Page 48 of Alpha Unbound

When I sit up, Hudson stirs behind me. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I murmur. "Just thinking."

He props himself up on one elbow, eyes still hazy with sleep but focused on me like I’m the only thing that exists. “That’s dangerous this early.”

I smirk. "Only if you’re not smart enough to keep up."

He grabs my wrist and pulls me back down into the sheets. “Try me."

We’re kissing again before I remember we have a damn war to prepare for. For a second, I lose myself in it—the heat, the press of his chest, the way he groans low in his throat like he needs this more than air. The kiss feels different now—sharper, more urgent. Like we're trying to memorize each other before everything changes again.

But before it can go deeper, there’s a knock at the door—sharp, deliberate. We both freeze. Hudson pulls back first, brows already furrowed.

"Yeah?" he calls, voice rough.

A voice muffled through the wood: "It’s Eddie. We’ve got the information you wanted before you talked to the pack."

Hudson glances at me, the connection still electric between us, but I nod.

Duty doesn’t wait. Not anymore.

Hudson calls the pack together in the great hall. They fill the place wall-to-wall, every inch of space charged with bristling energy. Murmurs ripple across the room, low and restless. Feet shuffle. Breathing is tight and uneven. It’s the kind of charged silence that crackles right before a storm. The heavy scent of tension hangs in the air—sweat, pine, and raw nerves. Some wolves stand with arms crossed, jaws tight, suspicion etched into every line of their bodies. Some squirm restlessly, as if bracing for the sky to fall, while others display something akin to relief—perhaps grateful the truth has finally been revealed.

There are whispers, low and uncertain, threading through the pack like smoke—thin and insistent. When familiar names are mentioned, a few growls erupt, and each nod and murmured comment increases the tension. A name he recognizes causes a young wolf to my left to flinch, and a sharp, electric ripple moves through the crowd.

The unspoken question hangs between us all like a blade: what happens next? And who will survive it?

Hudson takes center stage, shoulders squared, eyes burning like he’s already dared the enemy to try him. His voice carries, steady and fierce, threading through the crowd like a current. Heads turn. Conversations still. Even the skeptics shut up long enough to listen.

“There’s a threat to our land,” he says. “To our people. It’s not just about territory—it’s about control. About outsiders deciding what happens here. That ends today.”

He lays it out clean—Sable Rock’s play, the corrupted land claims, and what’s coming next. He shows them documents, maps, names—evidence that the syndicate isn’t just circling, they’ve already sunk claws in. Properties flipped through shell companies. Families manipulated into debt they didn’t owe. And worse—rumors that certain wolves may have taken bribes to look the other way. Gasps ripple through the room. A low snarl rises from the back. It’s not just about land anymore—it’s about betrayal from within.

“And while we’re locking things down, no one walks alone. Pairs only. Extra guards on the borders. We protect each other. No exceptions.”

A few grumble under their breath, the indistinct murmur of dissent threading through the back of the hall. One or two older wolves exchange pointed looks, their expressions caught between doubt and deference. But no one steps forward. No one dares challenge him. Not with Hudson like this—shoulders squared, every word lined with command. He doesn’t just wear the title of Alpha. HeisAlpha, in every line of his body, every beat of silence that follows him.

I stand off to the side, arms crossed, heart racing. The energy rolling off Hudson hits me like heat from a forge—focused, searing, unshakable. I don’t just see the power in him—I feel it vibrating in my bones, anchoring me even as it stokes something fierce in my chest. A spark of defiance. Of purpose. I may not carry the Rawlings’ name, but this fight is mine, too. And I know exactly what I need to do.

I slip out the front door before the meeting ends, pulling out my phone and beginning to pace the length of the front porch. My fingers flex once at my sides before I start dialing, steadying my breath. Every call I make from here matters. Every name I reach out to could change the odds in our favor. There are people in this town who aren’t Rawlings, who aren’t McKinley—butwho owe both families more than they’ll ever admit. People who remember the way it was before the bloodlines started drawing lines in the dirt.

I start calling them—neutral shifters who’ve lived in the Hollow for years without ever swearing to a single Alpha. Independents who run farms on the outskirts, who trade with both packs but belong to neither. A few humans, old-timers with long memories and longer grudges, who remember when the McKinleys and Rawlings stood side by side instead of across a line in the dirt.

Most don’t ask questions. They just listen. And when I tell them what’s coming, what we’re up against, they say the same thing: just tell us when.

I get Elena involved, and she doesn’t hesitate.

“You want a rebellion?” she asks. “Because I’m here for it.”

“I want a coalition,” I say. “Something smarter than brute force. If they’re coming after our land with laws and money, we need more than just fangs and claws. We need records. Witnesses. Public eyes.”

“I’ll make calls,” she says. “And Kate? You’re doing good. Don’t forget that.”

I don’t answer. I just stare at the screen for a beat, heart thudding like a warning drum in my chest. That lump in my throat doesn’t go away—it thickens, sharp with memory and weight. I blink hard, then press the next number with fingers that don’t shake, not anymore. I keep dialing, voice steady, determination settling in my bones like steel.

By mid-day, we have a network forming. People willing to stand up. Speak out. Dig up the kind of dirt that sticks—filthy truths that cling to reputations and rot legacies from the inside out.

Elena starts sorting through old civic records, while one of the McKinley cousins with a photographic memory recallsnames that haven’t come up in years. They retrieve zoning maps from the library’s basement archives—maps annotated before the county lines were redrawn. Every call brings another piece of the puzzle. Every conversation cracks open another secret.

---