Karl POV
The fire crackles low in the hearth, its flickering light throwing jagged shadows on the walls of our hall. I sit stiffly, hands clenched against my knees, listening to my father's boots strike the stone floor with every measured, angry step.
"The pack needs a real leader," he says, his voice sharp enough to cut through bone. "Not this mockery we have now. Lucas, playing at Alpha. Zed, too busy muttering to the spirits to lift a claw when it matters."
I keep my gaze fixed on the rug beneath my feet, worn and threadbare where generations of Greyjoy wolves have stood before me. I know better than to interrupt. I've heard these words before—too many times. But tonight there's a fever in his tone that wasn't there before, a storm building that I'm certain will soon break over us all.
"The vampires are stirring again, I can feel it. The air reeks of it." His voice lowers, and I can hear the frustration in it, the weight of years spent waiting for his chance. "And what does Lucas do? Hides behind his council meetings. Clings to ceremonies like they'll save him. The Crescent pack is weak, Karl. The bayou will crumble under their reign if we let it."
He stops pacing, and I feel his eyes on me—sharp, searching, like he's trying to see whether his words have sunk in.
"This coronation… it must fall to us. Do you understand?"
I force myself to look up. His gaze is like ice on my skin. "Yes, Father," I say, my voice tight.
He narrows his eyes, as if daring me to show doubt. I don't. I can't. Instead, I sit still, waiting for the storm to pass.
"You're my heir. You're the future of this pack. And you will not fail me." His hands ball into fists at his sides. "I've fought for you to rise at the academy. You're in their inner circle now, whether they see it or not. I want your eyes everywhere. Listen to everything. Especially what happens in Garon's quarters. Lucas will try something—I'm sure of it."
I frown despite myself. "But… doesn't the title fall only to an Alpha with an heir? Lucas doesn't have a son. Or a daughter. Why are you so certain he's dangerous?"
He rounds on me so fast I flinch.
"Because Lucas is clever. A fox in wolf's fur. You think he'll let the crown slip from his grasp that easily? He'll find a way. He's hiding something—I can feel it in my blood."
I swallow hard. My father's instincts have rarely been wrong. But still… the weight of his expectations settles heavier on my shoulders.
"And if there's nothing to find?" I ask before I can stop myself.
His lips curl back in a snarl.
"Then you look harder. You're my son. My heir. I've sacrificed too much—your mother gave everything—for you to let this slip away. You won't disappoint me."
The mention of my mother strikes deep. My throat tightens, but I manage to nod.
"I won't fail you, Father."
His shoulders relax a fraction, the storm inside him quieting—for now.
"Good. You may go."
I rise and bow my head as I leave. The heavy door closes behind me with a final-sounding thud, and I draw in a slow, shaky breath. Alone at last.
In my room, the shadows seem softer. The moon spills silver light across my floorboards, cold and pure. I sink onto my bed, staring up at the beams of the ceiling.
Stay alert. No distractions. No mistakes.
The words drum in my head like a warbeat. I've heard them my entire life. My father's voice. His will. His hopes. His grief. All poured into me like molten steel, meant to forge me into something strong enough to carry his ambitions.
Since my mother's death, he's refused another mate. Maybe he couldn't bear it. Maybe no one measured up. Either way, his gaze has never shifted from me. The heir. The vessel for all he's lost and all he dreams of.
Sometimes I wonder if I even know who I am beyond that.
I close my eyes, trying to still my mind. But sleep doesn't come. Not tonight. Tomorrow, I begin the task he's set for me. Watching. Listening. Waiting for Lucas to slip.
Whether I want this or not no longer matters. I'm already part of the game.
And there's no way out.
The academy is quiet when I arrive at dawn, mist curling through the trees that line the edge of the clearing. My boots crunch on the gravel path as I cross to the main hall. I know the routines by now—the patrols, the lessons, the whispered politics. I move through it all like a ghost, unnoticed but always watching.
It's late afternoon when I hear it.
I'm cutting through one of the back corridors, near Garon's old quarters. The walls are thick here, the air heavy with history and secrets. Voices drift through a cracked door—a voice I recognize at once.
Lucas.
"Make sure it's delivered before the next moon," he says, low and urgent. "I don't care how far the edge of the bayou is—this letter must reach its destination without delay."
Another voice—a beta I've seen at meetings—answers, sounding nervous.
"Yes, Alpha. But… if anyone sees—"
"No one will see. You'll make sure of that."
I press myself flat against the wall, heart hammering in my chest. What letter? What plan? My father was right—Lucas is hiding something. I can feel it now, like the crackle of a coming storm.
The conversation ends, and I slip away before they can sense me. My mind races. I have to report this to my father. But part of me wonders—do I even want to?
And beneath it all, one truth gnaws at me:
In this game of power and secrets, no one's hands will stay clean. Not even mine.