COLD COMMAND- The Secret Son

"Damn right I do."

My mother’s voice, low and lethal, sliced through the steam of the kitchen. Mason Reed might have been the Alpha, but Vanessa Whitmore was the one who kept the pack from cannibalizing itself. "I also know the pup isn’t to blame for the sire's rot. You’d punish the cub for the beast's sins, Eleanor?"

I heard my aunt’s sharp, disgusted sniff. "The wolf doesn't change its coat, Vanessa. Give Grayson Cole another cycle and he’ll be just as broken and blood-drunk as Frank. It's in the marrow."

"And whose fault is that? We’ve watched Frank Cole beat the life out of his kin for years and we turned our noses up because it wasn't 'respectable' to interfere. Who’s the real wolf here? Us, for ignoring the boy, or Savannah for having the guts to try and pull him out of the dirt?"

Mother slammed a rolling pin onto the floured board. Thwack. "If he shows up for the Lunar feast tomorrow, he’s coming inside this house. I'm done looking away. Maybe we can show that pup there’s a world that doesn't involve the end of a belt."

I stood frozen on the bottom step, a wild surge of heat hitting my chest. Revenge and victory. Mama was the wall behind me. She was going to help me haul Grayson out of the darkness. How could we lose?

A floorboard groaned above me. I jumped, my heart hammering.

Aunt Harper stood at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed over her thin chest. She didn't look like the rest of the Reed women. While we were all dark manes and piercing amber eyes, Harper was honey-gold, her eyes like deep, shadowed ink. Mama said she was the ghost of a great-grandmother, a beauty from a line that had nearly faded out.

Gossip whispered that Harper had lost her fated mate to a rogue raid years ago—a tragedy that left her a hollowed-out shell, a sleeping wolf waiting for a call that would never come.

She pressed a finger to her lips and jerked her head toward the end of the hall. Once we were clear of the kitchen's eavesdropping range, she gripped my shoulder. Her hand was cold.

"Savannah, eavesdropping is a dangerous game for a girl with no claws."

"Yes, ma'am." I looked at my boots.

She hooked a finger under my chin, forcing my gaze up. "Tell me the truth. Why this obsession with the Cole boy?"

"I don't know. I just... I hate seeing him like that."

"Pity?"

"No," I snapped, my voice cracking with defiance. "I like him. He’s not his father. He’s got fire in him."

A ghost of a smile touched her mouth. "Good. Helping out of pity is just feeding your own ego. Doing it because you give a damn about the soul behind the skin? That’s different. That’s pack."

"Aunt Eleanor says charity is for the weak."

"Eleanor treats charity like a ledger. She gives to the orphanages to feel superior. But Grayson Cole isn't a project, Savannah. He’s a person. How do you think he’d react if he thought you were looking down on him like some stray?"

I thought of the way his jaw locked and the silver fire in his eyes. He’d bite my throat out. "He’d hate it. I don't pity him, Aunt Harper. I swear."

She nodded slowly. "Then be his friend. But don't you dare look down on him. No wolf wants to be a charity case."

"I won't."

I had another ally. And little did I know, Mason Reed—the iron-fisted Alpha—would end up being the biggest lure for a boy who had never known what a real leader looked like.

The Black Ridge territory had one neutral ground: The High Meadow. Ten acres of manicured grass on a plateau overlooking the valley. It was where the packs met for the Great Moon. It had the basics—stone pits for roasting, a running track for the pups, and a few heavy timber swings under the ancient oaks and sweet gums.

The morning sermon at the Pack Chapel was pure hell. I was a coiled spring. I sat on the hard cedar pew, wedged between Mama and Mason, my leg bouncing. Mama hissed at me twice to be still. Mason kept shoving strips of dried elk jerky at me to keep me quiet. I had so much tucked in my cheek I could barely swallow.

The second the final howl ended, I bolted. I dodged through the crowd like a rabbit through briars, lunging for the changing rooms. I ripped off the stiff ceremonial dress and shoved myself into my frayed denim and a red tunic.

By the time I made it back out, the women had already swarmed the High Meadow. They were shoving heavy trestle tables together, flinging linen cloths over the scarred wood, and marking territory with bowls of stew and roasted meat. The men were huddled in thick circles, the air heavy with the scent of pine-tobacco and the low rumble of pack politics.

I found Mason in a cloud of pipe smoke. I yanked on his hand until his knuckles turned white. What if Grayson showed up and I wasn't there? What if he saw the Reeds and turned tail?

Mason sighed, excused himself from the other Elders, and headed for the truck.

The Lunar feast was a god-level spread. Six tables groaned under the weight of ceramic platters. Whole roasted boars, bowls of berries, heaps of dark bread. The women moved like generals, stripping foil and lids, eyes darting to see whose venison was the most tender, whose ale was the strongest.

The truck hadn't even fully stopped before I was out the door. I sprinted toward Mama. She was laughing with Vanessa Whitmore’s inner circle.

"Are they here?" I hissed, pulling on her sleeve.

She leaned down, her breath warm against my ear. "Edge of the tree line, Savannah. Near the shadows. Don't let him leave."

"I won't."

I scanned the dark fringe of the forest. It took a minute. Grayson’s dark clothes made him a ghost against the oaks. He stood perfectly still, a statue of tension. He was alone.

I took a breath, smoothed my hair, and forced myself to walk—not run—toward him. I could feel his eyes on me long before I reached him. They felt like silver needles against my skin.

"Hi." I stopped five feet back. He straightened, his gaze raking over me like I was a trap he hadn't spotted yet. "I’m glad you made it."

"I'm not staying." His voice was a low, jagged rasp. "I only came to tell you not to wait. Lily... she doesn't like crowds. Too many smells."

I looked at him. Really looked. His shirt was crisp, the grease scrubbed from under his nails. He’d even ironed his jeans. If he wasn't staying, why go through the effort of looking like a Reed?

The realization hit me like a physical weight. He wanted to be here. He just didn't think he was allowed to be.

"Lily's fine," I said, stepping closer, my voice dropping. "There’s enough meat over there to feed a rogue pack for a month. You’re going to walk away from that?"

He shifted his weight, his eyes darting toward the feast. "I don't belong here, Savannah."

"Who says?"

"Everyone." He looked at the scars on his knuckles. "Including me."

I reached out, my fingers just barely brushing the rough fabric of his sleeve. The air between us suddenly felt electric, thick with the scent of woodsmoke and something primal.

"I say you belong," I whispered. "And in this pack, my word actually means something. Now, are you going to stand here in the dark like a stray, or are you going to come eat?"

Grayson’s jaw worked. He looked at the shadows, then back at me. Slowly, he stepped into the light.

"Fine. But if your aunt starts talking, I'm out."

"Deal."

I led him toward the tables, my heart thrumming a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I had him. For now, the boy with the broken heart was stepping into the light, and I wasn't letting go.