Chapter 17
title: "Chapter 17" wordCount: 5078
My father is dead.
I watched him die eight years ago, watched the light leave his eyes while I hid in the crawlspace beneath our kitchen floor, my mother's blood still warm on my hands where she'd shoved me down into the dark. The man standing at the center of the clearing cannot be him.
But he has the same scar along his jaw. The same way of holding his shoulders like he's carrying the weight of every wolf who ever trusted him.
"That is not possible." Garrett's voice cuts through my shock. He's on his feet, and for the first time since I met him, his smile is gone. "Thomas Carrigan died in the Riverside Massacre."
"Reports of my death," my father says, and his eyes never leave mine, "were greatly exaggerated."
The wolves surrounding us are unfamiliar. Not Shadowpine. Their scent is wrong—mountain pine and cold water instead of the dense forest smell of Declan's pack. They're positioned in a perfect defensive circle, and every single one of them is watching Garrett like they're waiting for an excuse.
Declan moves. Just a half-step, but it puts him between me and my father.
"Stand down, Thorne." My father's voice carries the weight of an Alpha command, and I feel Declan's wolf respond, feel the instinct to obey ripple through him before he crushes it.
"No." Declan doesn't move. "You have no authority here."
"I have every authority." My father steps forward, and the wolves move with him, a coordinated advance that makes Garrett's enforcers shift nervously. "That is my daughter. My blood. My—"
"Your daughter?" The words rip out of me before I can stop them. "You left me. You let me think you were dead for eight years, and now you show up and—"
"I had no choice."
"Yeah, no." I'm on my feet, and the pain from my injuries doesn't matter, nothing matters except the rage burning through my chest. "You do not get to do this. You do not get to—"
"Sloane." His voice breaks on my name, and that's worse than anything else, worse than the lies or the abandonment or the eight years of thinking I was alone. "Please. Let me explain."
"Explain?" Vera is standing now too, her power crackling in the air around her. "You are interrupting a sanctioned trial. You are violating Conclave law by bringing an outside pack onto Shadowpine territory without permission. You are—"
"Saving my daughter from a rigged game." My father's attention shifts to Garrett, and his expression goes cold. "Did you think I wouldn't find out? Did you think I wouldn't hear about the emergency protocol, the accelerated trials, the way you're trying to break her?"
Garrett's smile returns. Slow and sharp. "I have no idea what you mean, Thomas. Everything has been conducted according to—"
"You invoked emergency protocol to skip her recovery period." My father's voice drops, goes quiet in a way that makes every wolf in the clearing tense. "You put Marcus against her in the first trial knowing he would try to kill her. You—"
"Prove it." Garrett spreads his hands. "Prove any of it. Or leave my territory before I have you removed."
The air goes thick with the promise of violence.
"Stop." I don't shout it. Don't need to. The word comes out flat and hard, and both Alphas turn to look at me. "Just stop."
My father takes a step toward me. "Sloane, you do not understand what is happening here. Garrett is—"
"I know exactly what he is." My nails dig into my palms, and the pain helps me focus. "I know what he's doing. I know the trials are designed to make me fail. But I am not leaving."
"You are injured. You are—"
"I am fine."
"That is not the whole truth." Declan's voice is quiet, but it cuts through the tension like a blade. He's still standing between me and my father, and his shoulders are rigid with the effort of not shifting. "She has three broken ribs, a concussion, and internal bleeding that Vera barely managed to stabilize."
My father's face goes white. "Then the trial is over. She cannot—"
"The trial continues." Garrett's smile is back to full width now. "Unless Sloane Carrigan wishes to forfeit her challenge."
"She is in no condition to—"
"I will decide what condition I am in." The words come out sharper than I intend, and my father flinches like I've struck him. "You do not get to make choices for me. Not anymore."
Silence.
My father looks at me like I'm a stranger. Like I'm someone he doesn't recognize.
Good.
"Sloane." His voice is careful now, the way you'd talk to a spooked animal. "I know you are angry. I know you have questions. But right now, you need to trust me. You need to—"
"Trust you?" The laugh that comes out of me tastes like blood. "You were dead. For eight years, you were dead, and I was alone, and now you show up and expect me to just—"
"I was protecting you."
