James did not know what to do.
Currently, he was following after Thane through the inner paths of the camp.
The ground beneath his boots was packed earth, worn down by generations of wolves.
The scent of smoke lingered in the air, mixed with pine, iron, and something older.
They stopped in front of a long wooden structure reinforced with stone at the base.
A hut.
No.
A house.
Actually… more like a barrack.
He could feel them inside.
Not see. Not hear.
Feel.
Multiple wolves. Their presences pressed faintly against his senses—sleeping, resting, existing.
Each one a low hum at the edge of his awareness.
"This will be where you live from now on," Thane said flatly.
That was nice to know and all but—
"What about my apartment?" James asked immediately.
"If I'm going to be here for a month, it'll look suspicious. There's rent. Bills. I need to attend school."
Thane slowly turned his head.
He looked… annoyed.
Not angry.
Just tired.
As if human life was unnecessarily complicated.
"Ah yes," he muttered. "Your human obligations."
He said it like someone referencing an outdated operating system.
"It will be taken care of. They will believe you are away handling family matters. As for funding… the pack will take care of that."
James blinked.
From the way some of them dressed, he had assumed some of them were Native American.
Not descendants.
Not "my great-great-grandma was."
No.
The actual Native Americans who were here before Europeans decided to pull up and metaphorically slam their dick on the table.
Which meant—
Yeah.
They probably had resources.
Land.
Connections.
Money older than banks.
"As for your school," Thane continued calmly, "a letter has already been sent. As far as they are aware, you are visiting your cousins."
James stared at him.
"It seems like you had everything figured out."
"We did," Thane replied.
"But what if they ask around for me? Or figure out I'm here?"
Thane stopped walking.
He looked at James for a long second.
"You ask a lot of questions."
"Sorry," James scratched the back of his head.
"I'm curious by nature."
"It is fine."
That didn't sound fine.
"Anything that could be used to track you has been removed from your possession. This territory is layered with barriers. If one does not have permission to enter, one cannot."
Magical barriers.
James felt it now that it was mentioned. A faint pressure at the edges of the territory.
Like an invisible membrane.
Repelling.
Filtering.
He assumed it kept out normal humans.
Or anyone without magic.
Or maybe anyone without wolf.
Either way—
Average Joe was not strolling in here with a Starbucks cup.
"You will be entrusted to Kaela Ironclaw,"
Thane said.
James turned toward him.
Who?
"She is among the best warriors in our pack."
Thane's tone did not change.
"She will teach you how to control your inner beast. She is the most suitable for that task."
James nodded slowly.
So.
They had assigned him a professional demon-tamer.
"Since it's being recommended by the second-in-command," James said honestly, "I'm sure she'll do great."
Thane stared at him.
Then something flickered across his face.
Almost like he remembered something unpleasant.
"Do not worry," Thane said carefully. "She knows what she is doing."
A pause.
"Though her methods are… anything but normal."
James' eyes shifted.
"Wait—what does that mean—"
He didn't get to finish.
Because she stepped into view.
She stood in the clearing like she owned it.
No—
Like the clearing had asked permission to exist in her presence.
Kaela Ironclaw.
The first thing he noticed wasn't the sword.
It was the confidence.
It rolled off her in waves.
She wore a sleeveless, deep-cut black combat top—stitched for movement, not modesty.
Thick straps crossed over her shoulders, reinforced with metal clasps shaped like fanged stars.
The fabric hugged her frame, practical but unapologetically bold.
Built for someone who expected to move fast.
And hit harder.
A white sash wrapped diagonally across her torso—half functional binding, and half just wringing it.
It looked like she had tied it mid-fight and simply never adjusted it afterward.
Her arms—
Yeah.
Not decorative.
Lean muscle coiled beneath her skin, flexing subtly every time she shifted the katana resting lazily across her shoulder. One forearm was wrapped in white combat bandages, slightly stained.
The other bore a dark bracer with angular metal plating.
There were scars.
Real ones.
A thin slash across her bicep.
A jagged mark near her shoulder.
She wore them like decorations.
Around her waist hung a layered ochre sash tied tightly, fabric falling in sharp folds like a warrior's battle skirt. It moved behind her in the wind like a banner.
Everything about her clothing screamed one thing:
Function.
Speed.
Violence.
Then came the details.
Large silver hoop earrings caught the light when she tilted her head.
Layered necklaces hung around her neck—metal charms, small bones, and at the center, a lion-like crest resting against her collarbone.
A thick black choker encircled her throat, marked with a metallic insignia.
It looked less like jewelry—
And more like a brand.
Her dark hair was pulled into a high, wild ponytail, strands spilling forward over one eye.
The visible eye—
Gold.
