His gaze sweeps the circle, briefly meeting mine beforecontinuing. “Some of you question our guest’s presence. Know that she stands under my protection and will witness our ways. Anyone who challenges this will answer directly to me.”
The threat needs no emphasis to be understood. I notice Marcus’s poorly hidden displeasure, though he raises no objection.
Zane assigns hunting parties with decisive efficiency, selects pack members for border patrols, and designates trainers for adolescent wolves. His leadership style shows clear logic despite minimal discussion—a stark contrast to the council’s lengthy deliberations.
When assignments conclude, pack members disperse. Several transform into wolf form with fluid grace that speaks of lifelong practice. Their transformations lack my panther shift’s dramatic fire but display an elegant precision I can’t help but admire.
Zane approaches with Marcus trailing him like a shadow. “You’ll accompany me to the ancient markers today. The elders have granted permission for you to witness our history.”
“I appreciate the opportunity,” I respond formally, conscious of many watchful eyes.
Marcus steps forward. “Alpha, the western border patrol reported fresh Mountain Bear clan markings this morning. You should inspect them personally.”
“The bears can wait,” Zane responds without looking at his beta. “Elder Kota will lead today’s border assessment.”
Marcus tightens his jaw. “The bears are pushing deeper into our territory each day. Other clans watch how we respond to incursions.”
“I’m aware,” Zane replies, steel entering his voice. “My decision stands.”
I can almost see the tension pulsing between them. This exchange mirrors political maneuvers I’ve witnessed at council meetings, though expressed through more primal signals. Marcus isn’t merely questioning a decision; he’s publicly challenging Zane’s judgment about me.
After a moment, Marcus inclines his head slightly, submitting, but with obvious reluctance. “As you command, Alpha.”
While he stalks away, Zane turns to me. “We leave in ten minutes. Bring water. The journey isn’t long, but the paths are demanding.”
I nod and return to my shelter to prepare. Elder Mira has left a waterskin and a bundle of dried meat beside my pallet. This thoughtful gesture contradicts the council’s assumptions about Wolf clan savagery.
When I emerge, Zane waits alone at the camp’s edge. Without Marcus nearby, his posture appears marginally less rigid, though still vigilant.
“Your beta strongly disapproves of me,” I observe as we begin our forest journey.
“Marcus views anything unfamiliar as a threat,” Zane replies. “His caution has saved pack lives many times.”
“Yet you overrule him regarding me.”
Zane glances at me, his expression revealing nothing. “A leader must sometimes make decisions others don’t understand.”
We walk silently through increasingly dense forest. I watch how Zane moves—each step placed with unconscious precision, his awareness extending continuously around us. I find myself adapting to his rhythm, stepping where he steps, connecting with the forest in ways my council training never emphasized.
After about an hour, the terrain changes. The trees growolder, their massive trunks indicating centuries undisturbed. Strange rock formations appear occasionally—clearly ancient rather than natural, aligned in patterns I don’t recognize.
“We approach the boundary of the ancient Shadow Wolf hunting grounds,” Zane says, breaking our long silence. “What lies beyond belonged to my people since before humans first settled this continent.”
He stops beside a massive oak tree. Initially, I see nothing special until he places his hand against the bark, revealing deeply carved symbols nearly absorbed by the tree’s growth.
“Wolf claw marks,” I murmur, tracing the weathered grooves with my fingertips. “How old?”
“The oldest we’ve found date back eight centuries,” he replies. “Each generation of alphas has renewed the markings on sacred trees.”
He guides me deeper, showing stone cairns placed at strategic viewpoints and ancient gathering spots where countless wolf generations met during seasonal migrations. His voice takes on a quality I haven’t heard before—reverence blended with profound belonging.
At a small clearing dominated by a half-circle of standing stones, he pauses. “This is where young wolves received their adult names after their first successful winter hunt. My father brought me here when I was fourteen.”
For the first time, I glimpse vulnerability beneath his alpha exterior. “You miss him,” I say quietly.
His expression changes almost imperceptibly. “He died defending our territory from Mountain Bear incursions three years ago. His final wish was to see our clan return to ancestral lands when the barriers fell.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I offer, realizing this territorial claim holds personal significance beyond politics.
