The Pack House was a fortress of cedar beams and cold mountain stone, a place where history didn’t just live—it loomed. As Lena walked through the heavy double doors, flanked by Killian and Marcus, she felt the eyes of the household staff and the resident warriors tracking her every movement.
They didn't see the woman who had just survived a police interrogation at the gate. They saw a ghost walking into her own funeral.
"We’ve moved the last of your things from the cabin," Marcus said, his voice low and steady, a grounding contrast to the tension vibrating off Killian. "I’ve had them placed in the East Wing. It’s the most secure part of the house."
Killian stopped at the base of the grand staircase, his jaw set in a hard line. He didn't look at Marcus; his gaze was fixed on the upper l