Not metaphorically.
Not "golden brown."
Gold.
Molten.
Predatory.
It locked onto James.
And for the first time since arriving here—
His blood didn't just boil.
It flinched.
And she was looking at him like he was either prey… or entertainment.
She smirked.
Not friendly.
Not polite.
Predatory.
"So," she said, voice low and amused, rolling her shoulder as the katana shifted lazily in her grip. "This the human pup?"
James blinked.
He suddenly became very aware of how non-muscular he was.
Thane sighed beside him. "Kaela."
She ignored him completely.
Her gold eye never left James.
Assessing.
Measuring.
Calculating how long he would last.
There was an energy around her. Not the quiet authority Thane carried. Not the crushing, ancient dominance Aldric radiated.
This was different.
This was someone who loved the fight.
Not for protection.
Not for duty.
But because it made her blood sing.
She stepped closer.
Close enough for James to notice the faint callouses lining her fingers. Close enough to see the small nicks on her knuckles.
The way she stood slightly angled—never square.
Always ready.
Ready to pivot.
Ready to lunge.
Ready to break something.
"You look nervous," she said, grin widening.
"Good. Means you've got instincts."
"This will be your instructor," Thane said calmly, as if ignoring the fact that James was currently re-evaluating every life choice he had made in the last seventy-two hours.
And yes.
Muscular women were usually a turn on.
But right now?
Absolutely not.
His instincts were screaming.
Danger.
This wasn't the fun kind of dominant.
This was the kind that left you limping.
Which was technically some people type….he wasn't some people thought.
"I will leave you two to it," Thane continued.
"Kaela, you have full permission to do whatever you want. You have a month to make him decent."
James felt like a death certificate had just been signed in his name.
"Huh—?!"
That was all he managed before Kaela's hand shot forward.
Her fingers wrapped around his throat.
Not choking.
Just firm.
Controlled.
Effortless.
She lifted him slightly—not enough for his feet to leave the ground, but enough that he felt the difference in strength.
His head hovered a dangerous distance from her chest as she smiled down at him.
"Don't worry," she said sweetly.
Her grip tightened just enough to make a point.
"I'll take good care of him."
A shudder ran down his spine.
This was scary.
He did not like it.
Not in the slightest.
Thane simply nodded.
Like this was normal.
Like handing a newborn Alpha to a woman who looked one bad day away from starting a war was a reasonable decision.
Then he turned and walked away.
Just like that.
James watched him leave.
Traitor.
"So…" James croaked slightly once Kaela released him, rubbing his neck. "Like… what are you going to teach me?"
She smiled wider.
That shudder returned.
—
Meanwhile.
At the center of the camp stood the great timber house reinforced with dark stone and iron bindings. It was not the tallest structure in the territory.
But it was the heaviest.
The air around it felt older.
Denser.
Like history pressed into the wood.
Inside, the walls were lined with skulls.
Wolf skulls.
Massive ones.
Each cleaned to bone-white perfection and mounted with deliberate symmetry. Some were cracked.
Some bore claw marks. One still had a fracture running across the snout.
Trophies.
Not of enemies.
Of Past Alphas.
Aldric sat beneath them in a wide chair carved from a single slab of black oak. One leg crossed lazily over the other.
His fingers drummed idly against the armrest.
He looked bored.
Utterly.
He had planned to train with Luna later. Spar. Push her control. Watch her grow.
Instead—
He was here.
Surrounded.
The four elders stood before him in a half-circle.
A silent tribunal.
"So," Aldric drawled, not bothering to sit upright. "To whom do I owe the pleasure?"
Pleasantries.
He knew exactly why they were here.
Elder Rowan Grimmtide stood first.
The Pathkeeper. Long iron-gray hair flowing down his back, scar cutting clean across his nose. His eyes were sharp.
Judging.
Rowan could smell lies.
It made debates with him… tedious.
Beside him stood Elder Marisol Darkfang, the Moon-Seer. Tall. Dark-skinned. Eyes
completely white.
No pupils.
No iris.
Just blank.
Empty.
Her head tilted slightly, as if listening to distant whispers only she could hear. The faint scent of herbs clung to her skin.
She was uneasy.
Elder Brynn Hollowclaw stood like a fortress of scars and muscle. Broad. Towering. Braided beard resting against his chest like something taken from 1021 AD.
He had fought wars against vampires in the 1700s.
He still hated them.
Viscerally.
The tension in his jaw proved it.
And finally—
Elder Kaelen Nightstride.
Pale. Lean. Black hair.
He did not walk like a man.
He moved like a wolf pretending to be one.
Soundless.
Measured.
Predatory.
"…So," Rowan began calmly, hands clasped behind his back.
