Page 50 of Alpha Unbound

I give a silent nod, and we fan out—low, fast, each movement measured and deliberate. The crunch of frost-crusted leaves underfoot is minimal, muffled by the layer of wet mulch and moss. We glide over the terrain like seasoned predators, our formation spreading in a loose arc as we sweep the clearing. Kate’s footsteps are nearly soundless beside me, her focus laser-sharp. Heath’s massive form blends into the brush like he belongs to it. Bo slips ahead, nimble and alert. We’re not just moving—we’re hunting. The air feels taut, wired with the promise of violence or revelation, and every instinct in me is on edge.

Eddie lags back, eyes on his tablet, while Heath and Bo flank either side with weapons at the ready, every sense tuned for ambush. Kate stays tight to my six, her body language alert and fluid, like she was born to track danger.

The scent trail is old, but it seems suspicious. Someone deliberately scoured some parts, making them too sterile and chemically sharp. Something, or someone, has muddied other parts of the trail with masking agents that sting the nose. This isn’t just concealment. It’s erasure. Someone went to lengths not to vanish, but to obliterate every trace they were ever here.

Which means we’re exactly where we need to be. Not just physically—in this clearing with the cache beneath our boots—but in the heart of something bigger. A war that’s been simmering under the surface, inching toward ignition. Every masked trail and scrubbed scent is a challenge. A warning. Or a dare.

We uncover the cache nestled beneath a dense blanket of leaf litter, cracked limbs, and the suffocating silence of long abandonment. The ground above it looks natural, untouched—almost too perfect in its chaos. It takes a trained eye to spot the deliberate deception: the unnatural smoothness of the mound, the faint impression of something once disturbed and expertly concealed. My fingers brush the top layer aside, revealing the first glint of camo netting buried beneath the rot. The further we dig, the more obvious it becomes—someone wanted this hidden, not forgotten.

It’s well-hidden—too well for amateurs. Plastic crates rest beneath a false floor of packed dirt and expertly woven camo netting, the fabric rough under my fingertips, gritty with embedded dust. As I lean closer, the faint tang of rust and mold wafts up—metal gone sour from long exposure, canvas that once breathed sweat and tension. Grease, solvent, and faint traces of pine resin layer, the smell, like a graveyard of preparation, soaked into every thread and surface. It’s intimate in a way that makes my skin crawl, like I’m touching the echo of someone else’s survival plan., the whole setup is nearly invisible to the casual eye.

When we peel it back and crack one open, I hear Kate’s breath catch and feel her body stiffen beside mine, her shoulder brushing mine like a live wire. It’s the physical manifestation of the data we uncovered.

Rifles. Ammo. Medical kits. Unmarked phones. Satellite equipment. The scent inside the crate hits like a punch—hot oil laced with ozone, the tang of cold metal, and something chemical-sharp, like solvent soaked into aged canvas. It catches in the back of my throat, foul and metallic, sending a jolt of adrenaline through my system. Each crate breathes the ghost of preparation—sweat, fear, and purpose etched into every surface.

The metal casings are slick with fine dust and old sweat, a grim echo of whoever packed them. Military grade, untraceable. Not the kind of gear that shows up by accident. Not for backwoods moonshiners.

“What the hell were they planning out here?” Kate whispers.

Eddie sifts through a secondary crate, muttering under his breath as his gloved hands brush aside foam packing and layers of old camo netting. "More encrypted comms gear," he says, pulling out a wrapped bundle. "Looks like redundant systems. Whoever set this up expected to be here awhile—and stay off-grid."

He digs deeper; the crate creaking faintly under his weight, then exhales sharply. "Solar charging banks. Emergency water filtration. A rolled schematic—part of a map, maybe. This wasn't a drop site. This was a base of operations. Temporary, mobile, but planned."

I take a step back, breathing deep, letting the forest fill my lungs.

That's when the scent finds me—not the sharp bite of gun oil or the acrid tang of old fuel, but something subtler. Feral. Familiar. Like a whisper from the past catching on the back of my throat.

It halts me cold, a jolt of memory dragging claws down my spine.

I can feel it even before I see him—wrongness slinking through the bushes like smoke under the door. The rest of the team’s cataloging weapons and supplies, but one wolf is just… standing. Too still. Too relaxed. Eyes scanning, not observing.

Karl.

He is one of Eddard’s hangers on. A loyalist, devious and quietly vocal. But always present. Always watching.

I move toward him, casual on the outside, heat building.

“You find anything?” I ask, jerking my chin toward the crates.

He doesn’t flinch. “Nothing more than might be expected. I was surprised when they told me you wanted me here. I think this kind of work is beneath me.”

I nod, folding my arms. “I don’t doubt that, but then there’s very little I think is beneath you. Maybe you can explain how Sable Rock always seemed to know when we were coming. Or how they got their hands on encrypted land registry data only three people had access to—including you as the elder in charge of technology oversight.”

A beat. His lips twitch. Not in surprise… in calculation.

“You’re making a mistake, Alpha,” he says, calm as an undertaker. “Accusing an elder—a member of your own pack—without proof.”

“I don’t need proof,” I growl, stepping closer, “I need instinct. And mine is screaming.”

“You’re paranoid.”

I smile—cold—and shake my head. “No, but I am done being merciful.”

Before he can bolt, I lunge, pinning him to a tree by the throat. He snarls, his wolf flashing in his eyes. His may be older, but mine is meaner and stronger.

“Was it you?” I hiss. “Did you give them our positions? Were you the one who told them where Luke was last seen?”

He spits blood and something uglier. “That idiot brought it on himself. He was snooping where he didn’t belong.”

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