Chapter 16: The War Council
The main hall had gone quiet. The morning light cut through the dust-streaked windows in long pale shafts, catching the grain of the timber walls and the scuffed leather of the chairs drawn into a rough circle. What had been celebration an hour ago, plates scraped clean and low laughter threading through the smoke, had curdled into something harder. The coyote patch sat on the table where Reese had thrown it, a scrap of red cloth with a snarling dog stitched across it, and no one had touched it since.
Jared stood at the head of the circle, arms crossed, his jaw set. He looked at each wolf in turn, a slow sweep of his amber eyes that landed on no one for too long. The alpha's weight pressed down on the room, a pressure behind the sternum, and the pack felt it. They had all felt it since the patch came in.
"War council," Jared said, his voice low and flat. "Speak, and speak true."
Marcus leaned back in his chair, the wood groaning under his bulk. "They tracked your scent to the clubhouse," he said, nodding at Duncan. "That means they had a wolf close enough to catch it. Close enough to get away. That's not circling anymore. That's a claim on our ground."
"It's a threat," Danny said from the corner, arms folded. He was still pale, still running on the ragged edge of the rescue, but something in him had settled. He looked at Jared when he spoke now, not past him. "They took Barrett once. They'll try again."
"They'll do worse," Sofia said. She sat with one boot propped on her knee, her grey eyes hooded. "The warning wasn't for us. It was for them. They need their pack to see they bit us and drew blood. Now they have to follow through."
Jared nodded slowly. "So we wait for the next move, or we make one."
The silence stretched. Duncan felt the nausea roll in his stomach again, a slow wave that crested and receded, and he pressed his palm flat against his thigh to steady himself. He had eaten bread and honey when the plates came around and forced it down, and now his body was paying for the lie. He kept his face still, kept his breathing even, and stepped forward into the circle.
"They're reckless," he said. The pack turned to him, and he felt the weight of their attention like a hand on his shoulder. "They nailed a patch to Reese's bike instead of putting a bullet in him. They wanted the message to arrive, and that means they wanted us to react. They wanted us to circle the wagons and get scared. That's what they're built for, that's how they think."
"So we do the opposite," Jared said, and there was the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth.
"We hit them first." Duncan spread his hands. "They exposed themselves sending that rider in. They know the clubhouse now, we know they wanted the attention. So we give them something to watch. A patrol rides east slow and loud, making noise, drawing every eye. Meanwhile, the rest of us hit the dens Sofia and I mapped. Burn their fuel, take their guns, send them walking out of our territory with nothing but their boots."
Jared considered it, his eyes on Duncan, and the room waited on his verdict. Duncan felt a small surge of pride, the wordless approval in the alpha's stillness. He had been listened to. He had stood in this same hall days ago and been called a stray, and now he was standing here shaping the pack's next move.
The nausea struck again, sharper this time. His throat closed, and the honey-bread turned to ash on his tongue. His hand moved before he could stop it, drifting to his stomach, pressing against the soft wool of his sweater. A small gesture, a scrap of instinct, and he caught himself a heartbeat too late.
Sofia's grey eyes had already tracked the movement.
She didn't react, not visibly. Her boot stayed propped, her expression stayed hooded, but something sharpened behind her gaze. A flicker of calculation that made Duncan's blood run cold. He dropped his hand, fixed his face, and turned back to Jared as if nothing had happened.
"It's a good plan," Jared said. "We'll need to move fast. Marcus, how many bikes are road-ready?"
"All of them," Marcus said. "Every last one."
"Then we move at dusk." Jared's voice carried the weight of a decision made. "Danny, you and Cole take the patrol east. Make noise. Let them see you coming. The rest of us ride out with Marcus forty minutes behind you."
The pack began to move, chairs scraping, voices rising in quiet planning. Duncan let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and turned to follow Marcus toward the door.
"Duncan."
Sofia's voice stopped him cold. She had risen from her chair and crossed the room, and she stood close now, too close, her grey eyes level with his.
"You feeling alright?" she asked.
The question was soft, almost casual. It was the way she asked it that made his skin prickle, the way her gaze dropped for a fraction of a second to his stomach before returning to his face.
"Fine," he said. "Just tired."
"Mm." She studied him a moment longer, then nodded and walked past him toward the others. Duncan stood in the empty space she left behind, his heart hammering, the mate mark on his neck burning like a brand.
She knew. He didn't know how she knew, or what she thought she saw, but the knowing was there in her eyes, patient and certain. And it was only a matter of time before it found its way to Jared.