39. Ryan

Jem and I sat in a corner booth of a nondescript highway diner. The droning of a worn-out jukebox in the background, along with the occasional clatter of diner staff and the distant symphony of crickets outside, were the only sounds right now. The sunlight cast long shadows that mirrored the growing unease in my gut. Derek was hidden outside, guarding us against the possibility that this was a set-up. He'd warn us if Michael arrived with an army. Though, at this rate, I was betting Michael was a no-show; he was twenty-five minutes late.

With Sam and Mason still tracking Seth, and not knowing who in the enforcers we could trust, we'd left Mai at the house with Sofia, Jase, and Wally. They had strict instructions to lock the doors, not go out, and not answer anyone who came by. Jem, Derek and me were going to check out Brock's meeting after seeing Michael. Though, if we wanted to make it to Brock's meeting, we had to leave in the next fifteen minutes.

"Jem, he's not coming."

As if in answer, the door swung open, and in walked Michael. His dark eyes were sharp, scanning the room, locking onto us. Right behind him was Tristan Heller. Tristan was a towering figure, broad-shouldered and muscular, his shoulder-length brown hair pulled back in a tight plait. His hazel eyes flicked around the room before settling on me.

Interesting. We would need to wrap this up quickly if Tristan was going to make his meeting with Brock.

"Jem. Ryan." Michael nodded to each of us as he sat down. "Do you know Tristan?"

Tristan held out his hand, and we both shook it.

"Please to meet you both," he drawled, though he looked anything but pleased.

"My apologies for our lateness. We got held up on another matter. Thank you for waiting."

Jem didn't say anything; just continued to look at Michael, waiting to hear what he had to say.

"I asked for this meet firstly to discuss your wolf Carson."

"Michael," I began, "these allegations… Even you must see that they don't seem right."

His response was immediate and gruff. "Easy for you to say, Ryan. You're not dealing with the fallout or telling those men's families how they died. They want justice. I want justice."

I took a sip of my coffee, the bitter taste grounding me, focusing my thoughts.

Jem interjected, his normally light tone replaced with an uncharacteristic edge. "I know that you have always relied on evidence, on facts. Not hearsay, emotions, or assumptions. Carson deserves the same."

Michael's mouth twisted into a grimace, seemingly mulling over Jem's words. "I talked to Eddie. He told me about my enforcers. Unfortunately, they've gone AWOL, and I haven't been able to track them down yet to get answers."

He sounded angry. Furious, even. It couldn't be easy for him to admit he'd lost some of his enforcers.

Tristan leaned forward. "That doesn't mean we believe you. You're right. We do rely on evidence, but we haven't seen any that Carson is innocent. Besides, Eddie told Michael you scented another one of your wolves on the note he found. So, even if it wasn't Carson, it was someone else from your Pack. You've got a man-eater who is using our territory as an all-you-can-eat buffet.

"Everyone knows how weak you are. You can't keep your Pack in line. Hell, you can't even keep your own mate from cheating. You're letting down your Pack, and now your fuck-ups are bleeding into our territory."

Jem went still. It was not a good sign. I'd seen it before, right before Jem had ripped the person's throat out. What the fuck was going on? Was Tristan trying to start a fight right here between our two Packs?

I tensed, ready to launch myself in front of Jem if Tristan or Michael made a move, but Michael placed his hand on Tristan's forearm.

"I apologize for the words of my Beta. He is keen to find the murderer of our men. But I called you here not just to talk about Carson. I suspect there is a plot against both of our Packs."

A jingle sounded at the diner's entrance. I turned to see who the newcomer was. Surprise ran through me when I recognized the person stepping through the door—it was Shya, Michael's daughter.

She was a striking figure, with an aura of strength of someone much older than her twenty years. The light streaming in from behind her cast her curly auburn hair in a fiery halo, and her large, almond-shaped emerald eyes, identical to her father's, sparkled with determination.

Tristan looked and smelled furious, but a strange mixture of emotions flickered across Michael's face—surprise, concern, anger. "Shya? What the hell are you doing here?"

