The dead raven lay sprawled across my pillow like a grotesque offering, its black feathers matted with dried blood. My hands trembled as I picked up the note tucked beneath its broken wing, the paper crisp between my fingers.

"Some creatures don't deserve to fly."

The words were written in elegant script, each letter perfectly formed. My wolf began pacing beneath my skin, a restless energy that had me checking the shadows of my room twice before I could even process what I was seeing. The metallic scent of death clung to everything—my bedsheets, my pillow, the very air I breathed.

Aliana.

I didn't need proof to know she'd done this. The theatrical cruelty, the symbolic message—it reeked of her particular brand of psychological warfare. But knowing and proving were two different things, and I'd learned enough about pack politics to understand the difference mattered.

I wrapped the raven in a towel, careful not to disturb the scene too much, and carried it straight to Demetrius's office. My wolf whined with each step, sensing danger in every shadow. The hallways felt longer than usual, the familiar pack house suddenly foreign and threatening.

Demetrius looked up from his paperwork when I knocked, his expression shifting from mild irritation to concern when he saw what I carried.

"What is that?" he asked, rising from his chair.

I unwrapped the towel, placing the raven and note on his desk. "I found this on my pillow. Along with this." I handed him the note, watching his face carefully as he read.

His jaw tightened, but not in the way I'd expected. Not with the fury of a mate whose beloved had been threatened. Instead, he looked... frustrated. Like I'd brought him an inconvenience rather than evidence of a direct threat.

"Rebecca," he said slowly, setting the note aside. "This could be from anyone. You know how many rogues pass through our territory. It might not even be meant as a threat."

My wolf snarled, and I felt my control slip just slightly. "A dead raven on my pillow with a note about creatures not deserving to fly? How is that not a threat?"

"You've been under a lot of stress lately," Demetrius continued, his voice taking on that patronizing tone I'd begun to hate. "Sometimes when we're anxious, we see threats everywhere. Even where they don't exist."

The dismissal hit me like a physical blow. Three years of supporting him, of standing by his side through every challenge, and this was how he responded when I came to him for protection? When I needed him to be my Alpha, my mate?

"So you think I'm imagining this?" My voice came out steadier than I felt.

"I think you're letting Aliana's return affect you more than it should." He moved around the desk, reaching for my shoulders, but I stepped back. "She's pack, Rebecca. She has every right to be here."

"And I have every right to feel safe in my own bed."

Something flickered in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or recognition of how his words sounded. But it was gone too quickly, replaced by that same careful neutrality he'd worn since Aliana's return.

"I'll have Beta Marcus increase patrols around the pack house," he said finally. "But I won't start a witch hunt based on a dead bird and an anonymous note."

A witch hunt. As if seeking justice for a clear threat was somehow unreasonable. As if my safety was less important than maintaining pack harmony.

I wrapped the raven back up, my movements sharp with suppressed anger. "Fine. But when something else happens—and we both know it will—remember this conversation."

I left his office with the dead raven still in my hands, his dismissal echoing in my ears. The pack house felt different as I walked through it, every shadow a potential hiding place, every corner a possible ambush point. My wolf paced restlessly, sensing the change in our territory's dynamic.

That night, sleep eluded me completely. Every creak of the house, every whisper of wind against the windows, had me sitting up in bed with my heart racing. I'd moved to the guest room down the hall, unable to face my own bed where the raven had been waiting.

But it wasn't just the threat keeping me awake. It was the realization that when I'd needed my mate most, when I'd come to him seeking protection and validation, he'd chosen to doubt me instead. He'd chosen to protect Aliana's reputation over my safety.

And somewhere in the darkness of the pack house, I knew she was planning her next move.

The emergency alarm pierced through the morning air like a blade, jolting me from the restless sleep I'd finally managed to find. My wolf shot to attention, every instinct screaming that something was wrong. The howl that followed—raw, desperate, filled with pain—made my blood freeze.

Bo.

I was running before I'd even fully processed the sound, my bare feet slapping against the cold pack house floors as I raced toward the source of the commotion. Other pack members were emerging from their rooms, faces etched with concern, but I pushed past them all. That howl had been my brother's—I'd know his voice anywhere, in any form.

