Chapter Ninety-Nine – Shadows of the Past
Rowan sat behind his desk, the polished wood cluttered with reports, patrol schedules, and hand-drawn maps marked in red ink. The weight of the last two days clung to him like a second skin. Giselle stood near the window, her arms folded over her chest as she leaned her shoulder gently against the frame. She’d insisted on getting up the moment she could walk without wobbling—and he hadn’t had the heart to stop her.
“You shouldn’t be on your feet yet,” he said, not for the first time.
“I’ve been lying down for two days, Rowan.” She glanced over her shoulder at him, her lips lifting faintly. “My leg’s healing. The worst of the poison is out. And I’m restless.”
He huffed, not quite hiding the relief in his expression. “You could at least sit.”
“I will when Beta Kalen gets here.”
They both went quiet for a moment, the tension between them unspoken but understood. Rowan tapped a finger absently on the arm of his chair, eyes drifting to the sealed envelope Kalen had dropped off that morning. It still sat unopened, the official report within waiting for confirmation.
“Elia didn’t even know,” Giselle said softly, breaking the silence.
Rowan looked up. “About Elder Malric?”
She nodded, stepping away from the window and lowering herself carefully into one of the chairs opposite his desk. “She didn’t act like someone protecting family. More like someone protecting a secret lover.”
“She said the rogue was her mate,” Rowan said, tone heavy with disdain. “That she never wanted the Luna title. That Rhea and the Bonecaster blackmailed her.”
Giselle looked thoughtful. “You believe her?”
“I believe parts of her,” he replied. “But there are too many threads here. Too many moving pieces. Malric might not have plotted this whole thing, but he still pushed Elia forward for selfish reasons.”
Giselle’s gaze sharpened. “Then he’s still guilty of trying to manipulate the Luna Trials.”
Before Rowan could respond, a knock echoed from the office door. Kalen entered a moment later, his cloak damp from morning fog, boots tracking in small prints across the floor.
Rowan sat up straighter. “What do you have?”
Kalen didn’t answer right away. Instead, he offered a brief bow to Giselle before handing Rowan a folded letter. “It checks out. Elder Malric was telling the truth—at least about the affair and the boy.”
Rowan’s eyes flashed. He reached for the mindlink and growled, ‘Elder Malric. My office. Now.’
He didn’t wait for a response.
“Where is the son?” Giselle asked as Kalen stepped closer.
Kalen set a weathered folder on the desk and opened it. “His name is Merek. He was born outside pack law—registered to a human mother under a different surname. Malric paid for everything in secret through a string of shell accounts, but the paper trail held up.”
“And now?” Rowan asked.
“Merek never returned to the pack. He was raised as a rogue on the outskirts of the northern borderlands. No pack ever claimed him. But here’s the interesting part—he disappeared six years ago.”
Rowan stiffened. “Disappeared?”
Kalen nodded grimly. “Vanished without a trace. He stopped using his known aliases. Went completely dark. Until six months ago.”
He flipped a page in the file to reveal a grainy photograph—taken from a distance, but clear enough to make out the sharp jawline, the short-cropped hair, and the vicious scar running from jaw to neck.
“This was taken by one of our allied scouts during a skirmish with a rogue group near the Duskrock Hills. We couldn’t ID him until now—but that’s Merek. He’s been with the Bonecaster’s people for months, if not longer.”
The door opened again, and Elder Malric stepped inside, his robes draped properly but his eyes guarded. He scanned the room, gaze lingering on Giselle, then Rowan. “You summoned me.”
“I did,” Rowan said, rising slowly from his seat. “Because Kalen just confirmed your story about the affair. About your son. Even about Elia.”
Relief flickered in the older man’s expression, but it was short-lived.
“That doesn’t mean we believe you weren’t working with the rogues,” Rowan growled. “It just means we’ll give you the benefit of the doubt—until we learn otherwise.”
Elder Malric bristled, his mouth parting to protest.
Rowan held up a hand. “Save it. Listen.” He turned toward Kalen. “Tell him.”
Kalen stepped forward. “Your son is alive, Elder Malric. He’s with the rogues. And if the reports are right... he’s not just working with the Bonecaster. He’s leading half her forces.”
The color drained from Malric’s face. “No,” he whispered. “No, Merek wouldn’t—”
Rowan’s voice was cold. “He already has.” Rowan shoves the picture of Merek and the Bonecaster’s people in Malric’s face, showing him the proof of his words.
Malric dropped into a chair, the weight of betrayal settling across his shoulders like lead. Rowan didn’t offer comfort. There was no time for it.
War was on their doorstep. And this time, it was blood that had opened the door.
The silence that followed Kalen’s revelation was thick enough to choke on.
Elder Malric sat slumped in the chair like a man aging by the second. His usually rigid posture sagged, and his fingers twitched slightly where they rested on the carved armrests. The fire crackled in the hearth, but it did little to warm the chill that had settled in the room.
Malric finally looked up, his voice hoarse. “Are you going to kill him?”
Rowan didn’t respond right away.
The question hung there between them, jagged and raw.
He didn’t need to say the answer aloud. It was in the hard set of his jaw. The slow exhale through his nose. The silent, unyielding weight of a pack Alpha whose mate had nearly died because of the man in question.
And yet, Rowan saw the pain flicker in Malric’s eyes as clearly as he would in any grieving father’s. Whatever sins the man had committed in secret, it was evident that the bond of blood hadn’t been erased from his heart.
Malric swallowed hard. “He’s my son, Rowan. But he’s a stranger to me.” His voice cracked. “If he’s gone this far—if he’s chosen this path...”
Rowan folded his arms. “Then he’s already made his decision.”
Malric nodded slowly, his expression hollow. “Then what do you need from me?”
Rowan’s brows drew together, gaze narrowing. “What are you asking me, Malric?”
“To help,” the elder replied, quieter now. “To make up for what I didn’t know. For what I should have stopped before it began. If I can be of any use to this pack, I want to be.”
Rowan’s jaw tightened, but Giselle gently placed a hand on his wrist. The gesture anchored him, though the distrust still burned beneath his skin.
“I don’t know if I can trust you not to betray us again,” Rowan said flatly, meeting the older wolf’s eyes without flinching. “I don’t know if your loyalty is to the pack or just to your own blood.”
Malric flinched, but nodded as if he expected no less.
“I understand.” His voice was nearly a whisper. “But I’ll still be here. Use me or don’t... but I’ll do whatever I can to protect this pack. Even if it means watching my son fall.”
For a long moment, Rowan said nothing.
Then he turned away, moving to the window, staring out at the treeline that had hidden so many secrets. “Then start by proving it.”
He didn’t elaborate.
He didn’t have to.
Malric rose without another word and left the room, leaving the door open behind him.
Only once his footsteps faded did Rowan glance back at Kalen and Giselle.
“Keep eyes on him,” Rowan muttered. “At all times.”
Kalen nodded sharply and left without another word, leaving Rowan alone with his mate once more.
But even with her nearby, the silence felt heavier than before.
Because this war wasn’t just about rogues anymore.
It was about family—and how far some were willing to go to protect or destroy it.
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