Ignoring her father, she leveled a serious look at Jem. "We need to talk."

Derek stalked in the door and headed for us. "Our phones have been jammed. No communications in or out. I can't tell where it's coming from. We need to leave, but you have to listen to Shya, Jem, to what she has to say."

I looked sharply at Michael. Was this all a set-up?

Michael pulled out his phone and pushed some buttons. "It isn't us. My phone's jammed, too."

He stood up and grabbed Shya's arm. "We need to go."

"No!" Shya yanked her arm free and slid into the booth. "Dad, you need to hear this, too. It's Tristan—he's the one behind all this."

All of us went silent, then Tristan growled, "Shya, I don't know what game you're playing, but you need to leave."

"Don't even, Tristan!" she spat back at him.

"Tristan is right, Shya, you have no business being here," Michael said, his words full of anger.

"You always do that, Dad. Just dismiss what I have to say. I tried to tell you that things were not right in our Pack. That Tristan was working against you. But you wouldn't listen to me. Too hell-bent on getting me to accept Tristan as my mate because you decided he was the best choice for me. But you have blinkers on, Dad. Every time you decide something, you ignore what anyone tells you that contradicts that decision. This is why I went to Derek six months ago. It's why I've been his informant since then."

Oh, boy.

"You've been what?" Michael spat out, his voice rising in a mixture of disbelief and fury. He turned to Derek, betrayal etching lines into his forehead. "And you—"

"Hear her out, Michael," Derek interrupted calmly, though I could see his jaw clenching. The revelation that Derek's informant was Shya was a shocker, not just for Michael but for all of us.

"You involved my daughter in your games of subterfuge, Derek?" His voice was low, but the tension in his muscles pointed to a wolf about to break free.

Shya met her father's gaze without flinching. "This isn't about games, Dad. This is about our Pack. Tristan has been playing you. You know something isn't right in the Pack. You know, that's why you're here. But Tristan's been feeding you lies. He's the one behind the unrest in our Pack. He's the one who's been stirring things up between the Packs, pitting us against each other. Telling you crap about the state of the Three Rivers. It's not true, Dad. None of it is. But he's fed you that crap, and you believed it. He wants you to attack the Three Rivers Pack. To start a war."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Michael demanded.

"Tristan's been conspiring with Brock Madden from the Three Rivers." Her eyes flickered over to Jem before going back to her father. "They've been working together. They were the ones who framed Carson." The words hung in the air, heavy and irrefutable, and I felt the tension in the room spike.

Michael scowled, disbelief etched into his every feature. "Tristan?"

"Yes, your precious Tristan, Dad," Shya affirmed, her voice unwavering. "They've been orchestrating all of this for months."

Michael swung his gaze to his Beta. Tristan was leaning back in his seat, watching the show. He didn't look or smell worried. If anything, he smelled excited.

"You know, Shya," Tristan smirked at her, "you really shouldn't get yourself involved in these things. When we're mated, I'll make sure you're not allowed to run around sniffing into other people's business."

"What the fuck, Tristan?" Michael demanded.

"What the fuck, indeed," he replied. "I got tired of waiting, Michael. Shya's my mate. I told you that for two years. She should have been wrapped up in a bow and delivered to my bed. Instead, you told me to wait. That she would come around. Well, she didn't come around, Michael, and I've been left holding my dick for two years when I could be an Alpha."

"You want to be the Alpha? Challenge me like a proper wolf!"

"Oh, I intended to, once I got the power boost coming my way from having Shya in my bed twenty-four-seven. But that didn't happen. Not yet, anyway. Now, I'll just have to take what I'm owed. And then I'm going to show the world that we're not some prissy little Pack that caters to every human who strolls in here wanting a good time. We're werewolves, not a Disney show. I'm going to make sure every human knows that."

Michael's face snapped into a calm mask. "You're out of your mind if you think you're getting out of here alive."

"Sure, I will." Tristan smiled, then flicked his fingers.

It was a sign. As soon as he made that gesture, the front and back doors banged open, and ten, no fifteen, werewolves flooded in.