"Mia!"
Her mother's voice cracked in the hallway like thunder before a downpour.
Elena Andrews—elegant, sharp-eyed, always composed—dropped her purse to the floor and ran toward her daughter. She didn't care about the blood on Mia's clothes, or the dark smudges on her skin. She just wrapped her arms around her like she was seven years old again, like if she held her tight enough, she could undo the nightmare.
"My sweet girl," she whispered, pressing a kiss to Mia's temple. "You're safe now. Come on, let's get you cleaned up."
Mia didn't say a word. She didn't need to. I felt the flicker of relief ripple through her chest, just enough to tell me she was letting her mother carry the weight for now.
Elena guided her gently upstairs, glancing back only once—her eyes catching mine. A silent thank you.
And then she was gone.
The second the hallway was quiet again, her father stepped out from the shadows of the adjacent room.
Bill Andrews.
The Alpha.
He hadn't spoken a word the whole time, but now, his presence filled the room like wildfire. Tall, broad-shouldered, with silver threaded through his dark hair and a gaze that had shattered enemies in one look. He didn't hug. He didn't panic. He commanded.
He looked at Marco, then at me.
"My office. Now."
We didn't argue.
The fireplace was burning low when we gathered. Marco stood with his arms crossed, jaw tight. I leaned against the bookshelf, still carrying Mia's blood on my shirt. Bill poured himself a glass of something stronger than wine. He didn't offer any.
"Tell me everything," he said.
Marco started. Quick, clean. From the moment Mia went out to meet Max, to the minute we tracked her scent to the warehouse. I added details—where the trail had gone cold, how the guards had been lured away.
Bill listened in silence, until we told him the part that mattered most.
"He tried to mark her," Marco said, voice low. "He wanted to use her bloodline to legitimize his claim to power."
"Zevian," Bill muttered, his voice laced with contempt. "I should've exiled him when I had the chance."
Zevian. Once part of our tribe. A powerful wolf, but never satisfied with being second. He walked away years ago, formed his own following—wolves who wanted to break from tradition, from peace. Now he was building a rival pack. And now, he'd come for Mia.
"He's not just posturing anymore," I said. "This was a direct move against your bloodline. Against her."
"And the girl he used—Max—was just a tool," Marco added, fuming. "He knew Mia would come if it felt safe. She walked straight into it."
"No. We walked her into it," I said. "We were so focused on keeping the truth from her, we left her blind to the danger. That ends now."
Bill nodded slowly, setting his glass down with a quiet thud.
"It ends tonight," he said. "From now on, Mia's never left unguarded. Not even for a second. I want two wolves posted outside her room. I want every route in and out of this farm locked. And Zevian…" He looked at me. "You'll find him."
"Gladly," I said. "But we need to talk about what happens after. When Mia turns. She deserves to know what's coming. We can't shield her anymore."
"She's not ready," Marco said, shaking his head. "She just found out what we are tonight—"
"She was taken tonight," I snapped. "She bled tonight. That's not on her, Marco. That's on us."
Bill raised a hand, silencing us both.
"She'll get the truth," he said, voice calm but iron-willed. "But not all at once. We give her what she can handle. Step by step."
He turned toward the window, where the moon cast long shadows across the floor.
"Zevian made his move. That means others won't be far behind. The bloodlines are watching. Waiting. Mia is no longer a girl in hiding. She's a name they'll whisper. And a target they'll aim for."
The fire cracked behind him.
"And if they want her… they'll have to go through all of us."