Marked

## CALLUM --- The call came mid-sentence. Callum was in his office, reviewing territory maps with two of his senior wolves — Garrett and Solomon, both seasoned enough to handle the tedious work of border disputes with the Ashford pack to the east. The usual posturing that happened every spring. Routine. Tedious. The kind of work that kept a pack stable and drove an Alpha slowly insane. Declan had taken Nash and a group of younger wolves to the north training site this morning. Nash wasn't a fighter, but he had a talent for seeing patterns — weaknesses in formation, gaps in strategy. Declan liked having him there to observe, to catch what others missed. Callum had been stuck here instead, playing politics with Ashford's latest territorial tantrum. His phone buzzed against the desk. He ignored it. Kept talking. "— tell them we're not moving the marker. It's been there for forty years. If Ashford wants to pretend he doesn't know where the line is, that's his problem, not —" It buzzed again. Then started ringing. Declan. Calling twice in thirty seconds. That wasn't routine. Callum held up a hand — *wait* — and answered. Declan's voice was clipped. Tight. "Attack at the north site. Six dead, eight wounded. They hit during training — knew exactly where we'd be. Hernandez is gone. Nash is down bad — I'm taking him to the human clinic in town. It's the only option." "Cal. You hear me?" "I hear you." "Get to the site. I've got Nash." The line went dead. Callum stared at the phone for half a second. Then he looked up at Garrett and Solomon. They'd gone still, waiting for orders. "Meeting's over." He was already moving. "North training site. Now." They didn't ask questions. They followed. The three of them hit the front door at a run. The shift took Callum mid-stride — bones cracking, reforming, fur rippling across skin — and then he was wolf, paws hitting dirt, the other two flanking him as they tore into the trees. The pack link flooded open. Wolves across the territory, shifting, responding — *report, Alpha, what's happening, what do you need* — *Wait for orders*, Callum pushed through the link. *Stay at your posts.* Then he ran. --- The site was c*****e. He smelled the blood before he saw it — thick and copper-sharp, soaking into the forest floor. He shifted back to human without slowing. Then the bodies. Six of them, laid out in a row. Uncovered. Tomás. Elena. Wei. Marcus. Jonas. Petra. He knew every name. Had trained with most of them. Petra had just had a daughter three months ago. Survivors moved around them — securing the perimeter, tending to the wounded, doing what needed doing. But there was a tension underneath. A fury with nowhere to go. Six of their own were dead and they didn't know who to kill for it. Too many wounded. No healer. Hernandez was among the dead and nobody had the training to replace him. Callum walked into the middle of it. He didn't need to call for attention. The wolves nearest him straightened, turned, and the ripple spread outward. Within thirty seconds, he had everyone's focus. "Report," he said to Jace. "Ambush. We regrouped fast, but they were already pulling back. Disappeared into the trees before we could pursue." A pause. "Hernandez was first down. They targeted him." Callum absorbed that. Filed it away. Targeted the healer first — tactical. *Planned*. "Get the wounded to the compound. Doubled patrols on every route." "Already working on it." "Good." He moved on. --- He checked on the wounded. Assigned patrols. Pulled wolves from other duties to cover the gaps. Lockdown protocol — every entrance watched, every exit logged. Three wolves to handle the bodies. Someone with each family. No one hears this news alone. Then Connor. A young wolf, standing at the edge of the site, away from the others. Staring at the bodies. Callum walked toward him. Connor saw him coming and froze. "Alpha." "You were on perimeter." "Yes." Connor's voice was steady, but his scent betrayed him — fear, underneath the grief. "I heard something to the south. I went to check. When I came back —" "You left your post." "I thought I could handle it quickly. I thought —" "You thought wrong." Callum stopped in front of him. Connor's gaze dropped. Stayed down. "I'm sorry," Connor whispered. "Alpha, I'm so sorry —" "I don't have time for you right now." The words cut Connor off mid-sentence. He blinked. Uncertain. "Wounded to move. Patrols to organize. Families to notify." Silence. "And you've shown you can't be trusted to protect this pack." Connor made a sound — small, wounded. "You're going to help Bree with the runners. You're going to do exactly what she tells you, nothing more. And when she's done with you, you're going to report to the cells." A sharp intake of breath. The cells. The cells weren't supposed to be for pack. They were for the enemy. For rogue wolves and prisoners. Wolves who were dangerous, compromised, or awaiting judgment. "You're going to walk yourself down there," Callum said. "Lock yourself in. And you're going to wait until I have time to figure out what to do with you." Connor's jaw worked. His throat moved as he swallowed. Whatever he wanted to say, he buried it. "Yes, Alpha." The words came out cracked. Barely held together. "Go." Connor went. Callum stood alone for a moment. The other wolves nearby had gone quiet. They'd heard. They'd felt it — the weight of the Alpha's judgment. His phone rang. Declan. "Nash?" "Stable. Doctor says he'll make it." *He'll make it.* Nash was alive. "I'm on my way," Callum said, and hung up. --- Finally — the site was secured. The patrols were out. The compound was locked down. The wounded were stable or en route. The bodies were being prepared. There was nothing left that only he could do. Solomon drove. Callum sat in the passenger seat, watching the forest blur past. Nash. Five years of quiet competence. Five years of seeing what others missed, saying it plainly, never asking for anything in return. One of the few people Callum actually trusted. Lying in a human clinic right now because Callum hadn't been there. And Hernandez was dead. Their healer, gone. Eight wounded wolves at the compound and no one qualified to treat them. They'd need someone. Fast. The human doctor. The one who'd saved Nash. Callum had heard of her — the GP who'd taken over the Millhaven clinic a year ago. Kept to herself. Competent, by all accounts. He'd filed her away as a potential asset, someone to approach if they ever needed human medical expertise. He hadn't planned on needing her like this. The truck pulled into town. Small clinic, unassuming, a sign out front that said MILLHAVEN MEDICAL CLINIC. Declan's truck was parked outside. A human doctor. A human who now knew. Callum got out of the truck and walked toward the door. He had no idea.