"By leaving me?"
"By staying away." He takes another step forward, and this time Declan doesn't try to stop him. "They were hunting us, Sloane. The ones who killed your mother, who destroyed our pack—they were hunting survivors. If they had known I was alive, if they had known you were alive, they would have come for us. I had to make them believe we were both dead. I had to—"
"You had to abandon your daughter." Vera's voice is cold. "You had to let her think she was the only one left. You had to—"
"I had to keep her alive." My father's control cracks, just for a moment, and I see the grief underneath. Raw and bleeding and eight years old. "I had to make the hardest choice of my life, and I would do it again if it meant she survived."
The mate bond pulses. Declan's hand twitches like he wants to reach for me, but he doesn't move.
"Who killed them?" My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "Who killed Mom? Who destroyed our pack?"
My father's jaw tightens. "That is not—"
"Who?"
"The Conclave." He says it quietly, but the words detonate like a bomb. "The Conclave ordered the hit. Garrett Voss gave the command."
Garrett doesn't deny it.
That's the worst part. He just stands there, smile still in place, and watches my father like this is all very entertaining.
"That is a serious accusation, Thomas." His voice is mild. Conversational. "Do you have proof?"
"I have witnesses. I have—"
"Witnesses who will testify before the Conclave?" Garrett tilts his head. "Witnesses who will stand up and accuse me, knowing what happens to wolves who make false accusations against a Conclave member?"
My father's hands curl into fists. "It is not a false—"
"Then bring them forward." Garrett's smile widens. "Bring your witnesses. Present your evidence. Let the Conclave decide."
"The Conclave is corrupt."
"The Conclave is law." Garrett's voice doesn't change, but something in his scent does. Goes sharp and dangerous. "And you are in violation of that law right now. You have brought an unauthorized pack onto Shadowpine territory. You have interrupted a sanctioned trial. You have made accusations without evidence. I would be within my rights to have you executed."
The wolves around us tense. My father's pack shifts closer, and Garrett's enforcers move to intercept, and the whole clearing feels like a powder keg waiting for a spark.
"Do it." My father's voice is steady. "Execute me. But let my daughter go. Let her leave with my pack, let her—"
"No." I step forward, and both Alphas turn to look at me. "I am not leaving. I am not forfeiting. I am finishing this trial."
"Sloane—"
"You do not get to decide for me." I meet my father's eyes, and something in my chest cracks open. "You left. You made your choice. Now I am making mine."
"You are going to get yourself killed."
"Maybe." The word tastes like ash. "But it will be my choice. My death. Not yours."
My father looks at me for a long moment. Then he turns to Garrett. "If she dies in this trial, I will burn your territory to the ground. I will hunt down every wolf who serves you. I will—"
"You will do nothing." Garrett's voice is soft. Gentle, even. "Because if you interfere again, I will have the Conclave declare your daughter rogue. I will put a bounty on her head so large that every wolf in North America will be hunting her. And you will watch her die knowing it was your fault."
The silence that follows is suffocating.
"Get out." Garrett doesn't raise his voice. Doesn't need to. "Take your pack and leave my territory. If you are still here in ten minutes, I will consider it an act of war."
My father doesn't move. His eyes are still on me, and I can see him calculating, weighing options, trying to find a way to save me.
There isn't one.
"Go." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "Please. Just go."
"Sloane—"
"I will be fine."
"That is not—"
"I will be fine." I force myself to meet his eyes. "I survived eight years without you. I can survive this."
The words hit him like a physical blow. He takes a step back, and for a moment he looks old. Broken.
Then he straightens. Nods once. Turns to his pack.
"We leave." His voice carries Alpha command, and his wolves respond immediately, falling into formation. "But we do not go far. We will be watching."
"Watch all you want." Garrett's smile is back. "Just do it from outside my territory."
My father looks at me one more time. Opens his mouth like he wants to say something. Closes it. Shifts.
His wolf is massive. Gray and silver with the same scar along his jaw, and when he looks at me his eyes are full of things I cannot name. Then he turns and runs, and his pack follows, and within seconds they're gone, swallowed by the forest.
The clearing feels empty without them.
