CHAPTER TWENTY SIX: TRUST OR BETRAYAL

Elsa's heart raced. She could see the conflict in Owen's eyes—a // of doubt behind his commanding façade. She stepped forward, positioning herself between Owen and Gravill.

"Because you know better than to trust them," she said firmly. "The Hematoi don't make deals—they make traps. Whatever they've promised you, it will come at a cost. One you're not prepared to pay."

Owen's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. "And why should I trust you?"

"Because we're fighting the same enemy," Elsa said, her voice rising with urgency. "If you hand Gravill over, you'll be giving them exactly what they want. And once they have him, they'll come for you next. You think the Hematoi care about your pack? About anyone but themselves?"

The pack members exchanged uneasy glances, their murmurs filling the silence. Owen's gaze flicked between Elsa, Gravill, and his wolves. He could feel their uncertainty, their fear.

Gravill spoke then, his voice cutting through the tension. "You don't have to trust us," he said. "But if you care about your pack—if you care about anything—don't make the mistake of siding with them. I've seen what they can do. You don't want that for your people."

For a long moment, Owen said nothing. The forest was silent, save for the distant rustle of leaves in the wind. Then, finally, he nodded sharply.

"Fine," Owen said. "I'll give you a chance. But if you bring trouble to my pack, I'll deal with you myself."

Elsa exhaled in relief, her legs nearly giving out beneath her. Gravill managed a weak nod, his body sagging as exhaustion overtook him.

"Follow me," Owen ordered, turning on his heel. "We'll talk more once you're safe. But don't think for a second that this makes us allies."

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The Hematoi's Shadow

Unbeknownst to them, a pair of silver eyes gleamed in the darkness, watching as the trio followed Owen into the depths of the forest. The Hematoi leaned against a tree, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

"How predictable," he murmured to himself. "The Alpha thinks he's making a choice. How quaint."

He turned, his form dissolving into the shadows, his voice a faint whisper in the wind.

"Let them run. Let them think they've escaped. They'll come to me eventually. They always do."

The forest grew still again, but the danger had not passed. It had merely shifted, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.