into my consciousness.
"How long have they been here?" My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
"Hours. Maybe since sunset." Rowan's hands shake as he lights another cigarette. "But Caleb—that's not the worst part."
He leads me closer to the symbols. Fresh blood still drips from the carved lines, forming pools that reflect starlight like black mirrors. The metallic scent mingles with something else—something wild and wrong that makes my sinuses burn.
Rowan then points to tracks leading away from the scene. Not human footprints—something larger, with claws that score deep marks in muddy ground. The trail heads directly toward town.
Toward Ellie's temporary lodging.
"It's not just hunting anymore," Rowan says quietly. "It's announcing itself. Making sure we know it's done hiding."
I pocket the fabric, my hands steady despite the chaos in my chest. The antagonist has moved beyond stealth into open challenge. Whatever's been stalking Moonhaven's edges for years just declared war.