"You are refusing to address the newborn elephant in the room?"
Aldric exhaled slowly.
There it was.
"The boy," Rowan continued, "is Alpha-blooded."
The word settled heavily in the room.
"Tradition dictates that a rogue Alpha, unbound and untested, presents instability."
Unspoken translation:
Put him down.
Before he becomes a problem.
Aldric's eyes flicked up.
"Hm."
That was it.
Brynn crossed his arms. The wood floor creaked beneath him.
"If he disrupts the hierarchy, we deal with him before he festers."
Marisol's blank gaze turned toward Aldric.
"The hunters have been getting closer."
That earned a faint narrowing of his eyes.
"It would be wise," she continued softly, "to remove unpredictable variables before they invite consequence."
Aldric leaned back further.
"You insinuate they'll get the better of us."
"You insinuate they won't try," Kaelen replied smoothly.
"Audacity is the most common weapon of the weak."
Brynn growled low. "As for those… blood eaters…"
His shoulders twitched as if resisting the urge to tear something apart.
Marisol nodded faintly.
Brynn sneered. "What about them?"
Rowan answered evenly. "If an Alpha-blooded scent drifts beyond our borders, it will not go unnoticed."
Silence.
Vampires loved powerful blood.
Hunters loved powerful trophies.
Gods loved powerful experiments.
"Those weaklings will not do anything," Aldric said calmly. "They know better."
A subtle shift rippled through the elders.
Disagreement.
"Knowing better," Kaelen said lightly, "has never stopped desperation."
"If they come, we break them," Brynn said immediately.
"The answer remains the same," Aldric replied flatly. "The only blood drained should be theirs."
Brynn grinned.
Rowan stepped forward.
"Your daughter's… creation."
Aldric's gaze sharpened slightly.
Creation.
"He is unstable," Rowan continued.
"Untrained. Proud. Alpha-blooded."
Each word placed deliberately.
"He represents potential fracture."
"The moon has been restless," Marisol added.
Aldric waved a hand.
"Hardly worth the time worrying about him. If anything, his existence is a testament to the skill and potency of my scion."
He was praising Luna.
Now.
Brynn blinked once.
Kaelen's lips twitched.
Rowan's patience thinned.
"This is not about pride," Rowan said. "It is about continuity."
"It is about control," Kaelen added.
"It is about risk," Marisol murmured.
"It is about killing him before he becomes a problem," Brynn finished bluntly.
The room stilled.
Aldric's fingers stopped drumming.
For a heartbeat—
Something ancient flickered in his eyes.
Then it vanished.
"No."
One word.
Absolute.
Rowan studied him carefully.
No deception.
"…No?" Rowan pressed.
"You are trying very hard to turn a pup into a crisis," Aldric said calmly.
No one answered.
"Hunters are always approaching. Vampires are always sniffing. Gods are always meddling."
He shrugged.
"That is not new."
He leaned forward.
"This boy is loud. Proud. Raw."
A faint grin appeared.
"I like him."
That was not what they wanted.
Kaelen's gaze sharpened.
"…Or," he said slowly, "he could be useful."
That made Aldric pause.
"An Alpha-blooded outsider," Kaelen continued, pacing lightly. "Untethered by tradition. Unfamiliar with our politics."
Rowan listened.
Marisol tilted her head.
Brynn remained silent.
"He could draw attention," Kaelen finished. "Hunters. Vampires. Other packs."
A pause.
"And if directed properly… that attention could be shaped."
Not kill him.
Use him.
"A controlled disruption," Rowan murmured.
"The moon favors catalysts," Marisol whispered.
"Or bait," Brynn said with a dark grin.
Aldric looked at them.
Now they were thinking.
Plotting.
Strategizing.
He, meanwhile, was thinking about sparring with Luna.
"You are all overthinking," he said flatly.
Silence.
Kaelen tilted his head. "Am I?"
Aldric rose slowly.
The skulls behind him loomed.
"He is a pup," Aldric said.
"And he is mine."
The temperature in the room dropped.
"I will decide what he becomes."
Then his gaze turn cold, the temperature in the room dropping.
"And if any of you have a problem with that….we are warriors…do something about it"
Rowan held his gaze.
Marisol bowed faintly.
Brynn huffed.
Kaelen smiled thinly.
"…Very well," Rowan said at last. "But if your indulgence endangers the pack—"
"It won't," Aldric cut him off.
Certain.
Final.
The elders fell silent.
Some wanted the boy dead.
Some wanted him weaponized.
Aldric?
He simply did not give enough of a fuck to panic.
To him—
James was not a threat.
He was potential.
And potential was far more interesting.
And worse case scenario he could just put the boy in a pack.