The heat rolled over the Vael Ranch in heavy waves, shimmering across the dusty fields and turning the horizon into a trembling mirage. It was barely past sunrise, yet the Texas sun already hung hot and unyielding above the land. Cattle gates groaned in the distance, cicadas buzzed from the trees, and beneath it all, beneath the quiet hum of morning life, Ronan Vael felt the familiar pulse of his pack echoing through the bond like distant thunder.
He stood on the main porch of the ranch house—his home, his headquarters, and the heart of the Lone Star Dominion—and breathed deeply. The scent of dry earth, sweat, and wolf lingered in the air. Morning training had already begun. He could hear it: the grunt of effort, the barked orders, the scrape of boots on dirt. His wolves were awake, active, moving. Good.
A leader rested only when his pack did.
Ronan rolled his shoulders, feeling the pull of old tension snaking down his spine. Some mornings it was easy. Other mornings, like today, the sun felt too bright, too sharp, too damn reminiscent of the desert. Sand. Heat. Mirrors. Chains. His jaw tightened for a heartbeat before he forced the memories back where they belonged. Buried. Controlled. Contained.
Not today.
Not when eyes were watching him from every corner of his territory.
He stepped off the porch, boots hitting the ground with the steady certainty of a predator who knew every inch of the land beneath him. Wolves paused mid-training to bow their heads or bare their necks—subtle signs of respect woven through the fabric of daily life. Ronan acknowledged each with a slight nod, never pausing his stride as he moved toward the training yard.
A Beta lieutenant jogged up beside him. "Morning, Alpha."
Ronan didn't slow. "Status?"
"South patrol returned an hour ago. Quiet night. Central patrol is still sweeping near the river. No signs of Mercer's rogues."
Ronan's brow twitched, just barely. "He'll show himself eventually."
"He always does," the lieutenant muttered, tone edged with irritation.
Mercer. The name tasted like rust on Ronan's tongue. A nuisance. A danger. Not an alpha—never an alpha—but a man reckless enough to try and make himself one. Ronan suspected ambition was eating Kade alive from the inside out. That made him unpredictable. And unpredictability, in a land as vast and dangerous as Texas, was a threat Ronan couldn't ignore.
The training yard opened wide before them. Dust churned beneath sprinting wolves, some fully shifted, others half-shifted with claws slicing the air or fangs bared in exertion. Ronan watched a young Beta execute a clumsy lunge and corrected her form without saying a word, simply stepping into her line of sight and demonstrating with one sharp, fluid movement. She adjusted instantly, cheeks flushed but eyes bright with determination.
He liked that about his pack—they learned quickly.
He crossed the yard toward the central barn, a massive building reinforced with metal beams and druid-marked posts. The structure wasn't just a barn. It was where new recruits trained, where rituals were held, where challenges were settled. Where, years ago, he'd returned half-dead after escaping the Desert Trials and collapsed on the threshold.
Many in the pack didn't know that part of his story. Only his inner circle and the druids did. And that was how Ronan preferred it.
Inside, the barn was dim and cool, lit by narrow beams of sunlight slipping through the cracks in the wood. A pair of druids stood near the center, arranging herbs and tools on a table. They weren't spellcasters—they didn't wield magic. They were keepers of knowledge, guides of ritual, mediators of supernatural law. And in Texas, their word carried weight.
"Alpha," one greeted with a respectful incline of her head.
Ronan approached. "Report."
"We finished the night-cycle reading," she said, hands still moving deftly over her supplies. "The land is strained. Something stirred near the western boundary."
"Mercer?"
"Possibly. But the energy felt… off. Like something was testing your defenses."
Ronan's eyes sharpened. "Nothing tests this land without consequence."
The druid nodded, unafraid of the dark promise in his tone. "As you say."
He turned to leave, but the second druid—a younger man, newer to the ranch—hesitated before speaking. "Alpha, permission to speak freely?"
Ronan glanced over his shoulder. "Granted."
"You've been waking earlier. Restless. The bond feels… unsettled."
Ronan slowly pivoted back to face him. The barn grew quieter, the air heavier. The young druid braced himself.
Ronan didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. "The bond is strong. My pack is safe. There is no reason for concern."
The druid swallowed. "I meant no disrespect. Only that the Trials left—"
"Enough." Ronan's tone snapped like a whip. "Do not assume knowledge of scars you have never felt."
