Raised to Kill, Marked to Betray

The northern border of the pack territory was quiet. Too quiet. Linda preferred it that way. The forest stretched endless and dark beyond the invisible line only wolves could sense—a subtle shift in scent, in air, in something older than law. The trees thinned here, the ground dipped toward a shallow ravine, and the wind carried messages from lands that did not belong to them. Linda walked ahead of the other two, her steps soundless over damp leaves and roots. Her dark hair was tied back, her shoulders straight, posture relaxed but alert. Every few seconds her gaze flicked to the tree line, then to the ridge above, then to the valley below. Nothing moved without her noticing. Behind her, Silas and Bailey talked in low voices. They had grown up together—trained together, bled together, punished together. The three of them had been taken into combat training before they had even shifted fully for the first time. They were not just patrol guards. They were weapons. Bailey kicked a stone off the path. “It’s too calm,” she muttered. Silas snorted. “You complain when it’s chaotic. You complain when it’s quiet.” “Because quiet means something’s brewing.” Linda didn’t turn. “Quiet means we stay sharp.” Her voice was even. Controlled. Bailey glanced at her back. “You’re always sharp.” Linda allowed the faintest curve of a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s the point.” They moved deeper along the border line. A hawk screeched somewhere overhead. The wind shifted. Silas stretched his neck. “You heard the announcement?” he asked casually. Linda didn’t answer. Bailey did. “Which one? There’s always an announcement in this clan.” Silas hesitated, then said, “Morgan’s. He’s supposed to make it soon.” Linda’s steps didn’t falter. But inside her chest, something tightened. “Make what?” Bailey asked. “Engagement,” Silas replied. “It’s been discussed in the inner circle. Political match. Strengthen alliances.” Bailey whistled softly. “Already? That was fast.” Silas shrugged. “He’s the Alpha’s heir. It was always going to happen.” Linda’s gaze stayed fixed ahead. Her heartbeat remained steady. Her breathing even. Cold spread through her ribs like frost. Political match. Strengthen alliances. Of course. She had always known this day would come. Morgan was not raised for love. He was raised for power. Bailey glanced at Linda. “You knew?” Linda shrugged lightly. “It’s strategic.” “That’s not what I asked.” Linda finally turned her head slightly, enough for Bailey to see her profile. Calm. Detached. “I don’t speculate about the heir’s personal affairs.” Silas studied her longer than Bailey did, but he said nothing. The wind shifted again. Linda stopped. Both of them froze instantly. Her hand lifted slightly, signaling silence. They listened. Nothing but leaves. Nothing but wind. Nothing but the distant, restless pulse of the forest. After a moment, she lowered her hand and resumed walking. Bailey exhaled. “You’re paranoid.” “That’s why we’re alive,” Linda replied. Silas kicked another branch aside. “Speaking of alive,” he said carefully, “any news about the missing cousin?” The air thickened. Bailey frowned. “You mean Rowan?” Silas nodded. “The youngest son of Alpha Darien’s brother. Still no body.” “They’ve been searching for days,” Bailey said. “How does a trained wolf just disappear?” Linda kept walking. Silas continued, voice thoughtful. “Some are saying he ran. Others think he was taken.” Bailey shook her head. “Taken? From inside our territory? That would mean someone crossed the border.” Linda’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. Silas lowered his voice. “Or someone didn’t need to.” Bailey looked at him sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Silas shrugged. “Internal power shifts happen. Especially in families like this.” Bailey snorted. “The previous Alpha did have an obsession with producing sons.” “An obsession?” Silas echoed dryly. “He built a dynasty of rivalry.” Bailey let out a short laugh. “Five sons. Two brothers with their own heirs. It’s like he wanted the clan fighting forever.” “Divide the bloodline, keep them competing,” Silas said. “No one strong enough to challenge the throne.” Linda’s gaze drifted toward the ravine. Morgan’s voice echoed in her memory. He fell. It was an accident. He hit his head on the rocks. She had seen the body. The crack in Rowan’s skull. The unnatural angle of his neck. The blood on Morgan’s hands. She had helped drag him. She had helped hide him. The earth had been cold that night. Morgan’s breathing had been uneven, not with grief—but with adrenaline. