Dishevelled, dirty, and gripping the last shreds of his patience firmly between clenched teeth, Blake stalked the deserted pack house. The scent of the comings and goings of a hundred wolves flowed through the halls, all melding together in an almost indistinguishable soup. His eyes tracked the signs of a life recently abandoned; plates loaded with half-finished food, trays full of still-warm cups of tea hastily discarded, and a still-flowing tap at one of the sinks – the water steadily making its escape down to the tiles below.

Room after room, he encountered nothing but the absence of wolves; the only evidence they had ever been occupied, layer after layer of foreign scents until finally, his sharp nose encountered a familiar, if unwelcome, aroma that drifted up into the recesses of the house. A medley of bracken, tobacco and iron.

Macleiry, his wolf spat, claws kneading against their shared consciousness.

Kaden had remained in the hall, staring silently up at the elaborate paintings lining the walls; a fairytale of a loving family memorialised in oil paint and gilded frames.

Blake offered him a cursory glance, his attention fixed on Macleiry's trail. “You okay?”

“I'm fine.” The young Alpha straightened up, a closed expression on his face as he looked around the home he'd not set foot in for so long. With a grimace, he gestured towards the shuttered entrance to the main hall. “In there?”

The scent flowed freshest around the heavy oak doors, pooling at its base, and Blake nodded tersely. In there.

But instead of heading towards them he left the young Alpha to wander the lower floor, a sudden compulsion leading his feet upwards. Macleiry’s scent guided him through corridors towards the back of the house where his nose caught a faint scent; the unique, muddy aroma they'd been searching for shrouding a subtle perfume of apples like a velvet cloak.

Rothan’s demeanour changed instantly, the tension gripping their shared conscience like a vice melting away to be replaced by an undercurrent of unexplainable excitement that raised the hairs on his bare arms. Hannah.

Blake closed his eyes, concentrating on filtering out all but her smell. The tension drained from his muscles as it filled his lungs, tantalising and full of promise, rendering him motionless as he tried to capture every atom before it faded away. Goddess! So quickly had he become accustomed to her strange scent, it had taken its sudden absence to realise how much of a calming influence it had become in his life. A primal sense of longing began to creep through him, all he had to do was track the scent and –

A creak of a nearby floorboard snapped him back to reality, instincts kicking in as he raised his hand, ready to attack. His eyes snapped open to glare at the intruder with dark eyes, recognition taking its sweet time as he fought to bring order to his fractured thoughts.

“Good to know the masking spray works,” Kaden observed from the doorway, his eyes slightly wild, his thin frame braced to defend himself. “Maybe a tad too well,” he added, as Blake's eyes flickered back to their usual, brooding brown. “Are we good?”

Blake lowered his arm and nodded, smothering a grimace of discontent. For the first time in his life his duty lay as a heavy chain around his neck, a burden he give anything to cast off. Then he thought of the wolves fighting for him in the lower village, waiting for him to end the war. His wolves. His responsibility.

Shit. he cursed silently.

Kaden gestured back towards the stairs. “You were right, at least thirty wolves gathered in the great hall. My father, his lieutenants, my – ” his face twisted in disgust and, after a brief hesitation concluded with: “Meagan.”

Blake grunted, showing no surprise. With great difficulty he pulled himself together, and focused his attention back onto the young heir, blocking Hannah’s scent from his mind, much to Rothan's distress. “You know what to do?”

Kaden nodded, his eyes glittering with anticipation. “As we discussed.”

“It has to be you. No challenge from me will convince them.”

“I’m ready.”

“Then let's not keep them waiting any longer.” They headed downwards.

As Blake threw open the heavy slabs of wood, the oak crashed against the stone walls like a thunderclap announcing his arrival. Moving swiftly into a convenient beam of light drifting down from the windows above he struck a pose, allowing all present to observe his bloodstained, travel-worn clothes and catch the scent of dominance he exuded.

A tad overly dramatic, don't you think? Rothan observed critically.

