Chapter 2

The moment I pushed the doors open, I slammed into a solid chest.

A strange, intoxicating scent flooded my senses.

Pine, leather, and something primal and dark. It sent a shiver straight down my spine.

I took a half-step back and looked up.

The man standing before me was tall, broad-shouldered, and wore a black tactical jacket.

One of his hands was shoved casually in his pocket, while the other played with a matte black Zippo lighter.

His facial features were strikingly sharp, his jawline like carved granite. His dark eyes held a dangerous, knowing smirk.

Ethan Blackwood.

The Alpha of the Iron Crest Pack. The very man Alpha Whitfield had been desperately trying to kiss up to.

And the "stolen" intel? It was the defense map of Ethan's own territory.

The Iron Crest Pack and the Crimson Pack shared a border, so sharing intel was standard.

But the moment my eyes met his, my chest throbbed.

A primal, deep-seated vibration echoed from the depths of my soul.

My inner wolf began to pace, whimpering in recognition.

*Mate.*

I saw his pupils dilate.

His fingers tightened around the Zippo. A flash of possessiveness, raw and hungry, flared in his dark eyes.

"Lena," he murmured, his voice low and rich.

He had clearly been standing outside, listening to the entire thing.

I stared back at him, refusing to back down. "Enjoying the show, Alpha Blackwood? If you want more, there are still three clowns performing inside."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. The Zippo spun through his fingers and clicked shut.

"You do realize," he said, stepping closer, his towering height forcing me to tilt my head, "the intel you just took the fall for belongs to my pack’s joint defense line?"

"I do," I replied, meeting his gaze with equal fire. "Which is why I'm warning you, Alpha Blackwood—this pack is rotting from the inside out. Your alliance with them is worthless."

Ethan let out a low chuckle, his chest rumbling. He leaned down, his warm breath brushing against my ear. "Oh? And what if I aligned with you instead?"

"You'd get a guaranteed return on your investment," I whispered back without hesitation.

He straightened up, his eyes searching mine. Then, he slipped a folded piece of paper from his inner pocket and held it out between his long fingers.

"I’ll be looking forward to it."

I took the paper, my fingers brushing against the back of his hand.

His eyes darkened. Before he could react, I turned and walked toward the outer gates of the pack house.

Behind me, the council doors burst open, and Alpha Whitfield’s oily, eager voice rang out. "Ah, Alpha Blackwood! You're here! Please, come in, come in..."

I sneered and kept walking back to my apartment.

They had given me three days to pack.

In my past life, I spent those three days crying, begging the pack elders to save me, looking like a beaten dog.

In this life? Three days was more than enough to plan their execution.