The older druid placed a calming hand on the younger's arm, guiding him away. Ronan didn't watch them go. He didn't need to. The conversation was over.
Outside, sunlight flooded him again, harsher than before. For a second—just one—he smelled sand. Heard the clink of metal. Felt the blinding ache of burning mirrors forcing him into involuntary shift.
He closed his eyes and breathed through it.
Four seconds.
In for two, out for two.
The pack couldn't ever know how deep the damage ran. Not if he wanted to keep Texas safe. Not if he wanted to keep a nation of wolves unified. He pushed himself back into motion, walking until the sun burned away the memories.
A howl split the air.
Ronan's head snapped up, instincts blazing. Not a training howl. Not a warning howl. Something else—sharp, urgent, but not panicked.
A scout.
Ronan shifted into a run immediately. Dirt exploded beneath his boots as he moved with supernatural speed, weaving through buildings and fences toward the northern edge of the ranch.
He found the scout—an Omega named Jesse—standing over a limp form sprawled in the dirt. Jesse's chest heaved with adrenaline, his eyes golden-bright.
"Alpha!" Jesse gasped. "I found him on the open road. He collapsed a mile out. He's—"
Ronan crouched beside the fallen wolf.
Young. Barely an adult. Clothes torn. Body trembling uncontrollably. And he smelled of fear, exhaustion, and blood—too much blood.
Ronan pressed two fingers to the young wolf's neck and felt a faint pulse.
"Name?" Ronan asked.
"Dax," Jesse answered. "He said his name was Dax. He's from the Ironwood region."
Ronan's jaw flexed. Ironwood. Kade Mercer's territory.
Bloodlust simmered low in his chest.
"Help me get him up." Ronan slid an arm beneath Dax's shoulders and hauled him upright with ease. The young wolf whimpered weakly.
Jesse supported from the other side. They carried him into the infirmary cabin.
Once inside, Ronan laid Dax on a cot and placed a hand over the wolf's sternum, pushing pain transference through the bond. A dull ache flickered into Ronan's chest—a manageable echo of the boy's injuries. Dax gasped, steadying.
"Tell me what happened," Ronan ordered, voice low but steady.
Dax swallowed hard. "Mercer. He—he took in rogues. Bad ones. Violent. They don't follow rules, they just… they destroy. He tried forcing us to join. Said he'd become alpha of all Texas soon, whether we backed him or not."
Ronan felt the room constrict with anger.
Dax coughed, voice shaking. "He said… he said he'd start with the Vael Ranch. That he'd burn it to the ground."
Ronan's eyes darkened. "When?"
"Soon," Dax whispered. "He's gathering numbers. But they aren't a pack. They're feral. Wrong. They don't follow the moon. They barely follow him."
Ronan took the information in silently, the rage building in him like a rising storm. Not fear. Not panic. Rage—the cold, clear kind that sharpened everything inside him.
"Rest," Ronan said. "You're safe here."
The boy nodded weakly.
Ronan stepped outside, letting the door shut behind him. He stared out over the ranch, jaw tight, eyes narrowing against the harsh Texas sun. His pack trained below, unaware that a war was creeping toward them. Unaware that Kade Mercer had crossed the final line.
Jesse lingered nearby, tense. "Alpha?"
Ronan exhaled slowly. "Call the lieutenants. All of them. And send word to the druids. Tonight we meet at the Circle."
Jesse sprinted off to obey.
Ronan remained still, wind running through his hair as he stared at the land he'd fought, bled, and nearly died to protect.
The Dominion wasn't just territory.
It was home.
It was responsibility.
It was the weight of hundreds of wolves who counted on him to stand between them and the monsters of the world—human or otherwise.
And Kade Mercer, reckless idiot that he was, had just declared his intention to become one of those monsters.
Ronan's breath steadied, the last traces of old fear burned away by pure instinct.
No more running.
No more nightmares.
No more ghosts from the sand.
If Mercer wanted to test the Lone Star Alpha, he'd learn what every threat eventually learned.
Ronan Vael did not break.
He evolved.
And Texas followed him.
Ronan lifted his gaze toward the horizon, expression cold and resolute.
"So be it," he murmured.
The wind carried his words across the land like a promise.
Tonight, the Dominion would prepare for war.