The scene that greeted me at the territory's eastern border was chaos. Bo lay crumpled against the base of an old oak tree, his clothes torn and bloodied, three deep gashes across his chest that were bleeding far too much. His breathing came in shallow, rattling gasps that made my heart clench with terror.

"Bo!" I dropped to my knees beside him, my hands hovering over his wounds, afraid to touch and cause more damage. "What happened? Who did this?"

His eyes found mine, glazed with pain but still holding that familiar spark of protectiveness. "Rogues," he whispered, each word a struggle. "They... they knew exactly where to find me. Knew the patrol routes."

The implications of his words hit me like a physical blow, but I pushed the thought aside. Right now, all that mattered was getting him help.

"Where's the healer?" I shouted to the gathered crowd. "Someone get Dr. Matthews now!"

Aliana appeared at the edge of the clearing, her hair perfectly styled despite the early hour, her clothes pristine except for a few strategic tears that looked more decorative than functional. "I saw it happen," she announced breathlessly, one hand pressed to her chest in a gesture of distress. "I was out for my morning run when I heard the fighting. I tried to help, but there were so many of them."

Something cold settled in my stomach at her words, but Bo's labored breathing demanded my attention. Blood was seeping through my fingers as I tried to apply pressure to his wounds, his skin growing paler by the second.

Dr. Matthews finally arrived, his medical bag in hand, and I felt a surge of relief. "Thank the Moon Goddess," I breathed. "He's lost so much blood, but if we can stop the bleeding—"

That's when Aliana collapsed.

She crumpled to the ground with a theatrical gasp, her hands clutching her stomach as she writhed in apparent agony. "My wolf," she screamed, her voice carrying across the entire clearing. "Something's wrong with my wolf! I think... I think the rogues injured her when I tried to fight them off. She's dying!"

The sound was piercing, desperate, designed to draw every eye and every ounce of sympathy. And it worked. Demetrius, who had just arrived on the scene, immediately rushed to her side.

"Dr. Matthews," he commanded, his Alpha voice cutting through the morning air. "Treat Aliana first. Her wolf is in critical condition."

"No!" The word tore from my throat with such force that several pack members stepped back. "Bo is dying! Look at him—he's bleeding out!"

But Demetrius wasn't looking at my brother. His attention was entirely focused on Aliana, who was now sobbing prettily into his chest, her performance flawless in its timing and execution.

"Alpha's orders," Dr. Matthews said quietly, his eyes filled with apology as he moved toward Aliana. "I'm sorry, Rebecca."

I watched in horror as the only person who could save my brother knelt beside the woman who had orchestrated his attack. Aliana's sobs grew louder, more dramatic, as she described the "internal injuries" her wolf had sustained. Meanwhile, Bo's breathing grew shallower, his grip on my hand weakening with each passing second.

"Please," I whispered to Demetrius, my pride crumbling as desperation took hold. "Please, he's my brother. He's dying."

But Demetrius didn't even glance in my direction. His hands were stroking Aliana's hair, his voice soft with concern as he murmured reassurances about her wolf's recovery.

Bo's fingers squeezed mine one last time, drawing my attention back to him. His eyes were clearer now, as if the approaching end had brought him a moment of clarity.

"Don't let them break you, sister," he whispered, his voice barely audible above Aliana's continued performance. "You're stronger than they know."

Those were the last words my brother ever spoke.

I felt the exact moment his spirit left his body, felt the mate bond we'd shared as siblings snap like a severed rope. The sound that came from my throat wasn't human—it was pure anguish, pure loss, the howl of a wolf who had just lost everything that mattered.

The clearing fell silent except for my grief, even Aliana's sobs quieting as my broken howl echoed through the territory. My wolf had gone completely silent, retreating so deep into our shared consciousness that I wondered if she would ever emerge again.

When I finally looked up, Dr. Matthews was still tending to Aliana's nonexistent injuries while my brother's body grew cold in my arms. Demetrius was watching me now, something like regret flickering in his eyes, but it was too late.

It was far too late.