The Alpha Who Forgot Her Husband's Face

Wrenna Voss's POV

Three months after Sela dragged me out of the river gorge, the Silvermoon war room smelled of bitter tobacco and wet iron.

"We hold the northern ridge." Maric slammed his massive fist onto the edge of the sand table, rattling the wooden blocks. "We fortify the perimeter. If we push out, we stretch our lines too thin."

I leaned against the heavy oak doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest. "If you hold the ridge, Maric, you bleed this pack dry in a week."

Maric spun around. He was the senior border commander, twice my size, a jagged scar splitting his left eyebrow. He glared at me.

"You have been here twelve weeks, amnesiac," Maric spat. "You do not know the terrain. You do not know these rogues."

I pushed off the doorframe and walked straight to the table. I did not care who I was before. I refused to ask Sela about the Luna mark on my neck. I only cared about proving I belonged in this room right now.

"I know a siege when I see one," I said, grabbing the cluster of blue wooden blocks Maric had positioned at the top of the sand ridge. "They attack in waves every night. They are not trying to breach your walls. They are trying to exhaust your night patrols."

"They want the high ground," Maric argued, stepping into my space. "If we surrender the elevation, they rain hell down on the main compound."

"Let them take the high ground," I said.

I swept the blue blocks backward, clearing the ridge completely.

"Are you insane?" Maric demanded, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

"Watch the board," I ordered, dropping a handful of red enemy flags into the newly emptied space. "You give them the ridge. The moment they set up camp, they need food. They need weapons. Their supply line has to cross the narrow gorge at Viper's Pass."

I grabbed a single black block and slammed it down on the carved sand gorge.

"You send a strike team to choke the pass," I said, looking up to meet Maric's furious gaze. "You cut off their rations. You starve them out in three days. When they get desperate and try to retreat, you crush them in the bottleneck."

Jaxon, the Beta, leaned over the table. He stared at the arrangement, his brow furrowing. "It is a massive risk. If they break through the pass, they flank us."

"They won't break through," I insisted. "They are impatient."

Jaxon reached into his coat pocket and tossed a blood-stained object onto the sand. "Scouts pulled this off a dead rogue at the border this morning."

I stared at the item.

A thick, braided red leather cord.

My stomach dropped. The war room faded for a fraction of a second. The smell of bitter tobacco vanished, replaced by the heavy scent of freezing rain and wet fur.

Thirty thousand gold coins.

The voice ripped through my skull, sharp and cruel, belonging to a massive gray wolf. I saw a flash of crimson silk. An umbrella spinning in the storm.

I blinked hard, digging my fingernails into my palms to force the memory away. I did not know the context, but the red cord meant death.

"They wear these tied tight around their throats," Jaxon said, oblivious to my reaction.

"They are not normal rogues," I said, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "They are organized. Mercenaries."

Maric scoffed, crossing his thick arms. "All the more reason to keep our walls manned. We do not abandon our defenses for a mercenary trap."

Cassian stepped out of the shadows.

He had not spoken a single word for twenty minutes. He wore a dark wool coat, his broad shoulders filling the space as he approached the table. The Alpha of Silvermoon looked at the red flags on the ridge, then shifted his cold steel eyes to me.

"We execute Wrenna's plan," Cassian ordered.

Maric stiffened. "Alpha. She wants to abandon our primary defense line."

"She wants to win," Cassian corrected. His tone left absolutely no room for debate. "Assemble the strike team, Maric. Choke the pass."

Maric ground his teeth together. "Yes, Alpha."

Fourteen hours later, the war room remained suffocatingly quiet.

I paced the length of the floorboards, my boots avoiding the creaking planks. The oil lamps flickered, casting long shadows across the sand table. If the mercenaries broke the bottleneck, Silvermoon would lose its entire northern flank. And it would be my fault.

The heavy oak doors burst open.

Mud-spattered scouts marched in, their faces smeared with dirt and sweat. Maric followed them. His leather armor was severely dented, coated in thick black blood.

Cassian stood at the head of the table, his expression unreadable. "Report."

Maric stopped at the edge of the sand table. He looked down at the wooden blocks, then up at me. His jaw worked, tightening and releasing twice before he spoke.

"The pass was a bottleneck, exactly as she predicted," Maric announced, his rough voice carrying across the silent room. "They starved. When they tried to retreat down the gorge, we crushed their vanguard. We took zero casualties."

A heavy sigh of relief escaped Jaxon's lips.

Maric stepped around the table, stopping directly in front of me. He did not glare. The hostility in his eyes had completely vanished.

The massive commander dropped to one knee, bowing his head.

"Strategist," Maric said.

A low murmur of approval rippled through the gathered scouts. Jaxon nodded at me, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The validation rushed through my veins, hot and undeniable. I did not need a past. I had built a future right here on this sand table.

"Dismissed," Cassian said.

The commanders and scouts filed out quickly, their heavy footsteps fading down the corridor. The door clicked shut, sealing Cassian and me inside the dim room.

I reached over the table, gathering the red flags from the sand, my hands still buzzing with the adrenaline of the victory.

Cassian walked around the edge of the board. He stopped inches from me. The heat radiating from his chest cut through the drafty air of the war room.

I looked up, dropping the wooden flags back onto the table.

He raised his hand. His rough fingertips brushed the side of my neck, tracing the edge of the thick linen bandage I still wore.

I stiffened, but I did not pull away.

"You earned your place today," Cassian said, his voice dropping to a low, resonant rumble.

He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his intense gaze.

"That scar," Cassian murmured, his thumb grazing the ruined flesh beneath the linen. "It is time it healed."