After My Mate Kidnapped My Sister, I Destroyed His Pack

Rosie came to Dante three nights after the ultimatum burned.

I knew because my informant inside Ironclad sent me the audio. Her voice was soft. Careful. The tone she used when she wanted something.

*"They're ignoring you,"* she said. *"Sloan thinks you won't act. She thinks you're all talk."*

A pause. Furniture creaking. Dante's breathing.

*"The pup is four months old,"* Rosie continued. *"I'm still living in the pack house like a guest. Not a Luna. Not even a recognized mate. The pack members look through me now. They used to defer. Now they whisper."*

Another pause. Longer.

*"You need to make her submit,"* Rosie said. *"Not through councils or letters. Through pain. Find her weakness and break it."*

Dante's voice when he finally spoke was low. Thoughtful. *"Reese."*

*"The sister,"* Rosie agreed. *"Sloan's only unguarded place."*

The audio ended there.

I listened to it twice in my office with the door locked. Then I deleted it and sat very still.

My wolf stirred. *He'll move soon.*

*I know,* I thought back.

*We should tell Reese.*

*No.*

My wolf snarled softly. *Why?*

Because if I told Reese that Dante was targeting her, she would do something reckless. She would confront him directly or bait him into a public challenge. She would try to protect me by making herself the loudest target possible.

And I needed Dante to think he was hunting.

I needed him to commit.

So I said nothing.

---

The surveillance started two days later.

Caden brought me the border patrol reports at dawn. Three separate sightings of rogue wolves along Silverfang's eastern boundary. Not crossing. Just watching. They'd been careful — staying in unclaimed territory, moving in pairs, never close enough to constitute a territorial violation.

But they were mapping something.

I spread the reports across my desk. Traced the sightings with my finger. They clustered along the routes Reese ran during her solo patrols.

"She doesn't know," Caden said quietly.

"No."

"Should I—"

"No," I said again. "Don't change her patrol schedule. Don't add visible escorts. I want them to think they have an opening."

Caden looked at me for a long moment. His expression was unreadable.

"You're using her as bait," he said.

I met his eyes. "I'm using her GPS tracker. There's a difference."

He didn't argue. He understood the distinction. Reese had always refused additional security on her solo runs — she said it made her look weak, like she needed protection. So six months ago, I'd embedded a GPS chip in the lining of her patrol vest. Military-grade. Satellite-linked. She didn't know about it.

I'd told myself it was insurance. A precaution.

Now it was a weapon.

"How many warriors do you want on standby?" Caden asked.

"Twelve," I said. "Your best. Full combat gear. Silver rounds. I want them positioned within a five-mile radius of her patrol route at all times. If the GPS signal stops moving for more than three minutes, they go in."

"Understood." He paused. "And if Dante's there?"

"Then we end this," I said.

Caden nodded once and left.

I stayed at my desk and pulled up the GPS tracking software on my laptop. The small green dot that represented Reese's location blinked steadily on the screen. She was running the northern perimeter. Moving fast.

I watched the dot for a long time.

---

That evening, I went down to the archives.

The pack house had a records room in the basement — temperature-controlled, fireproof, locked behind three separate security doors. It held centuries of Silverfang documentation. Treaties. Bloodline records. Territory maps.

And my personal files.

I unlocked the vault at the back and pulled out a metal case. Inside were the original ledgers from Ironclad's rogue era. The smuggling routes. The unsanctioned kills. The illegal land seizures.

I'd kept copies in my office. But these were the originals. Signed. Dated. Witnessed.

I also pulled out a second file. This one was thinner. It contained a single document: a formal petition to the Lycan Court, pre-drafted and notarized, requesting the dissolution of a rogue-affiliated pack on grounds of ongoing criminal activity and failure to meet legitimacy standards.

I'd written it two years ago.

Just in case.

I carried both files back to my office and set them on the desk beside my laptop. The GPS dot was still moving. Reese had finished the northern perimeter and was looping back toward the pack house.

I opened a new document and began drafting the cover letter that would accompany my petition to the Lycan Court. The language had to be precise. Formal. Unemotional.

I wrote for three hours.

When I finished, I saved the document and checked the GPS again. Reese was home. The dot had stopped moving inside the pack house residential wing.

I closed the laptop.

Tomorrow, Dante would make his move. Or the day after. Soon.

And when he did, I would be ready.

I looked at the files on my desk. The ledgers. The petition. The evidence I'd been compiling for years.

All of it had been insurance once.

Now it was a countdown.

Seven days, I'd told myself when I rejected the bond.

We were on day five.

Two more days. Then Ironclad would cease to exist.

I stood and walked to the window. Outside, the moon was three nights from full. The sky was clear and cold.

Somewhere out there, Dante was planning. Coordinating with his rogues. Preparing silver chains and recording his demands.

Let him.

When he moved, I would be watching.

And when I moved, there would be nothing left.