The desert at night was a place most wolves avoided. Too quiet. Too open. Too easy for sound to travel and for predators—human or otherwise—to strike from a distance. But Ronan Vael stood in the middle of that silence as if he owned it, hands relaxed at his sides, posture calm, expression unreadable.
This wasn't Texas.
It wasn't Dominion land.
It wasn't even claimed land.
It was the border zone between two enormous territories: Texas and New Mexico, a long stretch of forgotten cattle range where wolves occasionally gathered to negotiate. In recent months, those negotiations had turned sour. Too many rogues. Too many disappearances. Too many dead wolves showing up near the edges of Elias Crowe's land.
Ronan had agreed to meet here only because Elias demanded it, and because ignoring him would cause even more issues. When an Alpha requested a meeting on neutral ground, refusing could be seen as an insult—or an act of weakness.
Ronan did neither.
He simply came.
Elias Crowe arrived late.
Wolves often weaponized lateness. It asserted dominance by implying the other Alpha had been waiting on them. But Ronan wasn't irritated. He wasn't anxious. He wasn't anything at all. He stood motionless near the rusted cattle fence that marked the meeting point, staring out over the desert, his mind as still as the night air.
Elias finally appeared through the scrub, flanked by two betas. Both were older, scarred, and tough-looking, but Ronan barely acknowledged them. His attention was on the man in front.
Elias Crowe was tall and wiry, his hair dark and cut close to his scalp, his eyes sharp like a coyote sizing up prey. Every movement he made was clipped, tense, and restless. His wolf was always too close to the surface, always a breath away from losing control.
Ronan could smell anger rolling off him before he even spoke.
"You took your time getting here," Elias said.
Ronan didn't move. "I arrived first."
Elias bristled but didn't push the point. He knew better than to start with an obvious lie. Wolves could smell dishonesty, even if it wasn't supernatural. Tone, heartbeat, posture—everything betrayed a liar.
Elias motioned for his betas to hang back and stepped into the center of the clearing. Ronan mirrored him with a single step forward. The two Alphas faced one another across the hard-packed desert soil.
"No pack, no guards," Elias said. "You're bold."
"No," Ronan replied. "Just not threatened."
Elias's jaw clenched. "You crossed into my land."
"I crossed into unclaimed land," Ronan corrected.
"That land is recognized as mine—"
"On paper," Ronan said calmly. "Not in truth."
Elias's eyes narrowed. "The Council acknowledges my border."
"The Council acknowledges what they're told," Ronan replied. "Not what's real."
The two betas behind Elias stiffened. Even they seemed to sense how close their Alpha was to being embarrassed in front of a man who refused to play by social posturing.
Ronan wasn't being cruel.
He wasn't provoking anything.
He was simply stating facts.
Elias's territory had been bleeding for months. Wolves disappearing. Rogues dying. Families fleeing across state lines. Something was wrong in New Mexico, and everyone but Elias was willing to admit it.
Ronan watched him with that same calm, unreadable gaze. "You're losing wolves."
Elias's lip curled. "Mind your own territory."
Ronan stepped once into the clearing, closing the distance only slightly. Not a threat. Not dominance. Just proximity.
"I'm minding my borders," Ronan said. "Yours are collapsing into mine."
"You think you know my land better than I do?" Elias snapped.
"No," Ronan said. "I know what I've seen."
Elias's claws extended. It wasn't a full shift—just the first instinctive response of an Alpha who felt cornered. "You think you're better than me because you survived something you shouldn't have?"
Ronan didn't react.
Elias took another step toward him, body angled like a wolf ready to strike.
"You think surviving that ritual makes you untouchable?" he demanded. "You think it gives you the right to judge me? To judge my land? To judge what's mine?"
Ronan's voice stayed low and even. "I'm not judging anything. I'm telling you the truth."
"The truth," Elias spat, "is that you became a monster. And the Council should've put you down the moment they realized you lived."
The betas behind Elias exchanged a quick look. They didn't expect their Alpha to be so bold—or so reckless.
Ronan's expression did not change. It rarely did.
"Is that why you called me here?" he asked. "To tell me what the Council should have done?"
"No," Elias said. "I called you here to tell you what I'm going to do."
Ronan waited.
"You crossed too close to my land," Elias growled. "My wolves said they smelled you. They panicked. They thought you were here to take something."
"If they panicked," Ronan said quietly, "then they're afraid of something else. Not me."
That struck a nerve.
Elias lunged forward, grabbing Ronan by the front of his shirt and slamming him back a step. It wasn't enough to actually move Ronan—his feet didn't shift—but the intent was there.
"You think I don't know what I'm doing?" Elias demanded, voice trembling with anger. "You think I can't protect my land? You think I'm weak?"
Ronan looked him dead in the eyes and spoke with the same calm tone.
"I think you're losing control."
Elias roared and swung with his claws.
The strike was fast.
Efficient.
Deadly.
But Ronan wasn't there anymore.
He moved—not with supernatural teleportation or magic—but with the explosive, overwhelming speed of a seasoned Alpha. His hand caught Elias's wrist, redirected the blow, and shoved the smaller man off balance. Elias stumbled, kicked up dirt, and tried to swing again.
Ronan didn't hit him.
He didn't even shift.
He simply stepped aside, caught Elias's arm, rotated his body weight against him, and slammed him into the ground.
The hit wasn't hard enough to break bone.
Just hard enough to prove a point.
Elias lay there, breath knocked from his lungs, eyes wide in shock and humiliation. His betas didn't move. They didn't dare.
Ronan stood over him, posture neutral.
"You attacked me," Ronan said, voice level. "On neutral ground. Without cause."
Elias snarled up at him. "I don't need a cause to challenge you."
"Then challenge me," Ronan said simply. "Right now."
Elias hesitated.
That hesitation was everything.
Ronan stepped back, giving him space to rise. Elias pushed himself up, breath harsh, pride shattered. He didn't shift again. Didn't attack. Didn't speak.
Ronan's expression remained unreadable.
"If you're done," Ronan said, "I'm leaving."
Elias said nothing.
Ronan turned his back and began walking toward his vehicle.
Elias called after him.
"You're a dead man, Vael."
Ronan didn't turn around.
"You can challenge me anytime," he said. "But if you do, finish what you start."
Elias's voice dropped to a furious whisper.
"I'll finish you at the Gathering."
Ronan didn't respond. He didn't need to.
He simply kept walking.
The desert swallowed the sound of his footsteps as he left Elias Crowe behind.
Elias stayed kneeling on the dirt long after Ronan was gone, breath ragged, pride burning like acid. His betas approached cautiously.
"Alpha," one whispered, "he didn't even shift."
Elias rose slowly, eyes blood-red, hatred carved into every line of his face.
"I don't care what he is," Elias said. "I will break him."
Neither beta replied.
They didn't believe him.
Not after what they saw.
But Elias Crowe believed it.
He believed it so deeply that he thought about nothing else for months.
He trained for it.
Prepared for it.
Obsessed over it.
And when the summons to the Gathering arrived?
He didn't see it as an obligation.
He saw it as destiny.