The yard emptied slowly as Adam's orders sent warriors to all corners of the territory. Patrols doubled. Gates locked. Every wolf in Nightfang bristled with alertness.
But inside Eleanor…
A colder war brewed.
Alaric.
Her brother.
The one Alphonsus trusted with his darkest missions.
The one who trained her.
The one who could slip into any stronghold like smoke.
If he was here, then her father's plan was shifting faster than she could react.
Adam dismissed the last warrior and finally turned to her.
Only then did she realize she was shaking.
Not from fear.
From betrayal.
"Eleanor," Adam murmured, stepping closer.
"You know him."
Not a question.
A statement.
She couldn't speak.
Adam watched her with quiet intensity, reading her silence, her stance, her breathing. He was too perceptive, too attuned to her.
"The guard's description," he said slowly.
"Your reaction to it. The scent on the blade wound. All of it points to one thing."
She dropped her gaze.
He reached out—gently lifting her chin with two fingers.
"Look at me."
Against her will, she obeyed.
"Who was he?" Adam asked.
Her throat tightened. Her voice barely came out.
"My brother."
Adam went still.
Too still.
Not with anger—something worse.
Realization.
"He came here," Adam said quietly, "because of you."
Eleanor swallowed hard. "Or because of you."
Their eyes locked.
Because deep down, they both understood: Alphonsus Thorne didn't send assassins lightly. If Alaric was inside the walls, then the target was important, dangerous, and inevitable.
And it might be both of them.
Adam stepped back a pace, pacing once, running his hand through his hair.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"About what?" Eleanor whispered.
"Your family," Adam growled. "Your connection to him. That he was a threat."
"You knew what I was before I arrived." Her voice steadied. "You knew Alphonsus Thorne's daughter would never come without knives hidden somewhere."
"That's not what I'm asking."
His voice had changed. Softer. Rougher. More vulnerable, in the way only he ever let her hear.
"Why didn't you trust me?"
Eleanor's breath stilled in her chest.
He wasn't accusing her.
He was hurt.
And that rattled her more than any anger.
Because she had trusted no one her entire life.
Because trust was a luxury the Thorne clan beat out of their children before they could walk.
She looked away.
"It's not about trust."
"It is," Adam said.
"You hide everything. Your past. Your intentions. Your pain."
He stepped closer again, slower this time, careful with her in a way that made her chest ache.
"And now your brother is killing my people."
His words weren't sharp. They were heavy, dragged from somewhere deep.
Eleanor forced herself to meet his eyes.
"I didn't know he was coming. I swear it."
Adam searched her face for a full, aching second.
Then he nodded once.
"I believe you."
Relief hit her unexpectedly hard.
But it didn't last.
"Believing you doesn't protect you."
Adam's voice hardened, but the look in his eyes…
He was afraid.
For her.
"If Alaric is here, he's not just hunting."
Adam took another step toward her.
"He's watching you."
Her pulse stuttered.
"And he will come again."
His tone made her shiver.
"This time," Adam continued, "he won't be subtle."
Eleanor exhaled shakily. "He's good at hiding."
"Then I'll drag him into the open."
She shook her head. "He won't be caught."
"I'm not trying to catch him."
The intensity of Adam's voice hit her like heat.
"I'm trying to protect you."
Her heart stopped.
He meant it.
Deep down, beneath the alpha, the curse, the stoic exterior…
He meant every word.
"Adam…" she whispered.
He moved first.
One moment he stood a step away, the next—he was in front of her, chest brushing hers, his breath warm against her lips.
"You're afraid."
His voice was a low, intimate growl.
"Not of me. Not of the pack."
His fingers brushed the side of her jaw, slow, deliberate.
"You're afraid of what your family will do to you if they think you're changing sides."
Her breath trembled.
"Tell me I'm wrong."
She didn't.
Couldn't.
He leaned closer… slowly… as if giving her time to push him away.
She didn't move.
"Eleanor," he murmured, his lips hovering a breath from hers,
"you are not theirs anymore."
Her heart slammed in her chest.
He continued, softer but fiercer:
"You are mine."
Her lips parted. "I'm not—"
His thumb brushed her bottom lip gently, silencing her.
"That's not a claim," he whispered.
"It's a promise."
Her entire body shivered.
The bond between them sparked—hot, fierce, hungry—pulling her toward him like gravity.
She didn't know who moved first.
Maybe it was him.
Maybe it was her.
But then his mouth was on hers.
Hot.
Deep.
Possessive.
Her hands fisted in his shirt.
He pulled her closer, devouring the space between them.
The kiss wasn't gentle. It wasn't polite.
It was desperate—raw with things neither of them knew how to name.
He kissed her like she was something he'd been starving for.
She kissed him back like she finally let herself want something for real.
When they broke apart, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together—
A soft whistle cut through the silence.
Both froze.
Eleanor's blood turned to ice.
A man stood on the balcony railing above them.
Arms crossed.
Head tilted.
Pale blond hair spilling around his amused smirk.
Her heart dropped.
"Little sister," he drawled.
"I leave you alone for a week and you start kissing the enemy?"
Adam stepped in front of Eleanor instantly, body tense and ready to strike.
Alaric laughed softly.
"Relax, Alpha."
His icy blue eyes gleamed with cruelty.
"If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have heard me coming."
Eleanor's knees nearly buckled.
Alaric pointed a lazy finger at her.
"Father sends his regards."
His grin sharpened wickedly.
"And a message."
Adam's growl vibrated the floor.
Alaric's smile widened.
"Eleanor," he said sweetly,
"you're running out of time to choose a side."
And then—with a leap too fast for the eye—
he vanished into the night.
Adam cursed violently.
Eleanor's breath shattered.
Because she knew this was only the beginning.
And Alphonsus Thorne had just declared war.