Chapter 41
title: "Chapter 1" wordCount: 2445
The blood on my hands wasn't mine.
I scrubbed harder, watching pink water spiral down the gas station sink. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, the same frequency as the ringing in my ears. Three days since I'd slept. Four since I'd eaten anything that wasn't from a vending machine. The watch on my wrist—Dad's watch—still read 11:47, same as it had for six years.
"You gonna buy something or just use our facilities?"
The clerk's voice cut through the white noise. I looked up. He was maybe nineteen, acne scars on his cheeks, hand hovering near something under the counter. Smart kid. I probably looked like exactly the kind of trouble his manager warned him about.
"Coffee," I said. "Black."
"We got hazelnut creamer on special—"
"Black."
I dried my hands on my jeans—already ruined, what was a little more water—and headed for the coffee station. The burn on my forearm throbbed where I'd caught it on a silver fence post. Careless. I was getting careless, and careless got you killed.
The coffee tasted like burnt rubber and regret. Perfect.
I was halfway to the door when the bell chimed. The man who walked in made the fluorescent lights seem dimmer somehow, like he carried his own weather system. Tall, dark hair going silver at the temples, wearing a suit that cost more than my car. He looked at me, and something in my chest went tight.
Not fear. Worse.
Recognition.
"Sloane Carrigan." His voice was measured, each syllable deliberate. "I have been looking for you."
Yeah, no. I didn't know this man, which meant he was either a hunter or something worse. I kept walking.
"Your pack was Silverpine." Not a question. "The massacre six years ago. You were the only survivor."
My hand found the door handle. "Not my circus."
"Garrett Voss is in Seattle."
I stopped. The coffee cup crumpled in my grip, hot liquid seeping through my fingers. I didn't feel it.
"That is not the whole truth," the man continued, moving closer. Not threatening, just... inevitable. "He is not simply in Seattle. He is building something. A new pack. And he is using Silverpine's territory to do it."
I turned. Looked at him properly. His eyes were amber—not yellow, not gold, amber. Old wolf. Alpha, probably. The kind of wolf who thought he could fix things with authority and pretty words.
"Who are you?"
"Declan Thorne. I run the Cascade pack. What remains of it." Something flickered across his face, too fast to name. "Voss has been... recruiting. Aggressively. I have lost three wolves in the past month. They did not leave willingly."
The clerk was watching us now, phone in his hand. Time to move.
"Outside," I said.
The parking lot smelled like gasoline and coming rain. My car—a '98 Honda with more rust than paint—sat in the corner spot. Always park where you can see the exits. Always keep the tank above half. Always know where the silver is.
Lessons learned in blood.
Declan followed me out, maintaining exactly three feet of distance. Respectful. Or calculating.
"I do not need your help," I said, leaning against the Honda's hood. "I need you to tell me where Voss is. Then I need you to get out of my way."
"He has forty wolves now. Well-trained. Well-armed." Declan's hand moved to his left wrist, fingers brushing the cuff of his shirt. "You would be dead before you reached him."
"Maybe."
"Not maybe. Certainly." He stepped closer. Two and a half feet now. "But if we work together—"
"I don't work with packs." The words came out sharper than I meant. "Not anymore."
"You are still a wolf, Sloane Carrigan. You still need—"
"I don't need anything." My nails dug into my palms. The watch ticked against my wrist, frozen in time. "Especially not some alpha who thinks he can save me."
"I do not want to save you." His voice dropped, and for the first time, I heard something raw underneath the control. "I want to stop Voss before he does to my pack what he did to yours."
The rain started. Fat drops that hit the asphalt like accusations.
"Why me?" I asked. "You've got forty wolves to lose. I'm sure one of them would love to play hero."
"Because you are the only person who has ever walked away from Garrett Voss alive." Declan's amber eyes held mine. "And because three days ago, you killed two of his recruiters in Tacoma. Silver bullets, close range, no witnesses. That is not the work of someone who has given up."
My heart kicked against my ribs. I'd been careful. Burned the bodies, ditched the gun, drove straight through to Portland before doubling back. How did he—
"I have resources," Declan said, reading my face. "And I have been tracking Voss's operation for eight months. When his men started disappearing, I paid attention." He pulled out his phone, swiped, held it up. "This is from a traffic camera two blocks from the Tacoma incident."