Do you mind? Blake murmured, changing his stance to display himself a little better. I'm having a moment over here.

You sound like Asher.

He does seem to be rubbing off on me. Do you think we have everyone’s attention?

Rothan sighed. Trust me, you have them riveted.

Good. Blake smiled a grim smile and, with all the confidence of a man invited, sauntered in the direction of his adversary. His boots made far more noise than strictly necessary, their owner somehow finding every creaky floorboard in his path to step on.

Behind him, entirely overlooked, a shadow slipped unseen into the dark recesses on the far side of the room.

Blake had expected a display of physical strength for Syrus's final stand. His best warriors, his elite fighters, some show of resistance. Certainly not the strange and eclectic mix of pack members he had chosen to place between himself and the angry Alpha. Blake’s sharp nose detected socialites, Omegas and Etas mixed in amongst only a smattering of warriors, and they mingled in uncomfortable clusters all around the hall. There were no women amongst their numbers, and crucially, he could detect no sign of Hannah.

Good, Rothan grumbled unexpectedly. He can't use her as leverage.

Macleiry's not here either, Blake grated.

Good. Rothan said again with a soft growl. He wants her alive. If she's with him, he'll protect her.

Blake turned his eyes back onto the Elmwood Alpha and a low rumble began deep in their chest.

We deal with one, then the other.

Blake nodded, mentally calculating how many more steps would place him within reach of his target.

Politely nodding to the watching wolves as he passed, he took pains to notice which observed him with curiosity, which with fear and which with a hatred they couldn't quite conceal.

His eyes fell upon a socialite he vaguely recognised from the night of the ball, and he indulged his malicious streak by offering him an all-too-friendly wave.

The man looked appalled at his acknowledgement and, as his companions took pains to take a half-step away from him, his fearful eyes flitted to the dias.

Must you? Rothan let out a sigh of exasperation as his human counterpart concealed a smirk of satisfaction.

Absolutely, Blake said. We want every eye on us, remember?

You look ridiculous.

I know, that's the idea.

Any more theatrics and I'll be tempted to hurl.

Don't you dare.

The more flamboyant he acted, the more confused the gathered wolves became, and Kaden continued unnoticed as he kept pace with Blake's progression.

Resplendent in his chair, Syrus watched the approaching Alpha intently, his eyes tracking his movements as closely as a cat would follow a mouse.

Only once sure he was the centre of attention did Blake return his stare with a critical eye.

If the Elmwood Alpha had intended his Seat to be used as an effective background for intimidation, he had wildly underestimated its visual effects. Syrus had been cursed with an already slender frame for a wolf, one that had bent and twisted with age and indulgent living. As a result, the Seat dwarfed him.

Far from creating the illusion of a powerful Alpha, he cut a rather pathetic figure slouched in the overlarge chair, his clothes crumpled as though hastily thrown together, his yellow teeth bared in a smile that failed to reach his calculating eyes.

Flanking the Seat, his two lieutenants attempted to add gravity to Syrus's dramatic scene; the Beta's portly frame one step in front of his Alpha, a scowl deepening the lines across his face. The Gamma in contrast holding back, radiating nervous energy, his focus not on the new arrival, but on the heir apparent who hovered by his father's side. Completing the welcoming party, his lip curled in what appeared to be a permanent snarl of contempt. Sniffing the air, Blake detected the tell-tale smell of alcohol.

Rothan snorted, clearly unimpressed by the display. Are we supposed to be intimidated?

Cautious, perhaps? Blake suggested, his sharp gaze locking on Syrus, whose furious gaze had shifted to fix itself on the hapless socialite Blake had apparently befriended.

Why socialites and omegas? Rothan questioned. Where are all the warriors?

Witnesses, Blake grunted.

For what?

It looks to me like he’s holding a trial.

Against whom?

Only an Alpha can accuse an Alpha.

Rothan’s ears flicked back in the closest thing to shock a wolf could mimic. He can't be serious!

It's the only play he has left, Blake shrugged. And you know what Ethan always says, the best defence is a good offense.