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that,” he had said. Linda had believed him. Or at least, she had chosen to. Bailey was still talking. “Maybe Rowan ran because he was tired of being another pawn.” Silas scoffed. “And just disappeared into the wilderness?” “It’s happened before.” “Not to heirs.” Linda’s eyes remained on the ravine. She remembered kneeling in the dirt beside Morgan. Remembered his fingers gripping her wrist. “You trust me, don’t you?” he had asked. She had nodded. Always. He had asked her to inform the Alpha that Rowan had fallen during training. That they hadn’t reached him in time. When she had stood before the Alpha and delivered the story, he had listened in silence. His gaze had been unreadable. Then he had said only one thing: “Say nothing more of it.” No investigation. No outrage. No grief. Just silence. Linda had obeyed. That was what she had been trained for. Obedience. Silas’s voice cut through her thoughts. “You’re quiet.” “I’m listening,” she said. “To what?” “To patterns.” Bailey rolled her eyes. “You and your patterns.” Silas gave Linda a sideways glance. “You were close to Morgan.” It wasn’t a question. Linda’s expression didn’t change. “We train together.” “That’s not what I meant.” She stopped walking. Both of them stopped too. The wind rose slightly, brushing her hair against her cheek. “I don’t involve myself in succession politics,” she said evenly. Silas studied her face. “You don’t involve yourself in anything unless it serves the clan.” “That’s correct.” Bailey crossed her arms. “You think Rowan’s disappearance serves the clan?” Linda held her gaze. “I think,” she said slowly, “that nothing inside a ruling bloodline is ever accidental.” Silas exhaled softly. “You think one of them did it.” “I think power never leaves space empty.” Bailey shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder why the previous Alpha needed so many sons.” Silas answered before Linda could. “To ensure loyalty through competition.” “To ensure chaos,” Bailey corrected. Linda said nothing. Because she knew something they didn’t. Chaos was not accidental. It was cultivated. A branch snapped somewhere behind them. All three turned at once. This time, it wasn’t the wind. A familiar scent reached them before the figure emerged from the tree line. Bailey straightened immediately. Silas lowered his gaze respectfully. Morgan stepped into the clearing. He looked exactly as he always did—composed, controlled, golden eyes sharp in the fading light. His dark coat hung open, boots silent over the forest floor. But there was tension in the set of his jaw. His gaze locked on Linda. Not on the patrol. On her. Silas inclined his head. “Heir.” Morgan gave a short nod but didn’t take his eyes off Linda. “You’re thorough as always.” Linda met his gaze without lowering hers. “It’s my duty.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “I need a moment.” Bailey shifted awkwardly. “With all of us?” Morgan’s eyes flicked to her briefly. “No.” The air tightened. Silas glanced between them. Morgan stepped closer, voice calm but edged with something unspoken. “Leave us.” Silas hesitated only a fraction of a second before nodding. “Of course.” Bailey gave Linda a searching look. Linda’s expression remained unreadable. “It’s fine,” she said quietly. Silas touched Bailey’s arm and guided her back down the path. They didn’t go far—but far enough. When they disappeared behind the trees, silence swallowed the clearing. Morgan took another step forward. The distance between him and Linda closed. The wind shifted again, carrying his scent—familiar, dangerous, intoxicating. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said softly. Linda didn’t move. “I’ve been patrolling.” His eyes darkened slightly. “That’s not what I meant.” She held his gaze. “You shouldn’t be here alone,” she said instead. A faint smirk. “I’m not alone.” His eyes flicked meaningfully over her shoulder—where her friends had stood moments ago. Then back to her. “I need to talk to you.” The forest felt heavier. Linda’s pulse remained steady. But something inside her knew— This conversation would not be about patrol routes. And it would not be about Rowan. Morgan’s voice lowered. “Walk with me.”