"Well." Garrett brushes invisible dust from his sleeve. "That was dramatic. Shall we continue with the trial?"
The second trial takes place in a conference room.
Not what I expected. I was braced for another fight, another test of physical dominance, but instead Garrett leads us into the Shadowpine pack house, up three flights of stairs, and into a room with a long table and too many chairs.
Declan follows. So does Vera. So do the three wolves who are supposed to be my challengers, including the massive gray with the scarred muzzle who killed my mother.
I haven't looked at him directly yet. If I do, I'll shift. I'll rip his throat out regardless of the consequences.
"Sit." Garrett gestures to the chairs. "This trial is about strategy. About understanding pack law and Conclave politics. About proving you can lead with your mind, not just your fists."
I sit. The chair is too soft, and my ribs scream in protest, but I keep my face neutral.
The gray wolf sits across from me. Up close, I can see the details—the scar isn't just on his muzzle, it runs down his neck and disappears under his collar. His eyes are pale blue, almost colorless, and when he looks at me there's no recognition. No guilt.
He doesn't remember me.
He killed my mother and he doesn't even remember.
"The scenario is simple." Garrett places a folder on the table in front of each of us. "A rogue wolf has been spotted on the border between two pack territories. Both Alphas want to handle it. Both believe it is their right and responsibility. The situation is escalating toward violence. You are a neutral third party called in to mediate. How do you resolve it without breaking Conclave law?"
I open the folder. Inside are detailed profiles of the two fictional Alphas, maps of their territories, incident reports about the rogue, and a copy of the relevant Conclave laws.
"You have thirty minutes to prepare your solution." Garrett checks his watch. "Then you will present to the group. We will vote on whose strategy is most effective. The wolf with the lowest score is eliminated from the challenge."
"And if there is a tie?" one of the other challengers asks. A woman with short dark hair and a scar across her collarbone.
"Then we move to a tiebreaker scenario." Garrett's smile is sharp. "But I doubt that will be necessary."
He leaves. The door closes behind him with a soft click.
The room goes quiet except for the sound of pages turning.
I try to focus on the scenario, but my eyes keep drifting to the gray wolf across from me. He's reading intently, making notes in the margins of his papers, completely absorbed in the task.
Like he's just another wolf. Just another challenger.
Not a murderer.
The mate bond pulses. Declan is standing by the window, technically here as an observer, but his attention is on me. I can feel his concern like a physical weight.
I force myself to read the scenario. Force myself to think.
The rogue is a juvenile. Sixteen years old, newly shifted, no pack affiliation. He's been spotted hunting on the border, taking down deer and leaving the carcasses half-eaten. Both Alphas see it as a threat—a rogue on their territory is a liability, a potential danger to their packs.
But the kid is just hungry. Just scared. Just trying to survive.
Like I was, eight years ago.
My hands tighten on the papers.
The Conclave law is clear: rogues have no rights. They can be killed on sight if they pose a threat to pack security. But there's a loophole—if a pack offers sanctuary, if an Alpha formally claims the rogue, they become pack and are protected.
The problem is getting both Alphas to agree. Getting them to see the kid as something other than a threat.
I start making notes. Start building a strategy.
Across from me, the gray wolf looks up. Our eyes meet.
"You are Sloane Carrigan." His voice is rough. Deep. "Thomas Carrigan's daughter."
My pen stops moving. "Yes."
"I knew your father. Before." He pauses. "I am sorry for your loss."
The words are sincere. Genuine. He actually means them.
He's sorry my father is dead. Sorry my pack was destroyed. Sorry I lost everything.
And he doesn't know. Doesn't realize. Doesn't remember that he's the reason.
"Thank you." The words taste like poison, but I force them out. "That is kind of you to say."
He nods. Goes back to his papers.
The woman with the scarred collarbone is watching me. Her eyes are sharp, calculating. "You are injured," she says quietly. "You should not be here."
"I am fine."
"That is not what I heard." She glances at Declan, then back to me. "I heard you have broken ribs. Internal bleeding. That you should be in medical for at least another day."
"I am fine," I repeat.
"You are stubborn." But there's something like respect in her voice. "I can work with stubborn."
"Work with?"