The image was grainy, but clear enough. Me, walking away from a black SUV. The timestamp read 2:47 AM.
"You could have gone to the police," I said.
"And told them what? That werewolves are killing each other?" something close to amusement. "Besides. I would rather have you as an ally than an enemy."
The rain was coming down harder now, soaking through my jacket. I should walk away. Get in the car, drive until I hit ocean or Canada, disappear like I'd been doing for six years. Voss was a problem, sure, but he was Seattle's problem. Not mine.
Except.
Except he'd used Silverpine's territory. My family's territory. The land where my mother taught me to hunt, where my father showed me how to track by scent alone, where my little brother took his first shift under a October moon and laughed with pure joy at the feeling of fur and freedom.
The land where they all died screaming.
"One job," I heard myself say. "I help you figure out what Voss is planning. Then I'm gone."
Declan nodded slowly. "Agreed."
"And if you try to pull any alpha dominance bullshit, I walk. I'm not pack. I'm not yours. I'm a contractor."
"Understood."
I pushed off the car, started to move past him. His hand caught my arm—not hard, just enough to stop me. The touch sent heat racing up my skin, wolf to wolf, and I jerked away.
"Do not do that," I said.
"My apologies." But he didn't look sorry. He looked... curious. "When did you last shift?"
"Not your business."
"It is if we are going to work together. A wolf who does not shift becomes unstable. Dangerous."
"I'm already dangerous." I opened the car door. "That's why you're here."
Declan's "resources" turned out to be a downtown Seattle high-rise with a view of the Sound and security that made TSA look casual. The lobby had marble floors, abstract art that probably cost six figures, and a receptionist who smiled like she knew exactly what kind of monsters rode the elevator to the thirty-fourth floor.
"Mr. Thorne," she said. "Your guest is expected."
I followed him into an elevator with mirrors on three sides. Watched my reflection multiply into infinity—hollow-eyed, scar bisecting my eyebrow, Dad's broken watch catching the light. I looked like something that crawled out of a grave.
Maybe I was.
"You live here?" I asked.
"I work here. I live in Bellevue." The elevator climbed smoothly, no sensation of movement. "The pack owns the building. It provides... discretion."
"Must be nice. Having resources."
"It is necessary." He glanced at me. "Silverpine was wealthy, was it not? Your father owned half of Snohomish County."
My face hardened. "Yeah, well. Dead wolves don't need real estate."
The elevator opened onto a hallway that smelled like money and secrets. Declan led me to a corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows and a desk that could double as a landing strip. A woman stood by the windows, arms crossed, radiating the kind of authority that made my wolf sit up and take notice.
Beta. Strong one.
"This is Maya Reeves," Declan said. "My second."
Maya looked me over with eyes that missed nothing. "So you're the ghost."
"I prefer 'independent contractor.'"
"I prefer 'liability.'" She moved away from the window, circling me slowly. "You've been off-grid for six years. No pack, no territory, no alpha. That makes you rogue. Rogues are unstable."
"Maya—" Declan started.
"No." Maya cut him off, still watching me. "She needs to hear this. You want to go after Voss? Fine. But you don't get to do it halfway. You're either with us, following our rules, or you're out."
Something hot and sharp rose in my chest. The wolf, pushing against my skin. I'd kept her locked down for so long, but Maya's challenge made her snarl.
"I don't follow anyone's rules," I said quietly.
"Then we have a problem."
The air in the room thickened. I could feel Declan's tension, could smell the shift in his scent—concern, calculation, something else I couldn't name. Maya's eyes had gone amber, her wolf rising to meet mine.
This was a test. Maybe Declan's, maybe hers. Either way, I was about to fail it.
"Enough." Declan's voice cracked like a whip. Not loud, but absolute. "Maya, stand down."
"She's a risk—"
"I said stand down."
Maya's jaw worked, but she stepped back. The amber faded from her eyes. She looked at Declan, and something passed between them—years of trust, of partnership, of battles fought together.
I was the outsider here. The variable. The thing that didn't fit.
Story of my life.
"Show her the files," Declan said.
Maya moved to the desk, pulled out a tablet, thrust it at me. "Voss's operation. Everything we've compiled."