Ignore it, Rothan hissed in sudden fury. We rip their throats out, and it's over.

No.

No? Rothan paced furiously within his mind, itching to sink his teeth into the wolves that had caused so much trouble. Let me deal with them, he begged, pushing against their shared consciousness. One minute, that's all I’ll need.

Stop that! Blake snapped, his own anger difficult to control in the face of his wolf's fury. You know the law.

Every wolf in the room knew the law, and they waited with baited breath to see if the Alpha would follow it.

The Seat was the one place in any territory that wolves could not tread in their physical form. No one knew why it existed, nor how it had come to be so universally recognised, but all knew the penalty for breaking it, and there would be no shifting while their foes remained hiding behind the ancient tradition.

He's bought witnesses, Blake said grimly. So let them witness. Let no one say we acted beyond our authority.

Rothan snarled. Blake's way would take too long. But he ceased his pacing to sit, hunched in the corner of Blake's mind, his eyes missing nothing, seeking out any hint of duplicity.

Don't worry, I've got this, Blake reassured his irate wolf. Syrus wants a trial, and he'll get one. Just not the one he's expecting. we'll give him all the rope he needs to hang himself. And stop flexing, he added. You're giving me a headache.

The exchange between them, while brief, had carried the length of the hall, and Blake came to a casual halt in front of the Seat, taking care to cross the socially-acceptable line by a half-step, thus ensuring he was just the tiniest bit too close for comfort.

While the Beta's eyes grew dark with badly suppressed irritation, Syrus’s attention had retreated suddenly inwards responding, Blake assumed, to a report from his beleaguered warriors out in the field. Furrowed brow, pursed lips, rapid blinking of his glazed eyes... whatever he was being told was not going down too well.

Want to take a guess? His wolf suggested, some of his tension easing. The fort? The twins? The fire?

A combination thereof? Blake surmised, watching the Alpha's knuckles turn slowly white as he clutched at the arms of the Seat.

Rothan hummed with renewed pleasure. He's not having a very good day, is he?

No, and I don't see it getting any better.

“Syrus,” he nodded to his fellow Alpha, quietly enjoying the fact that none of them could comment on his lack of social etiquette without sounding resolutely petty.

Syrus’s eyes unglazed and his nostrils flared, but he showed no other sign of irritation.

Meagan however, was practically frothing at the mouth and Blake didn't miss the worried looks the Gamma kept passing his way.

Rothan whined, his claws flexing against the barriers in Blake's mind. Watch out for that one, he warned unnecessarily. He's not nearly as stable as Syrus wants to believe.

If he ever was, Blake murmured. How many insults would it take to provoke the former rogue into forgetting the law? he wondered. Keep an eye on him for me.

Rothan snorted. Of course.

At a distance, the wood of the Seat appeared to possess a naturally rusty-red hue. Close up, the intricately carved design revealed itself, a masterpiece of tiny curved cuts interlinked together to create a beautiful pattern in the wood. Each cut had been stained red with blood, waxed and treated afterwards to remove any trace of the iron tang.

Blake casually traced the myriad of marks as they wound their way up the legs and over the arms of the chair, allowing the silence in the hall to stretch to an almost painful level.

A new cut was made in the wood during the official acceptance ceremony of each new pup accepted into the pack and stained with a drop of their blood the day they came of age. As far as he knew, these tiny marks dated all the way back to the day the pack was founded.

“A lone wolf makes for a lonely entourage,” the Beta declared finally, forcing a smile almost painful to witness. “You seem to have misplaced your companions. Somewhere in our territory, perhaps?”

“Not misplaced, no.” Blake returned his smile with one of his own, his voice so relaxed he almost sounded bored. “My companions were delayed at your lower village.” He frowned thoughtfully. “We were a little surprised not to find you down there, all things considered. I thought it prudent to come ahead and investigate, lest you needed assistance.”

He made a show of looking around the hall as though searching for an explanation for their absence.

