After My Mate Kidnapped My Sister, I Destroyed His Pack

I woke to Caden's knock at dawn.

He didn't wait for me to answer. The door opened and he stood in the threshold, his expression carefully blank in the way it only got when something was very wrong.

"Eastern gates," he said quietly. "You need to see this."

I was dressed and out the door in three minutes.

The sky was still gray with early morning light when we reached the pack house gates. A small crowd had already gathered — warriors mostly, standing in a loose semicircle around something on the ground. They parted when I approached.

My wolf-dog lay in the center of the gravel drive.

He'd been dead for hours. His body was arranged deliberately, legs tucked beneath him like he was sleeping. Except for the torn throat. The blood pooled black against the pale stone.

I stopped two feet away and went very still.

Someone had cleaned his fur. Positioned him carefully. This wasn't a random kill. This was a message.

I crouched down beside him. His eyes were closed. I reached out and touched his head once, my hand steady.

Then I smelled it.

Cedar and smoke. Faint but unmistakable. Dante had left his scent deliberately.

Behind me, Reese made a sound low in her throat. "Sloan—"

"Get a shovel," I said.

She hesitated. "We can have someone—"

"Get a shovel."

She left. Caden stayed at my shoulder, silent.

I stayed crouched beside the body until Reese returned. Then I stood, took the shovel from her hands, and walked to the eastern perimeter. The place where I used to walk with him every morning before dawn.

I dug the grave myself.

The ground was hard. It took an hour. Reese and Caden stood guard while I worked. Neither of them spoke. When the hole was deep enough, I went back for the body.

I carried him myself. Lowered him into the earth. Covered him.

When it was done, I straightened and looked at the eastern tree line. The route we used to take together. The path I'd walked every morning for two years.

I turned and walked back toward the pack house.

I never went to the eastern perimeter again.

---

Two hours later, the border patrol called in.

Odin and Mara Black were at Silverfang's territorial line, requesting an audience.

I was in my office reviewing supply chain redirections when Caden brought me the report. He set it on my desk without comment.

"They're asking to speak with you directly," he said. "Odin says it's about family. The pup. The Moon Goddess's plan."

I looked up at him. "Tell them no."

"Already did." He paused. "They're not leaving."

I stood. Walked to the window. From here I could see the northern training grounds where Reese was running drills with the younger warriors. She moved like violence waiting to happen.

I pulled out my phone and called her directly.

She answered on the first ring. "Yeah?"

"Eastern border," I said. "Odin and Mara. Drive them off."

There was a pause. Then I heard the smile in her voice. "With pleasure."

She hung up.

Caden looked at me. "Should I send a warrior escort?"

"She'll want one," I said. "For the optics."

He nodded and left.

I stayed at the window and waited.

Fifteen minutes later, my phone buzzed with a text from the border patrol captain: *Gamma inbound. Full shift.*

I smiled slightly.

Reese didn't do anything halfway.

---

The report came through an hour later.

Reese had arrived at the border in full wolf form — a massive silver-gray beast with Silverfang's signature ice-blue eyes. She'd brought six warriors with her, all shifted, all battle-ready.

Odin had tried to speak. To reason. To invoke pack protocol and the bond between families.

Reese had charged.

Not to kill. To drive. She'd crossed the boundary line at a dead run with the warriors flanking her, and Odin and Mara had broken. They'd fled back into neutral territory at a sprint, stumbling over roots and rocks, Mara's dress tearing on branches.

The patrol captain's report was clinical and precise. But I could read between the lines.

Odin Black — patriarch of the Ironclad Pack, the man who'd tried to negotiate away my dignity in an alcove four days ago — had run from my sister like prey.

I forwarded the report to my Beta with a single instruction: *Sever all remaining diplomatic channels with Ironclad. Effective immediately.*

Done.

---

That night, I got word from one of my informants inside Ironclad territory.

The financial collapse was accelerating faster than I'd projected.

Silverfang's supply agreements had been the backbone of Ironclad's infrastructure. Without them, the pack was hemorrhaging resources. Trade caravans had rerouted to other territories. Patrol salaries were two weeks overdue. The construction projects Dante had started with my funding sat half-finished and abandoned.

He'd reached out to his old rogue network — the wolves who'd helped him build Ironclad before I legitimized it. But without Silverfang's money as collateral, they weren't interested in charity. The quotes they sent back were triple the normal rates.

Ironclad couldn't pay.

My informant included audio from inside the Black pack house. Odin and Dante, arguing behind closed doors. Voices rising. Furniture scraping.

Odin: *"You told me she'd accept it. You said she was devoted."*

Dante: *"She was supposed to be. The bond—"*

Odin: *"The bond is gone! You rejected mate pulled a She-Alpha in front of the entire region and now we're—"*

A crash. Something breaking.

Dante: *"I can fix this. The rogues—"*

Odin: *"The rogues want money we don't have! Everything we built was hers. All of it. And you threw it away for—"*

The audio cut off.

I listened to it twice. Then I deleted it.

I didn't need to keep it. The collapse was already in motion.

My informant's final note was brief: *Rosie was standing in the nursery doorway during the argument. Holding the pup. Didn't look scared. Looked like she was calculating something.*

I closed the file.

Let her calculate. It wouldn't matter.

The Ironclad Pack had seven days left.