I took it. Swiped through images, documents, surveillance photos. Voss looked exactly like I remembered—handsome in a corporate shark kind of way, smile that never reached his eyes, expensive suit that probably cost more than most people's cars. He was standing outside a warehouse in SODO, surrounded by wolves I didn't recognize.
Young wolves. Teenagers, some of them.
"He is recruiting juveniles," Declan said. "Wolves who have not yet found their packs. Promising them family, purpose, power."
"He's building an army," I said.
"Yes. But for what purpose, we do not know." Declan moved to stand beside me, looking at the screen. "He has been careful. No overt moves, no territory challenges. Just... accumulation."
I swiped to the next image. Froze.
The warehouse. I knew that warehouse. Silverpine had used it for pack gatherings, for the full moon runs when we needed space away from human eyes. My father had bought it in the nineties, kept it maintained, kept it secret.
Voss was using my family's property.
"When was this taken?" My voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else.
"Four days ago," Maya said. "We have someone on the inside. Low-level, but reliable."
Four days ago. I'd been in Tacoma, putting silver bullets in the heads of Voss's recruiters. While he'd been here, in Seattle, standing on ground soaked with Silverpine blood.
The watch on my wrist felt heavier. 11:47. The moment everything ended.
Or maybe the moment everything started.
"I need to see it," I said. "The warehouse. Tonight."
"That is not advisable," Declan said. "If Voss has sentries—"
"I don't care about advisable." I looked at him. "You want my help? Then I need to see what we're dealing with. In person."
Maya and Declan exchanged a glance. Some silent alpha-beta communication I wasn't part of and never would be.
"Fine," Maya said. "But I'm coming with you. And if this goes sideways, it's on you."
"Everything's always on me," I said. "I'm used to it."
We took Maya's car—a black Range Rover with tinted windows and enough aftermarket modifications to outrun anything short of a helicopter. She drove like she fought, aggressive and precise, cutting through Seattle traffic with the confidence of someone who owned the road.
I sat in the back, watching the city blur past. Six years since I'd been here. Six years since I'd let myself get close to anything that mattered.
The warehouse was in SODO, tucked between a container yard and a defunct rail line. Maya killed the lights two blocks out, coasted to a stop behind a semi-truck that had seen better decades.
"We go in quiet," she said. "No shifting, no confrontation. We observe and extract. Clear?"
"Crystal," I lied.
Declan turned in his seat, looked at me. "Sloane. I need your word that you will not do anything reckless."
Yeah, no. I wasn't making promises I couldn't keep.
"I'll do what needs to be done," I said.
His eyes narrowed, but he didn't push. Smart. He was learning.
We moved through the shadows like the predators we were—silent, efficient, using the darkness and the rain as cover. The warehouse loomed ahead, windows dark, but I could smell them. Wolves. At least a dozen, maybe more.
And underneath that, something else. Something wrong.
Silver. Blood. Fear.
Maya smelled it too. Her hand went to the gun at her hip—loaded with silver bullets, I'd bet my life on it. Declan moved ahead, using hand signals to direct us around the perimeter.
There. A side door, slightly ajar. Light spilling out into the rain.
We crept closer. Voices inside, raised in argument.
"—told you to wait—"
"We have waited long enough. Garrett Voss said—"
"Garrett Voss is not here. I am. And I say we wait for his orders."
I risked a look through the gap in the door. The warehouse interior had been transformed—cages lined the walls, industrial lights hanging from the ceiling, and in the center, a circle of wolves surrounding something I couldn't quite see.
Someone whimpered. Young voice, terrified.
My wolf surged forward, and I had to lock my jaw to keep from shifting right there.
Declan's hand on my shoulder. A warning.
I shook him off, pushed the door open wider.
The wolves turned as one. Twelve pairs of eyes, glowing in the dim light. And in the center of their circle, chained to a metal post with silver links—
A kid. Couldn't be more than fifteen, blood running down his face, clothes torn. He looked up at me with eyes that had already given up hope.
"Well," said a voice I knew, a voice that haunted my nightmares. "Sloane Carrigan. I was wondering when you would come home."
Garrett Voss stepped out of the shadows, smiling his corporate shark smile, and the world narrowed to a single point of rage.