14. Ryan

Chapter fourteen

Ryan

W e used the trails with the most compacted snow—the ones our wolves used to navigate through the forest—and worked in silence, setting traps and silent alarms rigged to trigger if anyone crossed the boundaries. Maxwell wasn’t just precise—he was fast. Efficient. He might be a lawyer now, but he hadn’t forgotten the skills he’d grown up with. He pulled thin wire from his pack, the kind that would be nearly invisible against the snow, especially in the dark.

“I’m impressed with the equipment,” Maxwell said, kneeling to secure one end to a sturdy tree trunk. We were connecting all the wires to small charges—nothing lethal, but enough bang to disorient enhanced hearing. “This is state-of-the-art stuff. I don’t think even the military has these latest chargers.”

“We have our sources.” Derek had contacts all across the intelligence world and usually managed to get us new equipment before it hit the market.

“The last time I used something like this was against a Pack of Shifters who had developed a taste for human meat.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Man-eaters?”

“Let’s just say being Ronnie’s brother meant dealing with all sorts of supernatural shit.” He threaded the wire through a clever mechanism that would trigger the charge. “The trick with these is to layer the defenses. First line should be early warning—simple stuff that lets us know they’re coming. Second line needs to slow them down, make them cautious.”

I nodded, impressed despite myself. “And the third line?”

“That’s where we get creative.” He pulled out what looked like small metal discs. “These are filled with powdered silver. Won’t kill a werewolf, but it’ll hurt like hell and mess with their sense of smell. Picked up that trick from a hunter in Louisiana.”

We worked methodically, setting up three defensive rings around the property. The outer ring was pure surveillance—pressure plates buried under the snow, motion sensors in the trees. The middle ring combined trip wires with those silver charges, positioned to create bottlenecks that would force any attackers into predetermined paths.

“The inner ring is the most important,” I said, surveying our work. “We need to funnel them where we want them.”

Maxwell nodded. “You’re thinking about the clearing by the east side of the Alpha House?”

“Yeah. If we get enough warning, it has good sight lines, and we can position our enforcers in the trees. Anyone who makes it through gets bottlenecked right into our strongest fighters.”

“Smart.” Maxwell checked the tension on another wire. “But if they’re anything like the Packs I’ve dealt with before, they’ll be expecting something like that.”

I resisted the urge to grind my teeth. I was sure Ronnie knew exactly what Pack we’d be dealing with. If he had shared that info with his brother, we could have put Waylen on the case, and we’d know for sure what they were capable of. “You’ve fought many werewolf Packs?”

He was quiet for a moment as I tested the mechanism I’d just set one more time, before he answered.

“More than I’d like. Back when I was with the gang, we had … territorial disputes with several Packs. They’d try to move product through our territory; we’d push back. Things would get messy.” His jaw tightened. “Lost some good people learning how to fight them … you … effectively.”

“That’s why you left?”

“Part of it.” He stood, brushing snow from his knees. “Learned pretty quick that in that kind of fight, you either get really good at adapting, at strategy, or you end up dead.

I watched him work, noting how his hands never hesitated, how each movement was precise and practiced. This wasn’t just someone who’d picked up a few tricks. This was experience earned the hard way.

The traps were psychological. Werewolves rely on their enhanced senses—take those away, make them doubt what they’re sensing, and you’ve already won half the battle.

“If they come this direction, they’ll cross that line,” I said, nodding toward the last trap we’d arranged. “And when they do, they’ll come hard and fast.”

My wolf stirred, alert now. The woodland around us—the snow-covered trees, crisp and silent—looked peaceful. But I had the feeling that peace was a fucking mask.

Maxwell exhaled a breath through his nose, nodding. “Yeah, that’s how I’d attack.”

That was how I’d do it, too. Maxwell was good. I suspected he’d be deadly in a fight, but he could think strategically as well. He’d be a dangerous opponent if we ever found ourselves on opposite sides. My wolf peeked out of my eyes as I took another glance around. He sensed something out there.

