The Silver Wolf and the Gray Alpha

The Plan

Chapter 23: The Plan

Sutton’s whole body ached. His ribs throbbed with every breath, and his pride stung even worse than the bruises swelling around his jaw. Lying on his bed in the dark, he replayed the scene again and again—the blur of Phillip Thompson’s fist, the shocked expressions of everyone in the lounge, and the icy silence that followed.

He had been embarrassed.

No, humiliated.

Not just in front of Misty, but the entire campus.

His so-called friends—Jake, Mitch, and Kyle—had been too scared to intervene. And Phillip’s boys? They didn’t even break a sweat.

But that wasn’t what had haunted Sutton most.

It was the name. The legacy.

Thompson.

Phillip wasn’t just some quiet, charming upperclassman.

He was a Thompson.

Of that pack.

The bloodline that whispered through werewolf history like a legend. Power, influence, strength—everything Sutton’s pack pretended to have but had never truly earned. The Thompsons were royalty. Their reach stretched farther than most even realized.

Sutton now knew.

And he was furious.

Not because Phillip hit him.

But because he knew there was no coming back from this unless he made Phillip bleed. Not physically. That would be suicide. But emotionally? Mentally?

He could do that.

And he knew exactly how.

Misty.

She was the weakness.

Sutton grinned, wincing at the pain that shot through his jaw.

He would make her love him again. Make her believe he had changed. And just when she trusted him again, he’d destroy her—and in doing so, destroy Phillip.

She was still the girl who had cried when he kissed her. Still the one who waited by the phone. Still the one who ran to him even after all the lies.

She was soft.

And soft was easy to manipulate.

Across campus, Phillip sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the night sky through his window. The stars above were bright, the moon casting a silver glow across the trees. Aidan paced inside him, restless, angry, and aching for blood.

“I should’ve killed him,” Phillip muttered.

Victor, lounging on the opposite bed, snorted. “You practically did.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

“You’re not thinking straight.”

Phillip ran a hand through his hair. “He touched her. He grabbed her.”

“And you handled it.”

“No,” Phillip growled. “I walked her home. I made sure she was okay. Then I walked away. Like a damn coward.”

Victor raised a brow. “That’s not cowardice. That’s self-control. You think Maddy would’ve understood if you ran to Misty again?”

Phillip winced.

He hadn’t told Maddy everything. He didn’t want to hurt her. She was good. Safe. And he liked her—he truly did. But she wasn’t...

“She’s not your mate,” Aidan whispered inside.

Phillip leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I don’t even know if Misty is.”

“Yes, you do,” Aidan said.

And he did.

He had known the moment her wolf brushed against his in the woods. The energy. The pull. The fire that had lit his veins. Misty was Gina. He had no doubt.

And she was his.

But she didn’t know.

And she kept running back to Sutton.

Even after everything.

So he had to let her go.

He had to.

Victor clapped him on the back. “Come on. Let’s go train. You look like you need to hit something again.”

Phillip followed him out, but his mind was still on her.

Misty.

The girl who smiled like dawn and cried like rain.

He didn’t know how much longer he could stay away.

But he knew this much—if Sutton touched her again, he would not hold back.

And the world would see just what it meant to provoke a Thompson.