COLD COMMAND- The Secret Son

"You're late, Savannah. Again."

My father’s voice, rough as grinding stones, hit me the second I stepped into the Reed Pack's main hall. Mason Reed didn’t look up from the maps spread across the heavy oak table. He didn't have to. His Alpha senses probably picked up my scent—pine and rain—before I’d even cleared the tree line.

"The perimeter fence was down near the creek," I said, my voice steady despite the way my heart hammered against my ribs. "I was fixing it."

"You were chasing ghosts," he snapped, finally meeting my gaze. His eyes, a piercing amber, narrowed. "You're wolfless, Savannah. A human in a den of monsters. You have no business near the borders. If a rogue caught your scent, you’d be shredded before you could scream."

"I can handle a silver blade better than most of the Sentinels," I countered.

Mason scoffed, the sound vibrating in his barrel chest. "A toothpick against a hurricane. Get to the kitchen. Your mother and Vanessa are prepping for the Lunar Union. Grayson Cole arrives at sundown."

The name felt like a physical weight. Grayson Cole. The Alpha of the Black Ridge Pack. A man whispered about in hushed, terrified tones. They called him the Shadow King. And I was the sacrificial lamb being offered to ensure the Reed Pack’s survival.

"I'm not a bartering chip, Dad."

"You're a Reed. You'll do what's necessary." He turned back to his maps, dismissing me like a faulty piece of equipment.

I turned on my heel, my boots thudding against the stone floor. I didn't head for the kitchen. I headed for the stables, the only place where the scent of wet fur and musk didn't make me feel like an outsider.

I was halfway there when a hand clamped onto my shoulder. I spun, my hand instinctively reaching for the dagger hidden in my boot.

"Whoa, easy there, Little Wolf."

Dominic Russo grinned at me, his dark eyes dancing with mischief. He was one of the few who didn't look at me with pity. To him, I was just Savannah.

"Don't call me that, Dom," I grumbled, relaxing my stance. "What do you want?"

"The Alpha's looking for you. Said something about a guest?"

"Grayson Cole," I spat the name out.

Dominic’s grin faded. "The Black Ridge Alpha? Fuck, Savannah. I heard he tore out his own Beta’s throat for breathing too loud."

"Great. I’ll make sure to hold my breath," I muttered, pushing past him.

I needed air. Real air, not the stifling, ego-drenched atmosphere of the Pack House. I headed toward the old stone bridge that marked the boundary between our lands and the Wilds. It was a place of moss and shadows, where the sweet gum trees grew thick and gnarled.

I climbed onto the railing, dangling my legs over the rushing water below. The trees here were strange—their bark was corky and rough, hiding a deep, blood-red heartwood. The elders said they were like werewolves: a deceptive exterior masking