I shrugged, watching Lily’s red curls bounce. "He’s decent, once you get past the bristling. I like him. He isn't some mindless brute like his old man. He studies the old lore. He reads."
Lily rolled her eyes toward the rafters. "Of course. To you, anyone who cracks a scroll is a saint. He’s probably your fated mate."
"I don't believe in that fated mating crap," I snapped, though my skin prickled. "I'm going to be a Pack Chronicler. I’m not getting tied down."
"What about pups? Don't you want a litter?"
I paused, thinking of the tiny, fat-bellied cubs that tumbled around the Pack House during festivals. "Maybe. One day."
"Well, you need a mate for that. Unless you're going to end up like Harper Cole."
We both went quiet, pondering the mystery of the Cole family's messy lineage.
"Maybe if she’d been claimed properly, she wouldn't have so many pups from different sires," Lily whispered. "Let’s go ask your mom."
"Fine."
Vanessa solved it by telling us we had too much time on our hands and shoving a plate of warm, honey-glazed biscuits into our paws.
Lily took off shortly after, but the thought stuck in my head like a burr. Grayson would know. He lived in that den of secrets. The problem was catching him away from Mason. My gut told me the Alpha wouldn't want me poking around the specifics of Grayson's home life.
I missed my chance that evening. By the time I reached the workshop, the scent of oil and woodsmoke was cold. He was gone. I didn't see him again until the following night, and the sight of him burned the questions right out of my throat.
"Savannah? Take the elk trimmings out to the barn for the strays," Mama called from the hearth.
"On it." I had been sprawled on the rug, lost in a history of the Great Shift while the cicadas screamed in the dusk outside. Mason was in his chair, his pipe clenched between his teeth, eyes buried in a map of the northern borders.
The barn hadn't held livestock in years, but it was a sanctuary for the half-wild creatures of the valley. We had owls, foxes, and a rotating population of cats that kept the mice down. I wasn't rattled when I heard a heavy rustling from the shadows at the back of the building.
I dumped the meat into the tin trays near the door. The bolder cats hissed and darted forward. The shy ones waited.
Then came the rustling again. A low, jagged moan that made the hair on my arms stand up. That wasn't an animal. "Who's in there?"
No answer. I backed toward the wall and slapped the light switch. Mason had wired the barn back when Mr. Bob, our old scout, lived in the loft room. The room was still kept clean, though it had been empty for a year.
The light flickered on, and I nearly choked. Grayson was curled on the dirt floor, his body hunched protectively over something clutched against his ribs. I dropped the bowl and sprinted across the barn, hitting the dirt on my knees beside him.
"Grayson? What happened?" He was so still I thought his heart had stopped. "Grayson!" I gripped his shoulder to roll him over. He let out a strangled groan, his silver eyes fluttering open, glazed with a film of agony.
"Your... the scrolls," he wheezed. "I tried to hide them. He found them... was going to toss them in the fire. Couldn't let him. I had to bring them back."
Slowly, his trembling arm shifted to reveal the leather-bound scrolls he’d been shielding with his own body.
I reached for them, and my hand came away warm and slick. I stared at the dark red coating my fingers. "You're bleeding! Grayson, your back..."
"I'm fine. Just gotta... gotta get out of here."
He tried to push himself up, but I shoved him back down. How he’d crawled the three miles from the Cole scrap yard to our gates, I didn't know. His shirt was a red rag, the fabric shredded and fused to his skin by dozens of jagged lash marks. This wasn't a wolf fight. This was a beating.
"Don't you dare move. I'm getting Mama."
"No!" His fingers clamped around my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong for someone dying. "You promised. No one knows. If the Council finds out... they'll throw me in the pits or a state cage."
Tears blurred my vision as he struggled to stand. He'd collapse before he hit the driveway. "Wait. Please. Let me get Mason. I’ll make him swear a blood oath not to report it before he sees you. He’ll know how to fix this."
A shiver racked his lean frame, and he slumped back into the dirt like a broken doll. Grayson lived in a world of absolutes. You were either pack or predator. He’d decided Mason and I were pack.
"Make him swear," he whispered, his eyes sliding shut.
I bolted. I didn't stop until I hit the kitchen, hiding my blood-stained hand behind my back as I passed the table where my aunts were still gossiping.
"Savannah? Where’s the bowl?"
"Left it in the barn. I'll grab it in a second."
I moved to Mason’s chair, leaning over the armrest. "Come outside. Now. It’s an emergency," I breathed into his ear.
His brow furrowed, but he folded his map and followed me into the dark. "What is it, Savannah?"
A firefly drifted between us as I spun to face him. "Before I say a word, you have to swear. On your Alpha's honor. You won't tell the Council. You won't send him away."
"Who, Savannah?"
"Grayson. Please, Mason. He thinks he'll be caged if you find out."
The Alpha’s expression shifted as he saw the desperation in my eyes. He nodded once, short and sharp. "I swear. No cages."
"He’s in the barn. He’s... he’s torn apart." I held up my hand, showing him the dark, sticky evidence in the moonlight.
