Chapter 1: The Silver Contract
Siobhan’s POV
My brother’s severed thumb rested inside a velvet-lined tobacco tin on the table between us.
Callum MacTavish pushed the tin across the felt with two fingers, the gold signet rings on his knuckles clicking against the wood. Smoke from his cigar curled up into the gas lamps of the Silver Needle Casino, filling the room with the stench of cheap leaf, stout, and wet fur.
"That is just the down payment for the interest, Siobhan," Callum said, leaning back into his chair. "Three thousand Scottish pounds sterling by midnight, or the boys down in the cellar send up his ears next."
I did not touch the tin. I stood straight, keeping my wool coat folded over my arms so he would not see the iron apothecary shears tucked against my belt.
"My father’s debt was eight hundred pounds for coal shipments from the Firth of Forth," I said, keeping my voice dead even. "You doubled the total after his funeral because you thought a wolf-less girl could not read a ledger."
"A signed mark is law under Lowland pack rules," Callum replied, tapping a silver knife against the mahogany table. "Your brother signed it. He put his blood on the paper."
"He was sixteen and drunk on your whiskey," I said.
"He was old enough to know what happens when you owe the MacTavish Pack," Callum sneered. He gestured toward two heavy shifters near the door. "Take her down to the cellar. Let her sit on the damp flags with him until the midnight bell rings."
The two guards stepped forward, their leather boots thudding against the floorboards.
"Touch her, and I cut the silver supply line to your northern harbor before sunrise," a quiet voice said from the shadows.
The guards froze. Callum stopped smiling as Lachlan Vance stepped into the gaslight.
Lachlan wore a charcoal wool suit tailored tight across broad shoulders, his dark hair pulled back from a face carved like cold granite. In his right hand, he held a heavy walking stick topped with a solid silver wolf head. As Alpha of the Blackwood Pack, he controlled the entire shipping trade along the coast; every ounce of silver, timber, and grain moving through Edinburgh passed through his docks.
He did not look at Callum. His slate-gray eyes fixed onto mine with ruthless precision.
"This is MacTavish pack business, Vance," Callum barked, gripping his knife. "The Knox family owes us silver."
"The Knox family owes everyone," Lachlan said, resting both hands on his walking stick. "Including my estate. Her father died holding three forged bills of lading for my private silver vaults."
Lachlan pulled a sheet of parchment sealed with dark blue wax from his coat and tossed it onto the table beside the tobacco tin.
"Ten thousand pounds," Lachlan said. "I clear Connor’s debt to your pack in full, Callum. In exchange, Siobhan Knox leaves this room under my legal name."
Callum let out a sharp laugh. "Your name? She is wolf-less, Vance. A human-blooded leech brings nothing to an Alpha's table except weak stock."
"She brings the native Knox land charter," Lachlan replied, his low voice making the glass chimneys on the gas lamps vibrate. "The Highland Regional Council requires a native landholder’s signature to approve my territorial harbor lease next month. Her bloodline holds that ancient title."
I looked from the blue wax seal to Lachlan’s unreadable eyes. "You want a contract marriage."
"I want the harbor rights locked down," Lachlan corrected, turning his gaze back to me. "A one-year marriage agreement. You sign as my legal Alpha-consort, which forces the Council to ratify my shipping routes without interference. In return, I pay off Callum, guarantee Connor’s safety, and hand you ten percent of my harbor revenue when the year ends."
"And if I refuse to play wife for your politics?" I asked.
"Then I walk out that door," Lachlan said flatly. "And Callum continues his butcher work in the basement."
Callum leaned over the table, his yellow eyes gleaming. "Sign it or do not sign it, girl. Either way, someone leaves blood on these floorboards tonight."
I stepped forward, reaching past the velvet tin to grab the iron fountain pen beside the inkstand. The metal felt freezing against my skin. I pressed the tip to the parchment and signed my full name across the dotted line, the nib digging deep into the paper.
"A sensible choice," Lachlan murmured, sliding the signed parchment into his jacket pocket. He tossed a heavy velvet sack of gold eagles onto the table. "The debt is cleared."
Callum stared down at the gold, his jaw working as he shoved the bag toward his guard. "Get out of my casino, Vance. Take your wolf-less b***h with you."
Lachlan turned toward the door, gesturing for me to walk ahead of him. But before I took two paces, a heavy thud echoed up from the stone floor below, followed by the sharp smell of sulfur and copper.
The heavy mahogany door exploded inward.
Splinters of iron and oak showered the room as three massive, ash-gray wolves surged through the smoke, their jaws dripping black foam. Their eyes were completely black, corrupted by dark magic.
"Rogue pack!" one guard screamed before a wolf leaped onto his chest, crushing his windpipe with a sickening crunch.
Callum swung his silver knife, but a second wolf caught him by the shoulder, dragging him down in a flurry of tearing leather and blood.
I pulled the iron shears from my belt, backing my shoulders against the fireplace as the third beast turned its black eyes directly onto me.
Lachlan did not flinch. He twisted the silver wolf head of his walking stick, drawing a long steel blade out from the wood.
As the massive beast lunged for my throat, Lachlan stepped into its path, driving the blade straight upward through the wolf's lower jaw, pinning its head to the ceiling beam above us.
Blood splattered across the stone floor, sizzling like rain on a hot stove.
Lachlan pulled the blade free, letting the carcass collapse. He grabbed my wrist in an iron grip, pulling me toward the secret stairwell hidden behind the velvet wall hanging.
"Move, Siobhan!" he ordered cleanly through the chaos.
"What about my brother?" I shouted, pulling back hard. "Connor is still locked in the cellar!"
"My men pulled Connor out ten minutes before I walked into this room!" Lachlan said, dragging me down the stone steps. "He is on a boat heading down the Firth of Forth toward my private estate!"
We burst out into the dark, foggy alleyway behind the casino. The damp Scottish rain hit my face, mixing with the smell of coal smoke from nearby factories.
Lachlan paused under a gas lamp, wiping black blood off his blade with a handkerchief. As he sheathed it, his shirt collar shifted, exposing a raw burn mark on his skin.
It was the exact symbol carved into the floorboards of my father’s ruined shop: a crow holding an eye in its beak.
I stopped on the wet cobblestones, wrapping my fingers around my shears.
"That mark on your neck," I said, pointing the metal shears at his collar. "My father was murdered by the people who carry that brand. You are not just buying harbor rights, Vance. Why did you really sign that contract?"
Lachlan turned slowly, his slate-gray eyes locking onto mine through the drizzle.
"Because your father was not murdered over a gambling debt, Siobhan," Lachlan said, taking a steady step toward me. "He was murdered because he discovered that the man who controls the rogue packs... is the head of the Highland Regional Council.”
