Melvina watched her son murmur a greeting at his uncle and sighed. It seemed her young lad hadn’t forgiven his paternal uncle for what he had done during and after the last pack war.

  Well, she could understand why her son was finding it difficult to forgive the cunning man; she was still trying to get past his act of betrayal and cowardice even.

  Yet, her mate was so determined to involve his brother in the recent meetings.

  Wasn’t the last act of cowardice enough proof to him that the bulky man in front of them was up to no good at all?

  “Eva, get to your room; the adults have something to talk about,” she said to her five-year-old daughter, who had found her brother’s arms a more comfortable place to stay.

  “But Mom, I’m an adult already,” the little girl pouted, deep black long hair falling across her shoulders.

  “And why do you say so?” Arnold asked, finding it funny that his niece was already claiming to be an adult. Did she know what she was wishing for?

  “Because Derek said so…” she replied, snuggling further into her big brother’s embrace. Her hero.

  “Oh…I see…” Arnold said, amused, glancing at his nephew, who looked at him like he had grown two heads.

  He knew that he wasn’t his nephew’s favorite person since the last war—but then, who cares. He’d had to do what was necessary to survive, no matter whose ass was gored.

  “Seems we’ll be heading to the sitting room then,” Peter said finally, realizing Eva wasn’t likely to budge. He’d leave her with Melvina. He was too soft when it came to their youngest—too unwilling to raise his voice at her.

  She was their miracle child, born years after the doctor had declared such a thing impossible.

  The same had been said about Derek, too. The Moon Goddess had blessed them twice, and for that, Peter remained endlessly grateful.

  “Eva, stay with Mom, okay?” he said gently, ruffling her hair the way she liked.

  “But Dad—” she started to protest, but he cut her off with a smile.

  “Don’t you want to learn how to cook like Mom again? Remember? That’s one of the ways to become an adult.”

  “Yes!” she said quickly, turning to Derek. She tapped his chest, signaling for him to put her down.

  Derek chuckled and crouched, lowering her gently to the floor. “I’ll come by later,” he promised, brushing a strand of hair off her cheek.

  “Okay!” she squealed, delighted, before scurrying to her mother’s side and tugging at the hem of Melvina’s long blue gown.

  “Let’s head in,” Peter said with a smile, taking one last look at his daughter before leaving the kitchen.

  Arnold followed behind him.

  “Aren’t you going to join them?” Melvina asked her son, who was still staring at the doorway where the two men had gone through.

  “I am,” Derek said, turning to leave. But before stepping out, he pivoted, crossed to the counter, and snatched up a pancake.

  “Derek…” Melvina began. “You know—”

  “Thanks, Mom,” he interrupted quickly, shoving the pancake into his mouth.

  “Mmm…” he hummed in satisfaction. His mother’s pancakes were always perfect.

  Melvina smiled, shaking her head. There went the pancake she’d counted out for Arnold. She decided not to mention it—if she did, Derek might just eat the rest out of spite.

  Arnold had always loved her pancakes. He’d once told his mate, Jan, to learn her recipe before the war tore them apart.

  Jan had been a good student then, she thought wistfully. I wonder how she’s faring. They hadn’t spoken in seven years.

  “Go on now, before your father links you in anger,” she said, giving Derek a playful shove as he eyed the remaining pancakes.

  “Okay, okay,” he said, laughing as he backed away. “Save some for me, though.”

  “Sure.”

  She turned back to her cooking—only to shriek a second later.

  “Eva!” she yelled, rushing forward. “What are you doing?”

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  The little girl was halfway up a stool, hand reaching toward the hot pan–perhaps to take a pancake—her face and arms battered with flour.

  “Mom!” Eva whined as Melvina scooped her up. “I’m cooking! I’m an adult now.”

  —

  Derek would have found the new large portrait of the family beautiful—captivating even—if it hadn’t been brought by his uncle.

  Was it a peace offering? he wondered dryly. If it was, it’s a sham.

  He tore his gaze from the painting, though it truly was a fine piece of art—bright, vivid, alive in a way that mocked the tension in the room.

  Turning, he caught his father and uncle both staring at him inquisitively.

  Did they ask something? He raised a brow, feigning nonchalance even though he knew it looked rude after zoning out mid-discussion.

  “Derek…” his father called. “Didn’t you get the question?”

  “What question?” he asked.