“We should head back,” Maxwell said, standing up once more and dusting the powdered snow from his pants.

I scanned the forest again.

“You see something?”

“No.” I shook my head as my wolf lay down. “I don’t like it, though.”

We set off back, and as we got nearer the house, I felt the familiar warmth of the bond pulse lightly between me and Mai. I could sense her waiting, and her worry beneath her calm. I pushed back, sending her a quiet reminder that I was okay, and coming home.

I stamped off the snow from my boots just outside the door. My wolf stirred as the smell of cinnamon and Pack filled my nostrils. The others were already back.

Inside, someone had thrown more logs into the fireplace, and the flames cast flickering gold light across the floor. I could hear the sounds of laughter from one direction—Ben and Tucker were showing Lark how to play street fighter on the PlayStation, and from the sounds of it, she was kicking their asses. Jase, one foot propped casually against the doorframe, was keeping watch. He nodded silently as we came in, but I was getting definite pissed-off vibes coming from him. My guess? It had something to do with Amara sitting on Cameron’s lap in the lounge.

Mai appeared from the kitchen, carrying a jug of what smelled like mulled wine, the scent of cloves, cinnamon, and oranges drifting toward me. Nothing could cover her scent, though, the honeysuckle, mint, and dried aspen leaves hitting something directly in my core. My eyes met hers, and a pulse zipped along our mate bond. She smiled at me, her face lighting up, and I felt my wolf sigh with relief. We were on edge whenever we were away from her and our pup. I thought it would get easier with time, but so far, this urge to have Mai in sight at all times had only gotten worse. I strode over and kissed her, my lips capturing hers. She felt hot to touch, and I wanted to order everyone to get the hell out of our house so I could fuck her senseless.

Wally appeared behind Mai, his frilly pink apron tied around his waist and a plate full of wolf-shaped gingerbread cookies in his hands. “Oooh, you guys need to get a room!”

I wanted to throttle him. Me and Mai were never gonna get some alone time at this rate. I glared at Wally. “I don’t need a room. I have a house. This house.”

Wally grinned at me. “Yeah, but we’ve decided that no one is going to war on an empty stomach. That’s a new rule in this Pack.”

“Is that so?”

Mai bit her lower lip, and I knew exactly who “we” was.

“I thought you were locked and loaded?”

“I am locked and loaded,” Wally waved the plate at me, “with sugar, caffeine, and enough gingerbread cookies to see us through at least a minor siege.”

“Did I hear someone mention cookies?” Mason’s voice came from the lounge.

“I could eat cookies!” Shya chimed in. I knew they were having a bumpy ride taking over the Bridgetown Pack, what with Camille going AWOL to deal with her grief, leaving them to raise Shya’s younger brothers, Henry and Tucker, plus half the Pack still unsure about a Three Rivers werewolf leading them, but I’d still never seen Mason so happy.

Wally tossed me a see-I-told-you-so look, then swept past me to deliver them to his troops.

“Thomas, Amara, and Cameron got all the med supplies moved over,” Mai told me, snaking her free arm around my waist.

We’d decided that Thomas would use the spare rooms here as a med ward until this was over. Lark was here, so the Alpha House was where her old Pack would come looking for her. If there was a battle, it didn’t make sense for Thomas to try to move anyone who got injured back to his house.

“Good.”

I grasped her hand and led her to the lounge. For a moment, we just stood there, watching our Pack fill up this warm, festive space, gingerbread wolves scattered across counters now, snow-dusted boots by the door, and the hum of music somewhere in the background.

“This feels … strange,” she admitted as she leaned into me. “Like we’re waiting for both Christmas and war.”

“It’s a delicate balance,” I said, dropping a kiss on her temple.

Her hand squeezed mine. “Any sign of them?”

“Not yet. But they’ll come. And soon.”

That’s what I would do.