Wrenna Voss's POV
The man across the negotiation table just lunged for my wrist, and my new Alpha's claws closed on his throat before mine could.
"Touch my Luna again, and Blackpine ends today."
Three years ago they told my pack I died in a rogue attack on the northern cliff.
It wasn't an attack.
Lola paid thirty thousand for the rogues that drove me off the edge, and the alarm that should have saved me went dark for eleven minutes.
The hands that killed the alarm belonged to my own son.
Seven years old, giggling, doing his Aunt Lola a little favor.
I didn't die.
Cassian pulled me out of the ravine with my throat torn open and my memory wiped clean, and at Silvermoon I climbed from his patient to his war strategist to the mate the Moon Goddess threaded to him herself.
Now Blackpine is rotting—plague in the dens, rogues at the gates—and my husband has crawled north to beg.
He keeps staring at my neck.
"My mark," he whispers, shaking. "My mark is still on you."
So I sweep my hair aside and show him.
There's an old scar there, yes.
And burning silver right over it, a brand-new crescent that isn't his.
"Some desperate animal bit me three years ago," I tell him. "My healer pulled the rot out herself."
The boy in their delegation is crying, calling me Mom.
I look at him the way you look at a stranger's pup.
***
"Miss Lola told me to help her scare people."
My seven-year-old son, Eli, squatted in the freezing mud, his small fingers wrapped tightly around the heavy iron lever of the North Patrol main alarm valve.
I grabbed his wrist, pulling him away from the machinery. Rain lashed against my face, mixing with the dirt smeared across my cheeks.
"Just for a little bit," Eli whined, trying to yank his arm out of my grip. "She said it would be funny."
"You do not touch the perimeter defense, Eli," I said, my voice cutting through the howling wind. "Never."
"You're hurting me!" he yelled, kicking at my shin.
I ignored the sting and hauled him away from the console. I had given up my position as North Border Commander six years ago. I handed over the reins willingly, stepping down so I wouldn't have to share a chain of command with Lola, my husband's first love. For six years, I took Damon's logistics and night patrol shifts. I spent my nights trudging through the muck, keeping the border secure while they stayed warm inside.
Tonight was no different. I was on my sixth patrol of the evening while Damon celebrated Lola's birthday in the banquet hall.
"Walk," I ordered, pushing Eli toward the main compound.
I shoved open the heavy oak doors of the outpost's main hall. Warm air and the scent of roasted venison hit my face. Music played from the corner, and dozens of pack members stood around holding crystal glasses.
Damon stood at the center of the room, laughing next to Lola. She wore a crimson silk dress, her blonde hair pinned up perfectly.
He turned. His smile vanished the second he saw me dripping mud onto the polished hardwood floor.
"What are you doing?" Damon asked, his voice carrying over the sudden silence of the room. The music died down.
"Eli was out by the main valve," I said, pushing our son forward. "He had his hands on the master lever."
Lola covered her mouth, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. "Oh, Eli, I told you to play a prank on the gate guards, not go out into the cold."
I stared at her. "You sent a seven-year-old to tamper with outpost security?"
"I merely suggested a harmless joke," Lola replied, her tone soft, defensive. She stepped closer to Damon. "I never thought he would go near the actual valve. He's just a boy, Wrenna. Don't be so harsh."
Damon didn't look at Lola. His gaze dragged up and down my filthy uniform, resting on the mud caked around my boots.
"Wrenna, look at yourself," Damon said.
"The master valve was half-closed, Damon. If the lever drops, the entire North Cliff alarm system goes dark."
"And you handled it by dragging him in here to make a scene?" Damon countered.
"I handled it by stopping a breach."
"A breach?" Damon laughed, a harsh, echoing sound. "It's a rainy Tuesday, Wrenna. The only thing breaching this outpost is your paranoia."
"The lever was moved," I insisted.
Lola sighed, a fragile sound. "Damon, please. Don't fight because of me. I'll go apologize to the guards myself if it makes Wrenna feel better."
"You won't do any such thing," Damon said, placing a hand on Lola's waist. He turned his cold gaze back to me. "Patrolling is for soldiers, Wrenna. A Luna should be more dignified."
Laughter rippled through the gathered pack members. A few whispered behind their hands.
I tightened my jaw. Six years. Six years of covering his shifts, six years of keeping this border secure, wiped out by a single sneer in front of the entire pack. He didn't care about the danger. He only cared that I had interrupted Lola's party looking like a common foot soldier.
"The valve needs to be reset," I said, keeping my chin up.
"Then tell a guard to fix it," Damon snapped, turning his back to me. "Go clean yourself up. You're ruining the evening."
Eli ran past me, burying his face in Lola's skirt. She stroked his hair, shooting me a sympathetic look that made my stomach churn.
I didn't argue. I turned on my heel and walked back out into the freezing night. The heavy doors slammed shut behind me, cutting off the warmth and the music.
The rain had turned to sleet. I marched straight back to the iron console by the perimeter fence. The master lever still sat at a dangerous angle, halfway between active and dormant.
I grabbed the freezing metal and shoved it forward to lock the alarm back into place.
It wouldn't click.
I pushed harder, throwing my weight against the iron. The metal grated, emitting a harsh, scraping sound. It wouldn't budge.
I pulled out my flashlight, clicking the heavy button. The yellow beam cut through the sleet, illuminating the base of the lever. I dropped to my knees in the mud, ignoring the freezing water seeping through my pants. I ran my bare fingers along the icy valve core, digging into the narrow gap between the gears.
Wood chips.
Rough, splintered oak, packed tightly into the mechanism. I scraped at it with my fingernails, but the wood was wedged deep, hammered into place. This wasn't a child's prank. Eli couldn't have jammed this himself. He didn't have the strength to wedge wood into heavy machinery.
My chest tightened. I checked my watch.
The system had been offline for at least eleven minutes.
Eleven minutes on the North Border was a death sentence. It was enough time for an entire pack of rogues to cross the river undetected.
I pulled my radio from my belt. "Command, this is Voss. The North valve is jammed. Do you have eyes on the cliff?"
Static hissed through the speaker.
"Command, respond," I demanded.
Nothing.
A long, piercing howl tore through the darkness from the direction of the North Cliff.
I yanked my head up. I waited for the red warning lights on the outpost towers to flare to life. I waited for the automated sirens to scream.
The towers remained completely dark. The alarm was dead.
I abandoned the jammed lever and sprinted toward the armory shed. I kicked the wooden door open and grabbed the heavy brass backup horn from the wall hook.
I ran toward the cliff path, my boots slipping in the mud. The wind whipped against my face, carrying the foul, rotting scent of wet fur and blood. My lungs burned with every breath. I bypassed the main barracks, knowing there was no time to wake the sleeping guards. By the time they geared up, the perimeter would be overrun.
More howls erupted. Closer this time. Dozens of them.
Rogues.
They were already past the first perimeter fence. The sound of their heavy paws tearing through the underbrush echoed over the storm.
"Damon, get the guards out here!" I screamed into the radio, not caring if it transmitted through the static.
I reached the edge of the tree line. The cliff path stretched out before me, shrouded in absolute darkness. I raised the cold brass horn to my lips, ready to blow the manual alert.
A massive shadow launched from the branches above, claws extending toward the back of my neck.