  “Don’t tell me you zoned out while we were discussing important matters!” Peter’s voice boomed across the length of the room, his tone sharp enough to cut through steel.

  He couldn’t fathom why his son was always this uninterested in pack affairs. Does he not realize he’ll be Alpha in less than a month?

  “I’m sorry, Father,” Derek murmured, bowing his head slightly. He knew he’d annoyed the old man again. But really—it wasn’t his fault.

  He had tried to listen, with all the focus he could summon when he’d first entered. But the moment his uncle began rambling about his pack—his daughter’s agility, his son’s intelligence—Derek had checked out.

  It was obvious the traitor was just showing off.

  And so his mind had wandered… to her. His little witch. His mate.

  “Derek…” This time it was Arnold who spoke, his tone falsely casual. “Have you found your mate yet?”

  “I thought I had to wait until I turned eighteen for that,” Derek replied quickly, sharp enough to sound believable.

  There was no way he’d let his father—or worse, his devious uncle—know the truth. They would both make sure he rejected her the moment they found out she was human.

  “That’s true for most wolves,” Arnold said, leaning back with a smug smile. “But you’re not most wolves. You’re… special.”

  The knowledge that his younger brother had no clue about Derek’s mate confirmed what his daughter had told him two days ago. The boy did have a mate—and she was human. The secret thrilled him. It made his plan easier.

  “Well, I haven’t found her—or him—yet,” Derek said, deliberately stressing the last word. He saw it hit its mark immediately.

  Arnold’s face paled. Not out of prejudice, but because the thought of a male mate—two powerful wolves bound together—would ruin everything.

  No, he reminded himself. His mate’s a human. He’s bluffing. Still, the jab stung. He forced a smirk.

  “Well,” Arnold drawled, “whichever one the Moon Goddess chooses.” His lips curved into a sly grin.

  Derek caught the faint tremor of surprise on his uncle’s face and almost smiled. The distraction had worked—until his father spoke again.

  “Derek,” Peter said, voice sharp. “Do you like boys?”

  “No.” The answer came out instantly, curt. There was no need to think about it. He already had his little witch.

  Peter exhaled in visible relief. He didn’t want complications like that for his heir—not when succession loomed so close.

  “So,” Derek started, desperate to steer away from the topic, “how are my cousins doing?”

  “They’re fine,” Arnold said flatly. He knew what Derek was doing—changing the subject, and not subtly.

  “How’s Aunt Jan?” Derek pressed.

  “She’s fine too,” Arnold replied, hiding his impatience behind another tight smirk.

  “How’s—”

  “Cut it out, Derek,” Peter interrupted, already exhausted by his son’s chatter. “Your uncle will be sending some of his pack warriors to train with us. We’ll send a few of ours to him as well.”

  Derek blinked, startled. What is Father doing now?

  “Why?” he asked.

  “The Whitested Pack is the largest in this region,” Peter said firmly. “We can’t fight them alone. We could learn from your uncle—share techniques, build strength. Together, we’ll have a better chance of winning this war.”

  Derek could see the logic, but the who was wrong. His uncle was too cunning, too calculating to trust. Yes, the Whitested Pack was powerful, but aligning with a traitor felt dangerous.

  “Dad, I don’t think—”

  “It’s already been decided,” Peter cut in. “It’s for the good of the pack.”

  He didn’t notice the sly grin creeping across Arnold’s face.

  “But Dad—”

  “I know you have doubts about your uncle,” Peter said through the pack link, his words echoing privately in Derek’s mind, but he brought that portrait as a peace offering. Let bygones be bygones.

  Arnold saw the faint flicker in their eyes that betrayed a private link conversation but said nothing. He’d already gotten what he wanted. The plan was set in motion.

  “Okay,” Derek muttered finally.

  He’d wait. Once he became Alpha, he’d undo all of this. No way would he let his uncle meddle in his affairs—or keep this so-called truce alive.

  “Call a pack meeting for seven tonight,” Peter said. “The others need to hear the latest developments.”

  “Okay.” Derek’s gaze lingered on his uncle, cold and unreadable.

  Arnold met his stare and winced inwardly.

  He’s going to be a problem once he’s Alpha. The thought slithered across his mind like poison. I’ll just have to move faster.

  But for now, he smiled pleasantly and sniffed the air. The sweet scent of pancakes had been tormenting him since he arrived.

  “Derek…” he drawled lazily, “get me some pancakes.”