The Beta opened his mouth to snap back, but Syrus raised an arm, warning him off, his eyes glittering with irritation, the smile sliding from his face like butter from a knife.

“Perhaps you'd like to explain why you have seen fit to invade my pack.”

“Invade?” Blake feigned confusion. “Why would we invade? You yourself have named us allies, and as such it falls on us to provide warriors in a time of crisis, does it not?"

“What crisis?” Gareth grunted recklessly. “I see no threat here but you.”

"Lets see,” Blake retorted dryly, one eyebrow raised at the Beta's stupidity. “Your territory is infested with rogues, your pack is in chaos, and your forest is on fire. Do try to keep up. A Beta should be the first to know what's happening in his own pack."

“It's not the rogues who attacked our forts,” the Beta snapped.

“No indeed,” Blake admitted, his face expressing nothing but sorrowful confusion. “That was an unfortunate situation. It appears some of your warriors were under orders to attack us?”

“An oversight,” Gareth grunted. “They'll be disciplined.”

“No need,” Blake said pleasantly. “We've done that for you.”

Gareth’s face turned a pretty shade of puce, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

A subtle rumble of discontent behind them suggested this was the first the gathered witnesses were learning of their failed defences.

“As a matter of interest,” Blake continued before the Beta could formulate a coherent sentence. “It would rather help matters down at the lower village if someone in charge could remind your warriors that we're on the same side here.” He glanced pointedly at Syrus, goading him into speaking. “Your Beta's oversight appears to have been extensive.”

“I've seen no evidence this morning that we're on the same side,” Gareth practically hissed before Syrus could answer.

“Oh yes, of course we are.” Blake confirmed, his gaze settling on the heir apparent. “Rogues have no business in any pack --" his eyes flicked back to Syrus. " -- as I'm sure you'd agree.”

Meagan snarled prompting the Gamma to take a half-step in his direction, and Syrus to slam his hand upon the chair arm, a furious glare warning both his leuitenants and his son to stay quiet.

“Enough,” the Alpha finally spoke, the smile on his face growing colder. “Spare me your false diplomacy. I find your duplicity insulting.” He pulled himself upright in an unsuccessful effort to look as large as possible.

“I accuse you, Alpha Blake,” he intoned in a voice that belied his frail appearance. “I invited you into my territory in good faith. I fed you, entertained you, and offered you every courtesy my pack could offer. You and I created an alliance.”

Like sheep, his witnesses growled amongst themselves, collectively lapping up his every word.

“We made promises. Promises I have made every effort to fulfil on my end. Yet, this morning you have betrayed us, shattering the peace between our packs in an unsanctioned act of war.”

The indignation shining in Syrus's eyes was painfully real, and Blake was forced to stifle a snort of disbelief. He truly believed their alliance would still be honoured in light of everything he'd done.

“You promised to mate my daughter,” the old Alpha continued, growing more confident with every rumble of approval. “You did not. Tell me Alpha Blake, does your word mean nothing?”

"These would indeed be grave accusations, if proven to be remotely true,” Blake agreed amiably. "But, I am not the Alpha untrue to their word.”

“Ha! He denies it!” Gareth practically yelled, his excitement overriding his common sense as he answered for his Alpha for a second time.

“Categorically. I promised to consider your Alpha's daughter as a mate. He has yet to present her to me. How can I break faith, when the conditions were never met?”

Gareth blinked.

“And I have betrayed no alliance," Blake added almost as an afterthought. “I leave that to you.”

“We are not the wolves on trial here," Gareth spluttered, conveniently ignoring any reference to his Alpha's daughter.

"Neither am I." Once again Blake spoke directly to Syrus, his voice suddenly low and dangerous. “I have more than enough evidence to bring a half-dozen charges against you though, should you insist upon continuing with this farce of a trial.”

“Accusations created using tainted evidence, obtained illegally during your so-called diplomatic mission!" Gareth’s hissed interruption earned him an approving nod from Meagan and a low murmur began among the witnesses.