I can smell her three corridors away: sharp and metallic, like rain-soaked asphalt.
The pack meeting is turning into a funeral procession for my authority.
I sink into the armchair. The oak creaks like a warning. I meet the eyes of wolves I’ve bled with, buried, and dragged out of hell with. They look at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Corin leans in, forearms on the table. The older man is built like a tank and usually loyal.
“Simple math, Alpha. Hand her over, it stops. Three dead this month. How many more before she’s not worth it?”
“She’s not a bargaining chip.” My voice lands quieter than I mean.
“She’s human, Alpha. Walked into your club, fluttered her lashes, and now we’re the ones stacking bodies. Hell of a trade.”
“Corin.” I don’t raise my voice. “Go on. Finish it.”
He swallow
