Vane’s POV
The scent of blood and pine filled my lungs as I drove my knee into the rogue’s chest, the crunch of his ribs echoing through the dense forest. My pack moved like shadows around me, a silent, deadly unit. This was our territory, and these mangy wolves thought they could poach here, hunt our game, and threaten our people. They were wrong.
"Vane," my Beta, Ronan, growled from my left, his wolf a blur of grey fur as he took down another of the intruders. "This is the third pack this month. They're getting bolder."
"They're getting desperate," I corrected, my voice a low rumble. I shifted my weight, my claws extending, ripping through the rogue's throat in a final, decisive spray. I didn't enjoy the killing, but I didn't shy away from it either. It was necessary. It was my duty. I was Alpha Vane Crowne of the Ashen Vale Pack, and protecting them was the only thing that had ever mattered.
After the last rogue fell, the forest returned to an eerie silence. I shifted back, the familiar ache of the transformation settling into my bones as I pulled on the spare clothes I kept tied to a tree. My pack members did the same, their expressions grim but satisfied. We had defended our lands. Again.
The drive back to our compound was tense. The Ashen Vale territory was vast, a sprawling expanse of ancient forest and mountains, but the modern world was pressing in on all sides. Our main source of income, a series of lucrative lumber mills and a small but successful tech startup focusing on sustainable energy, was being threatened. Not by force, but by spreadsheets and hostile takeovers. It was a war I didn't know how to fight.
My father, Marcus Crowne, was waiting for me in his office. The room smelled of old leather, whiskey, and the faint, sharp scent of his fading power. He was a good Alpha, a great leader in his time, but his time was passing. His hair was grayer than black now, and the lines on his face were carved with years of worry.
"Report," he said, his voice still strong enough to command respect.
"Taken care of," I said, sinking into the chair opposite his heavy oak desk. "Seven rogues. None survived."
He nodded slowly, his gaze distant. "Good. But Vane, this can't be the only way. We can't fight off the world with claws and teeth forever. The board meeting with Sterling Corp is tomorrow. They're trying to buy us out. Again."
I felt a familiar frustration coil in my gut. Sterling Corp was a front for the Ravencrest Coven, a coven of witches with a talent for hostile corporate acquisitions. They wanted our land, our resources, our very essence. And I was losing. I sat in those boardrooms and felt like a child, their legal jargon and financial maneuvers a foreign language I couldn't begin to speak.
"I'll handle it," I said, the words tasting like ash.
My father studied me, his eyes softening with a pity that was worse than any anger. "No, son. You won't." He leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk. "I'm retiring."
I stared at him. "What? From the pack? You can't. The elders-"
"Not from the pack," he interrupted, his voice firm. "From the company. From Crowne Industries. You're taking over. All of it. The pack, the businesses, the future. It's time."
The weight of his words crashed down on me. I was born to lead the pack, to run through these forests and protect my people. I was not born to sit in a glass tower and argue about quarterly earnings. I was a warrior, not a CEO.
"I can't," I said, the admission feeling like a failure. "You know I can't. The Ravencrest Coven is bleeding us dry in those meetings. I don't have the… finesse."
"You will learn," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And you will start by attending the Global Apex Summit next week."
I felt my blood run cold. The Global Apex Summit. A week-long conference in the city where the most powerful and influential figures from every race and industry gathered. It was a den of vipers, a place of smiles and daggers. The last place I wanted to be.
I stared at my father, the man who had always been my rock, my guide. "Absolutely not.”