She leans forward slightly. Lowers her voice. "Garrett wants you to fail. He wants all of us to fail, actually, but you especially. He has been setting up these trials to break you."
"I know."
"Then you know we need to work together." Her eyes flick to the gray wolf, then to the third challenger—a young man who hasn't said a word since we sat down. "We need to make sure our strategies are complementary. Make sure we are all presenting strong solutions so he cannot claim any of us are unfit."
"That is not how trials work."
"That is exactly how trials work when the game is rigged." She slides a piece of paper across the table. "My name is Kira. That is Matthias." She nods at the gray wolf. "And that is Joel." The quiet young man. "We are not your enemies, Sloane Carrigan. Garrett is."
I look at the paper. She's written out a basic framework—a strategy that focuses on pack law and mediation, with specific roles for each of us to play in the presentation.
It's smart. Collaborative. Exactly the kind of thing an Alpha should encourage.
It's also a trap.
Because if I agree, if I work with them, I'm admitting I need help. I'm admitting I can't do this alone. And that's exactly what Garrett wants—proof that I'm weak, that I'm not Alpha material.
But if I refuse, if I try to do this solo, I'm playing right into his hands too. I'm proving I can't work with others, can't build alliances, can't lead.
There's no winning move.
"Why are you helping me?" I ask Kira.
She meets my eyes. "Because I have a daughter. And if something happened to me, if I died and she was left alone, I would want someone to help her. I would want someone to give her a chance."
The words hit harder than they should.
"Besides." Kira's smile is sharp. "Garrett Voss is a bastard. And I would very much like to see him lose."
We present our strategies together.
Not as a unified front—that would be too obvious—but as complementary approaches that build on each other. Kira goes first, laying out the legal framework. Joel follows with a detailed analysis of pack psychology and how to appeal to each Alpha's specific concerns. Matthias presents a security protocol that addresses both Alphas' fears about the rogue.
Then it's my turn.
"The problem is not the rogue." My voice is steady despite the pain radiating through my ribs. "The problem is that both Alphas see him as a threat instead of an opportunity."
Garrett raises an eyebrow. "Explain."
"A sixteen-year-old wolf with no pack is vulnerable. Desperate. Exactly the kind of wolf who would be loyal to whoever offers him safety." I pull out the map, point to the border area. "Instead of fighting over who gets to kill him, they should be fighting over who gets to claim him."
"That is not—"
"It is exactly how pack politics work." I cut Garrett off, and his eyes narrow. "You want wolves who are loyal. Who owe you. A rogue you save is more loyal than a wolf born into your pack. He knows what it is like to have nothing. He knows what you gave him."
Silence.
Vera is watching me with an unreadable expression. Declan hasn't moved from his position by the window, but the mate bond is humming with something that feels like pride.
"So your solution is to have both Alphas compete for the rogue's loyalty?" Garrett's voice is mild, but there's an edge underneath.
"My solution is to reframe the situation. Make it about gaining an asset instead of eliminating a threat. Let the rogue choose which pack he wants to join. Let both Alphas present their case. Whoever the rogue chooses, the other Alpha has to respect that choice because it was the rogue's decision, not a territorial dispute."
"And if the rogue chooses neither?"
"Then he is still a rogue, and both Alphas have the right to remove him from their territories. But at least they tried. At least they gave him a chance."
Garrett studies me for a long moment. Then he looks at the others. "Thoughts?"
"It is a good strategy," Kira says. "It addresses the legal issues and the political ones."
"It is risky," Matthias adds. "If the rogue chooses wrong, if he picks the weaker Alpha, it could destabilize the region."
"Everything is risky," I say. "But this way, no one breaks Conclave law. No one starts a war. And maybe a kid gets a second chance."
Garrett's smile returns. "How noble. How compassionate. How very unlike an Alpha."
"That is not—"
"Alphas make hard choices, Sloane Carrigan. They do what is necessary, not what is kind. They eliminate threats, not rehabilitate them." He stands, walks around the table until he's standing behind Matthias. "Tell me. If you were Alpha, and a rogue killed one of your pack members, would you still offer him sanctuary? Would you still give him a choice?"
My throat goes tight.
"Would you?" Garrett's hand rests on Matthias's shoulder. "Or would you do what any real Alpha would do? Would you hunt him down? Would you make him pay?"
