The Lost Pack (Paige) novel Chapter 2

** Alaric’s POV **

The problem with being an Alpha in 2026 is that you can no longer pretend politics don’t exist. You can’t just patrol your borders, snap a few necks, and call it leadership. Now it’s all diplomacy and meetings, and not even the exciting ones where there’s the potential of a fight breaking out, or finding your fated mate whilst visiting another pack. Now they’re all virtual.

The sound of pups playing outside filters through to the meeting room, and I let it wash over me. It’s them I’m doing this for, to keep them safe, to give them a future that doesn’t involve fighting just to stay alive. I want them to live, not just survive.

A glowing screen of boxes filled with faces stares back at me from the tablet propped on my desk. Each square holds an Alpha or Beta from a pack that used to circle ours like sharks. Some of them still do, if I’m being honest. They’re just doing it with better manners lately.

Bastian sits beside me, shoulder to shoulder, his arms folded, and his expression hard. He may be my twin, but in some ways we are worlds apart.

On the screen there’s an Alpha with a scar down his cheek, talking, his voice crackling slightly with the connection.

“It’s not just that the hunters have gone quiet,” he said. “It’s how they’ve gone quiet. It’s as if something’s spooked them.” A low murmur runs through the call.

I lean back in my chair. “You’re suggesting they’re regrouping?”

“I’m suggesting they’re watching,” another Alpha snaps. “I think they’re waiting for an opening.”

“The opening was always us,” I say calmly. “One pack against another. The moment Phoenix, River, and Midnight stopped working against each other and started sharing territory, intel, and resources… the hunters stopped getting easy wins.”

A few of the faces shift, some looking thoughtful, some reluctant, and some pissed.

Bastian’s voice cut in. “It’s proof.”

Silence.

Then an older Alpha on the bottom row speaks, his tone curious. “Proof of what?”

Bastian’s jaw tightens. “That uniting all packs is the only way forward.”

There it is, the real point of this.

I watch the reactions. A flicker of agreement from two. Suspicion from three. A sneer from one Alpha who likes to pretend he’s not one attack away from losing his borders entirely.

I keep my tone smooth. “We’ve spent decades fighting each other because it suited the old rules. The hunters adapted. We didn’t. Phoenix, River, and Midnight just proved what happens when we stop playing by the old rules.”

“Or what happens when you let a goddess into the mix,” someone counters.

There’s a beat of tension, and Bastian’s eyes narrow. “Rumours.”

I don’t correct him, not here, not on this call. Because I’d heard them too. The Luna of Phoenix. The one who burned silver and gold and healed wolves from the inside out. I’ve never met her, but the stories had even made their way here, to Mountain Ridge, and I’ve learned that stories have a habit of becoming truths.

The meeting drags on for another half hour, filled with strategy and uneasy agreements and the subtle flares of power that came with any attempt at unity. When it finally ends, I shut the tablet off with more relief than I care to admit.

Bastian stands from his chair beside me, already pulling off his shirt. “Run?”

“Please,” I sigh, pushing away from the table. “If I have to look at one more pixelated Alpha pretending his Wi-Fi isn’t the issue, I’ll start a war out of spite.”

Bastian snorts a laugh, which is the closest thing to real laughter he ever does.

We’re halfway out of the lodge when two of our wolves, Jude and Shay, step into our path, both still in human form but oozing with the restless energy of a shift too close to the surface.

Jude is one of our best trackers, broad-shouldered, dark-eyed, always too observant for his own good. Shay is smaller, sharper, with a mouth that runs almost as fast as his wolf. Both of them looked keyed up. That’s never a good sign.

Bastian pauses. “What’s up?”

Shay doesn’t bother with a greeting. “We went into town.”

Jude shoots him a look, like, ‘I told you not to lead with that,’ then turns to me. “We heard something about the new girl at the coffee shop.”

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