Mason’s jaw locked so hard I heard the bone creak. He headed for the barn. "Stay back."
"No way. He won't trust you if I’m not there."
He didn't argue, which was as good as permission. I’d already decided Grayson was my responsibility.
They used to say Mason Reed was a judge of blood and iron back in his younger days, but I’d only ever seen the grandfather side of him. Tonight, the Alpha was out.
Grayson had managed to haul himself into a sitting position, his head lolling. Mason reached him in three strides. My grandfather’s entire body went rigid, his eyes flashing a predatory amber that seemed to set the shadows on fire. A string of curses I’d never heard him use hissed through his teeth, but when he looked at Grayson, his voice was like velvet.
"I’m going to lift you, pup. Savannah, get the door to the scout room open."
I scrambled to obey, flicking the lights and tearing the blankets back on the narrow bed. The room was basic—a cot, a chair, and a small washbasin.
Grayson’s face was the color of bone as Mason lowered him onto the mattress. He didn't make a sound, but the way he bit his lip made my own blood run cold.
"You’re burning up," Mason said, gently peeling away the blood-soaked tatters of Grayson’s shirt. "Get on your stomach. Savannah, get the healer’s kit and a basin of hot water. Now."
I grabbed the kit from the bathroom, along with a bottle of willow-bark extract for the pain. For the water, I ran back into the barn and grabbed the elk-scrap bowl. I scrubbed it with lye soap until it sparkled, then filled it with steaming water from the pump. I brought it back to Mason.
"I’m going to be as gentle as a wolf can be, son, but this is going to sting like a bitch." Mason dipped a cloth and began cleaning the carnage on Grayson's back. I sat on the floor, anchoring myself to Grayson’s hand.
"Did Frank do this?" Mason’s voice was eerily calm.
Grayson didn't answer. He just squeezed my hand until my bones groaned.
"You need a real healer."
"No. You swore. He just... he had too much moonshine, is all."
Mason’s teeth ground together with a sound like crushing gravel. "From now on, the second he touches a bottle, you run here. This room is yours. You understand me?"
"I can't. He'd come for me. He’d cause trouble for your pack."
"Let him try. I made you a promise, now you give me one. When the old man turns, you come to the Reed gates."
Grayson hesitated, then gave a weak nod. "I promise."
Once the wounds were dressed and coated in salve, Mason found a clean tunic for him and tucked him in. He turned to me, his eyes dark with a purpose I couldn't yet name. "Savannah, stay here. Keep him down. If he tries to bolt, yell. I have business to settle."
"Where are you going?"
"To remind a dog why he shouldn't bite."
I didn't find out until much later what happened that night. Mason, with the Pack Enforcers at his back, had paid a visit to the Cole scrap yard. They didn't just threaten Frank; Mason told him that if he ever touched the boy again, they wouldn't find enough of Frank to bury. He made it official—Grayson had 'Scout Sanctuary' at the Reed estate.
And though they never admitted it, the women of the house knew. The barn cats started getting served steak on our best ceramic plates, with a side of medicinal tea. Aunt Eleanor didn't say a word.
I sat by Grayson’s bed, watching his chest rise and fall. His fever broke around midnight. He reached out in his sleep, his hand finding mine.
"Savannah?"
"I'm here."
He pulled me closer, his eyes half-open. The heat of the fever was gone, replaced by a different kind of burn. He hauled me onto the bed, his weight shifting as he pinned me beneath him, mindful of his back.
"You shouldn't be here," he whispered, his face inches from mine. "I'm a mess."
"You're a stubborn idiot," I countered.
He didn't argue. He just lowered his head, his mouth finding mine in the dark. It started as a comfort, but quickly turned into something more—a desperate, hungry claim. His hands slid under my tunic, his palms rough against my ribs. I arched into him, my body igniting.
He worked my leggings down with a frantic energy, his breath hot against my neck. "I need you, Savannah. I need to know something is good."
He didn't wait. He moved between my legs, his cock thick and pulsing as it brushed against my entrance. I was already slick, my body screaming for the contact. He pushed inside, a slow, agonizing slide that filled me completely. I cried out into his shoulder, my legs locking around his waist.
He set a brutal, rhythmic pace, the bed creaking in time with his thrusts. Each strike sent a jolt of lightning through my core. I could feel the salt of his sweat, the heavy weight of him pressing me into the mattress, the raw power of a wolf who refused to be broken.
"You're mine," he growled, his teeth grazing my ear. "Reed or not, you're mine."
I couldn't speak. I could only scream as the climax hit, a tidal wave that left us both gasping and tangled in the sheets.
The hangover of the pleasure left us limp. He stayed inside me for a long time, his head buried in the crook of my neck.
But as the sun began to peek over the horizon, the door to the barn creaked open.
"Savannah?" It was Trent Maddox’s voice.
Grayson froze.
"Savannah, your dad wants you—" Trent stopped in the doorway of the room, his eyes going wide as he saw us.
"What the hell is this?" Trent snarled, his hand going to the knife at his belt.
