The scent of expensive coffee and frying bacon was wafting in the air in the formal dining room. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, glinting off polished silver and bone china, illuminating the three figures already seated at the long, imposing table: Vincent Cross at the head, radiated quiet, chilling authority; Caden to his right, shoveling food with wolfish appetite; and Sable, perched elegantly opposite Caden, her gaze sharp as it flickered over Winter's entrance.
"Finally decided to grace us, have you?" Sable's voice was like ice. "We don't keep human hours here, girl. The pack eats together."
Winter didn't reply. Arguing was fuel for Sable's fire. She slid silently into the chair farthest from Vincent and Sable, next to Caden, an unfortunate necessity. The chair scraped loudly on the marble floor, the only sound besides the clatter of Caden's fork.
"Late night?" Caden murmured, leaning towards her slightly. His breath smelled of sausage. "Skulking around the city again? Dangerous for a little human, especially with the recent... unrest." His eyes held a predatory look.
"Just work," Winter said flatly, reaching for the lukewarm coffee pot, her hand steady.
Vincent finally looked up from the financial section of the newspaper he'd been perusing. His eyes swept over her dismissively before settling back on his son. "Enough, Caden. Focus. The perimeter breach near the old lumber yard last night. Report."
Caden straightened, instantly shifting from leering brother to dutiful heir. He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. "Three rogues, Father. Young males. Aggressive. They took down two of our sentries before Beta Rock's patrol intercepted them." He spoke with grim satisfaction. "Dealt with swiftly. Minimal disruption."
"Minimal?" Vincent's voice was a low rumble. He folded the newspaper precisely. "Two of ours injured. Property damage reported near the boundary. Some humans saw the commotion. That is not minimal, Caden. It's sloppy."
Caden bristled, his knuckles whitening on his fork. "They were dealt with! They won't trouble us again. Their heads are already mounted on the western gatepost as a warning." He shot a glance at Winter, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "A fitting message, don't you think, Winter? Shows what happens to scavengers who trespass."
Winter kept her eyes fixed on her plate, pushing scrambled eggs around with her fork. The image flashed in her mind – severed heads, sightless eyes. A cold knot tightened in her stomach. She said nothing.
"Mounting heads is barbaric theatrics," Vincent stated coolly, taking a sip of coffee. "It frightens the humans unnecessarily and draws unwanted attention from city authorities. It doesn't solve the underlying problem. It merely provokes."
"Provokes?" Caden scoffed. "It shows strength! It makes them fear us! These rogues are getting bolder, Father. They smell weakness. We need to crush them, utterly. Show them the Stone Pack's territory is inviolable." His voice rose with fervor. "We should hunt them down in their dens. Root them out. Eradicate the threat at its source. No more playing defense."
Vincent's gaze was steady, assessing his son. "Eradicate. A strong word. How do you propose we find every single rogue den scattered through the city outskirts and the forests beyond? They are not a unified army; they are desperate strays, displaced packs, lone wolves driven mad by the moon. Hunting them blindly is a waste of resources and lives."
"Then we draw them out!" Caden slammed a fist lightly on the table, making the silverware jump. Sable flinched minutely, her lips thinning in disapproval. "Set traps. Use bait. Offer amnesty, then cut them down when they show themselves. We know they're desperate for territory, for food... for females." His eyes flickered towards Winter again, mixed with meaning she refused to acknowledge.
Vincent steepled his fingers. "Bait. Risky. Unpredictable. And 'amnesty' is a lie that stains our honor. We are not savages, Caden. We are the dominant pack. We rule through strength, yes, but also through order. Through control." He tapped the newspaper. "Control requires intelligence, not just brute force. We need information. Who is leading these incursions? Where are they massing? Are they truly just desperate strays, or is there organization? Purpose?"
"Purpose?" Caden snorted derisively. "They're animals, Father! Rabid dogs! What purpose do they have beyond chaos and scavenging?"
"Even rabid dogs can be directed," Vincent countered, his voice dropping lower, becoming almost contemplative. "The attacks are becoming more coordinated. Targeting specific weak points in our patrol routes. The symbols left... crude, but consistent." He paused, his grey eyes hardening. "It reminds me of an old adversary. A rogue pack long thought destroyed. The Moon Shadow pack. They favored such... displays."
Caden looked momentarily taken aback. "Moon Shadow? That was decades ago! Wiped out by Grandfather."
"Presumed wiped out," Vincent corrected softly. "Presumptions are dangerous. We need confirmation. We need eyes and ears beyond our territory. We need to understand the enemy before we commit to eradication." He looked directly at Caden. "Your zeal is noted, son, but channel it. I want a comprehensive patrol strategy by noon. Double the sentries on the northern and eastern borders. Quietly. I want scouts sent into the Grey District, discretely. Find out where these rogues are coming from, who they talk to. Information is the weapon we need first."
Caden scowled, clearly displeased at being reined in, but he dipped his head in a stiff nod. "As you command, Alpha."
Sable finally spoke, her voice sharp, directed at Winter. "Are you going to eat that, girl, or just push it around like a sulking child? Food is not to be wasted, especially not by ungrateful mouths we shelter."
Winter met Sable's cold gaze. "I've lost my appetite," Winter said, her voice clear. She placed her fork down with deliberate care.
"Typical," Sable sniffed. "No appreciation. No respect for the pack that took you in."
Winter pushed her chair back. The legs shrieked on the marble. The conversation about eradication, about bait, about severed heads, churned in her gut as she did.
"May I be excused?" she asked, directing the question to Vincent, the only one whose permission mattered, ignoring Sable completely.
Vincent didn't even look up from where he had reopened his newspaper. He gave a curt, dismissive wave of his hand.
Winter turned and walked out of the dining room. She felt Caden's eyes burning into her back, heard Sable's muttered insult – "Useless creature. Pretty for nothing" – and Vincent's low murmur resuming the discussion about scout deployments.
Her steps quickened as she climbed the back stairs. Escape wasn't just a desire; it was a desperate need. That interview wasn't just a job opportunity; it was her only chance at survival, at retaining some shred of her humanity in a house full of wolves who saw her as either prey, a plaything, or worthless. She needed to get out. Today. Or forever.