I look at Matthias. At the scar on his muzzle. At the hands that killed my mother.
"I would make him pay," I say quietly.
"Good." Garrett's smile widens. "Because that is what Alphas do. They protect their pack. They avenge their dead. They—"
"But I would make sure I had the right wolf first." The words come out harder than I intend. "I would make sure I knew the truth. Because killing an innocent wolf does not bring back the dead. It just creates more ghosts."
Garrett's hand tightens on Matthias's shoulder. "Are you implying something, Sloane Carrigan?"
"I am saying that justice requires truth. And truth requires investigation. And investigation requires—"
"Enough." Garrett's voice cracks like a whip. "We are not here to discuss philosophy. We are here to evaluate your strategies. And I have made my decision."
He walks back to the head of the table. Sits. Folds his hands.
"Sloane Carrigan's strategy is eliminated."
The words land like a physical blow.
"What?" Kira is on her feet. "That is not fair. Her strategy was—"
"Weak. Compassionate. Unsuitable for an Alpha." Garrett's smile is back. "She would rather save a rogue than protect her pack. She would rather take risks than make hard choices. She is not fit to lead."
"That is not what she said." Joel's voice is quiet, but it carries. "She said she would make him pay. She said—"
"She said she would investigate first. She said she would make sure she had the right wolf." Garrett's eyes lock on mine. "Which means she would hesitate. She would doubt. She would let a threat live while she gathered evidence. And in that time, how many more of her pack would die?"
"You are twisting her words," Declan says from the window. His voice is cold. Controlled. "You are—"
"I am evaluating her strategy. Which is my right as the presiding Alpha." Garrett stands. "Sloane Carrigan is eliminated from the second trial. She may attempt the third trial tomorrow, assuming she survives the night."
"Assuming I—"
"You are injured, Sloane Carrigan. Badly injured. And you have just failed the second trial, which means you are under significant stress. Wolves under stress sometimes make poor decisions. Sometimes they shift when they should not. Sometimes they lose control." His smile is sharp enough to cut. "I would hate for something to happen to you before the third trial. I would hate for you to be eliminated due to medical complications."
The threat is clear.
"Get out." Garrett gestures to the door. "All of you. I need to consult with Vera about the trial results."
We file out. Kira touches my arm as we pass, a brief gesture of solidarity. Joel nods. Matthias doesn't look at me.
Declan follows me into the hallway. The door closes behind us.
"That was not a fair evaluation," he says quietly.
"I know."
"He is trying to break you."
"I know."
"Sloane—"
"I am fine." But my hands are shaking, and my ribs are screaming, and I can feel the wolf under my skin pushing to get out, to shift, to run.
Declan's hand closes around my wrist. Gentle. Careful. "You are not fine. You are—"
"I am going to kill him." The words come out flat. Empty. "I am going to kill Matthias. I am going to rip his throat out and watch him bleed and—"
"No." Declan's grip tightens. "You are not. Because if you do, Garrett wins. He gets to declare you rogue. He gets to hunt you down. He gets—"
"I do not care." And that's the terrifying part. I don't. I don't care about the trials or the challenge or becoming Alpha. I just want Matthias dead. I just want him to pay for what he did.
"Sloane." Declan's other hand comes up, cups my face, forces me to look at him. "Listen to me. I know what you are feeling. I know what you want to do. But you cannot. Not yet. Not until—"
"Not until what? Not until Garrett gives me permission? Not until the Conclave says it is okay?" I try to pull away, but his grip is iron. "He killed my mother. He destroyed my pack. He—"
"I know." Declan's voice drops. Goes soft. "I know. Because I was there."
The world stops.
"What?"
"I was there." His eyes are steady on mine. "The night your pack died. I was there."
My wolf surges. Claws extend. Teeth sharpen.
"You—"
"I was part of the enforcement team. I was—" He stops. Swallows. "I was following orders. I was told your pack was harboring rogues. I was told they were a threat to Conclave security. I was told—"
I hit him.
My fist connects with his jaw, and he staggers back, and I'm on him before he can recover, claws out, teeth bared, the wolf taking over because the human part of me can't process this, can't handle this, can't—
He doesn't fight back.
