Chapter 2 Rhys

Skylar Voss disappears around the corner dragging a broken duffel bag and half my goddamn sanity with her.

Nobody speaks for a second.

Then Mason goes, “What the fuck was that?”

Good question.

Excellent question, actually.

Because five minutes ago I was walking to practice thinking about preseason rankings and whether Coach would murder us for yesterday’s power play disaster.

Now my face stings, my wolf is clawing at my ribs, and I’m standing in the middle of campus smelling wildflowers and rain all over my jersey like she’s still here.

“Rhys,” Jace says slowly, “did she just slap you?”

My cheek pulses like the answer’s obvious.

Nobody’s touched me like that in years.

Not because they’re scared of me. Well that too.

But mainly because they’re scared of my father.

My phone rings before I can answer.

Father.

Of course.

I hit answer and keep walking, away from the guys, away from the open quad where anyone could hear. My footsteps echo too loud.

“Rhys,” my father snaps. “I just got a panicked call from Whitmore about Elliot Voss’s half-breed daughter showing up on my campus. Tell me right now that girl was not Skylar Voss.”

Every muscle in my back locks.

My grip tightens hard enough to creak plastic.

“She smelled like a mongrel?” he demands. “Human underneath the wolf?”

“Yeah.” The word comes out flat. Controlled.

Liar.

My wolf is clawing at my ribs, drowning out Dad’s voice.

“Fuck.” Fast footsteps echo down the line. Pacing. “No, no, no. We should’ve known if the girl was starting a revolution.”

Something crashes in the background.

Glass maybe.

My father starts swearing under his breath. Fast. Vicious. The way he only does when he’s genuinely losing control.

I can practically picture him now pacing his office with one hand dragging through his hair and spit collecting at the corners of his mouth the way it always does when he gets angry enough.

Or scared enough.

Which somehow feels worse.

“I reviewed every scholarship application tied to the eastern territories myself,” my father says rapidly. “Every name. Every bloodline. Every family connected to Elliot.”

My stomach drops.

Because that means he’s telling the truth.

He genuinely didn’t know she was here.

Which means Skylar Voss somehow got accepted into Hartwell, approved for Kincaid funding, assigned campus housing, and moved onto this campus without Malcolm Kincaid noticing her name.

That shouldn’t be possible.

And judging by the panic in my father’s voice, he knows it too.

“The Voss loyalists disappeared after Elliot died,” my father says rapidly. “Every supporter was watched. Every account monitored. Every relative tracked.” Another sharp breath. “Someone got that girl onto my campus.”

“Someone protected her.”

I force a laugh. It sounds wrong even to me.

“You think she’s here for revenge? Dad, she’s just a student.”

“She’s Elliot Voss’s daughter,” he snaps. “Do not confuse age with innocence.”

I push through the athletics doors. My hands are sweating.

Which is insane.

I’ve played national championships.

I’ve been hit hard enough to crack ribs.

None of that has ever made me nervous.

One girl and one phone call did it in under ten minutes.

“She got into Hartwell on forged Kincaid authorization.”

“Or admissions screwed up.”

“They did not screw up.” Fast footsteps crack down the line again. “Someone placed that girl beside you. They’re planning something. Think. Think. I need to know who’s running this. Who’s involved. Who can be trusted—”

He cuts himself off.

Breathing hard.

Thinking fast.

For the first time in my life, my father sounds scared.

I lean against the concrete wall of the stairwell and close my eyes for half a second. The scent of her is still in my nose. Breathing feels wrong.

“She came alone,” I say.

“You don’t know that.”His answer comes fast. Too fast. “You don’t know who came with her. Who’s watching her. Who got her into this school.” More pacing. Faster now. “Elliot Voss had loyalists willing to die for him, Rhys. You think they just vanished?”

My jaw ticks. I dig my nails into my palm to keep my hand from shaking.

“You’re overthinking this,” I say lightly. Too lightly.

“No. I am thinking exactly enough.” His breathing roughens again. “That girl was hidden for twelve years. Twelve. And now she appears beside my son using forged Kincaid authorization?”A laugh cracks down the line. No humor in it. Just panic. “That’s not random. That’s a move.”

I can hear him building the war in real time—alliances, betrayal, revenge.

Silence.

Then quieter:

“If they’re bold enough to place her beside you, they think they already have allies inside this pack.”

I push off the wall too fast.

“He surrendered,” I say. The words come out sharper than I meant. “He left. He walked out of the territory with his mate and his kid. You think the council would’nt respected you if you’d just let him walk?”

Fast footsteps stop.

Dead silence on the line.

Then my father’s voice goes low. Cold.

“You don’t inherit Alpha status, Rhys. You take it. You defend it. You kill for it if necessary.” His breathing roughens. “If I had let Elliot Voss walk away with that woman and their child, every pack in the northeast would’ve smelled weakness on us for generations.”

I say nothing.

Because that's the closest he's ever come to admitting the truth.

This was never justice or law.

It was pride. Fear. Power.

My father was Elliot Voss’s Beta before the challenge.

Best friend.

Right hand.

Then Elliot met his mate and suddenly the entire pack split itself down the middle over whether fate mattered more than blood purity.

“That girl grew up hearing one version of that story,” he continues sharply. “A dead father. A hunted family. A pack destroyed by Malcolm Kincaid.” A bitter laugh. “And now suddenly she appears beside my son? Using forged Kincaid authorization?”

My wolf growls low.

Mine.

I bite down on my tongue hard enough to taste metal and shove him down.

“She slapped me in front of half the campus,” I say lightly. “Not exactly subtle revenge.”

“No. It’s emotional revenge.” Immediate. “Personal revenge. Which means somebody wants her close enough to hurt this family properly.”

Silence.

Then—

“You’re her student liaison. Use it.”

My jaw tightens. I can feel the muscle jumping.

“You want me to spy on her.”

“I want you in that girl’s room before sunset.” His voice drops colder. “Charm her. Flirt with her. Make her trust you if that’s what it takes.” Fast footsteps again. “I want to know who sent her here and what they think they’re going to accomplish.”

“Touch her if you have to.”

“And if she really is here for revenge?”

Silence stretches between us.

Long enough for me to know the answer before he says it.

Then—

“We execute her.”