She leapt into the fray, her heart racing.
She did not ask permission, did not stop to take orders. The outlaw had assaulted her—in Silverpine land, at the peak of a summit. She had been branded a traitor, made a target.
This was all the explanation she needed.
Lucas had already committed, his body a whirl of silver and anger as he pinned the rogue to the floor, fangs deep in the attacker's shoulder. But the rogue was quick, feral, and he spun and writhed, kicking Lucas off of him.
Mia didn't think.
She jumped, swinging her claws wide, and they scraped along the ribs of the rogue.
He howled, backed off__his eyes wild and yellow with hatred.
"Stay down," Mia growled
He wouldn't listen.
He moved closer to her again.
This time Mia moved with precision. The training that the warriors of Lucas had once refused to provide to her, she had taught herself while she was in exile.
Balance,
footwork,
control.
She dodged, struck, ducked and swept his legs from under him.
He hit the earth hard, wind was knocked out of his body.
Lucas reappeared at her side, growling...!
But Mia held up one hand.
"No."
The outlaw was gasping and bleeding from his wounds.
"Why?" she asked insistently,
"Why me?"
His lips curled up in a sneer. "Because you disobeyed the order. You made them believe they don't have to bow. That they can question their rank."
"You believe this strike would end that?"
It shall start something, he spat.
So he rolled over and, before they could get their hands on him, clamped down hard on something wrapped around his wrist. There was a snapping sound.
A Hiss. Poison..!
She rushed toward him, but she was too late.
The body of the outlaw slumped, froth pouring from his lips.
He was dead.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
The clearing fell silent suddenly, apart from the sound of the wind whistling through the Silverpines and Mia's gasping breath.
Lucas knelt beside the body, his face grim.
"This was not one isolated strike," he asserted.
"This was a message."
She acknowledged, and beneath the surface stirred the wolf.
And,
She received it loud and clear.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
The council was in uproar.
Guards closed down the lodge and locked the summit into security mode. Alphas and envoys were escorted back to their quarters under tight patrol. But it was too late.
An intruder had penetrated their domain.
It had attacked the Silverpine Alpha's former mate.
And did so in broad daylight.
Lucas stood at the war room's front, Cade and three older warriors at his side. Before him, Elder Garran stood stiff with anger.
"You allowed her to become the target," Garran snarled. "Parading around an unranked wolf as some sort of symbol of power, you've brought blood to our door!"
She belongs to this pack," said Lucas roughly. "And this rogue did not attack her because of her—he attacked because they are afraid of what she represents."
She should never have been allowed here by the council, another elder complained.
She stepped through the door at that moment,
chin held high.
They did not.
I was invited.
I shall stay.
Unless you are going to strip me of citizenship from the pack.
Nobody said anything.
Lucas's eyes leapt to hers, dark and smoldering with something fierce and unspoken.
She stepped closer and stood beside him at the table.
"This is no longer about politics. This is war."
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
That night, Silverpine stayed awake.
Wolves patrolled the border in relays, and the peak hung suspended. The outlaw's body had been cremated according to ancient rites—no one would accept it, no one came to mourn.
But Mia couldn't sleep.
She sat by herself in the training ring, hands bandaged, knuckles swollen.
Lucas approached gradually, cradling a thermos. "You forgot dinner."
She gave a weak smile. "I did not forget. Just did not want to eat among crowds of people, deciding whether I would live or not."
He sat beside her and handed the thermos to her.
"Chicken stew. Ember's recipe."
She sipped.
It was warm.
Comforting.
They stood there silently for a long time.
Lucas then softly asked, "Are you okay?"
Mia did not answer right away.
"I'm angry," she admitted. "And scared. But not of the rogues."
They regarded one another questioningly.
"I was frightened at how simple it was to fight. How much I longed to hurt him."
Lucas shook his head.
"That was not weakness. That was instinct. And survival."
"I used to loathe the very idea of violence," she whispered.
"You do, though," he said. "Only you don't loathe you anymore."
They locked eyes.
No promise.
No bond.
Something did,
though,
pass between them in the silence—a shared and deep understanding.
She took hold of the thermos again, this time speaking softly.
"We need to plan."
Lucas barely cracked a smile.
"Already on it."