He just stands there and takes it while I tear into him, while I shred his shirt and draw blood and scream things that aren't words, just rage and grief and eight years of pain.
Then arms are around me. Pulling me back. Vera's voice in my ear, low and urgent. "Stop. Sloane, stop. You are going to kill him."
"Good." But the word comes out broken, and I'm shaking so hard I can barely stand.
Declan is bleeding. Four parallel claw marks across his chest, deep enough to scar. He's not healing them. Just standing there, watching me with eyes that are full of something I can't name.
"I am sorry," he says quietly. "I am so sorry. I did not know. I did not know what they were really doing until it was too late, until the killing started, and by then—" His voice breaks. "By then, all I could do was try to save who I could. I found you in the crawlspace. I pulled you out. I got you away before they could—"
"You saved me?" The words taste like ash.
"Yes."
"You saved me." I'm laughing now, but it sounds wrong. Sounds broken. "You saved me after you helped kill my family. After you helped destroy everything I—"
"I did not know." His voice is steady despite the blood running down his chest. "I swear to you, I did not know what we were really doing. I thought we were stopping rogues. I thought we were protecting—"
"You thought wrong." Vera's grip on me tightens. "And now you have put her in an impossible position. Because she is your mate, and you are bound, and she cannot kill you without destroying herself."
The mate bond pulses. Confirms it.
I can't kill him. Can't even hurt him without hurting myself. The bond won't let me.
"I am sorry," Declan says again. "I know that does not fix anything. I know that does not—"
The door behind us opens.
Garrett steps out. Takes in the scene—me held back by Vera, Declan bleeding, the claw marks on the wall where I missed.
His smile is wider than I have ever seen it.
"Well," he says. "This is unfortunate. Sloane Carrigan, you have just assaulted a pack member without provocation. That is a violation of Conclave law. I am afraid I have no choice but to—"
The building shakes.
Not metaphorically. Actually shakes. The floor buckles, the walls crack, and somewhere below us something explodes with enough force to shatter windows.
Garrett's smile vanishes. "What—"
Another explosion. Closer this time. The lights flicker and die, and in the darkness I hear screaming, hear wolves shifting, hear—
The emergency lights kick on. Red and harsh.
And in that crimson glow, I see them.
Wolves pouring through the broken windows. Dozens of them. Not Shadowpine. Not my father's pack.
Different. Wrong. Their eyes are black. Completely black. No iris, no white, just endless dark.
And they're not here to talk.
One of them lunges at Garrett, and he shifts mid-dodge, his wolf massive and silver, and then everything is chaos, teeth and claws and blood, and I'm shifting too, can't help it, the wolf taking over because this is what we do, this is what we are, and—
Declan's wolf is beside me. Bleeding but standing. Protecting.
Even now. Even after everything.
The mate bond sings.
And through the chaos, through the screaming and the fighting, I see him.
Matthias. The gray wolf with the scarred muzzle.
He's not fighting. He's running. Heading for the stairs, for the exit, for—
I chase.
The wolf doesn't care about strategy or politics or Conclave law. The wolf just knows: prey. Threat. Kill.
I catch him on the second-floor landing. Slam into him hard enough to send us both crashing through the railing, falling, and we hit the ground floor in a tangle of fur and teeth and—
He shifts. Human again. Hands up. "Wait. Please. I do not—"
"You killed her." My voice comes out wrong. Half-human, half-growl. "You killed my mother."
His eyes widen. "I do not know what you—"
"Riverside. Eight years ago. You were there. You killed—"
"No." He's shaking his head. "No, I was not—I have never been to Riverside. I have never—"
"You have a scar. On your muzzle. I saw you. I watched you—"
"This scar is from a training accident three years ago." His voice is desperate. "I have never been to Riverside. I have never killed anyone. I—"
Above us, something roars. Not a wolf sound. Something else. Something wrong.
And Matthias's eyes go wide with recognition and terror.
"Oh no," he whispers. "Oh no, they found me. They—"
One of the black-eyed wolves lands between us. Massive. Bigger than any wolf should be.
It looks at Matthias.
Opens its mouth.
And speaks in a voice that sounds like grinding stone: "Hello, brother."