The Lycan King's Outcast Omega (by Cara Anderson) novel Chapter 98

The packhouse feels almost empty after weeks of hosting ranked wolves from every territory. Through our bond, I feel Sage’s relief at returning to normal duties without hostile noble wolves watching her every move.

“The gathering served its purpose,” Garrett reports, spreading territory maps across my desk. “Most packs agree to coordinate defenses now.”

But something nags at me about Cassius’s too–perfect departure. About Eris’s careful absence from political maneuvering these past days…

A commotion at the gates interrupts my thoughts. My father’s scent hits me before I see him – Perseus, returned from his month–long diplomatic mission to the far eastern territories.

“The attacks spread further than we knew,” he announces without preamble, striding into my study. The journey has aged him somehow, left new lines around his eyes. “Every pack I visited reported similar patterns.”

Through our bond, I feel Sage’s instant tension at my father’s return. But there’s no time to reassure her – his news demands immediate attention.

My father’s diplomatic missions usually last weeks, not months. Something about this extended absence feels deliberate, like he’s been gathering more than just information about attacks.

“The eastern territories grow restless,” he continues, pacing my study. “They question whether Silver Crown remains strong enough to lead.”

“Because I allow a healer to save lives?” The words come out sharper than intended.

“Because you let emotions cloud judgment.” His eyes bore into mine. “First harboring a rejected mate, then this gathering… Some say you grow soft.

“The mutations evolve faster in some territories than others,” he continues. “Almost like they’re being tested,

refined…”

“Coordinated attacks,” I agree. “We saw similar patterns during the gathering.”

His eyes sharpen. “The gathering you called without consulting me.”

“I am the king now! Not you! The gathering has probably saved lives,” I counter. “Sage’s healing methods—‘

“Ah yes. Your… healer.” His tone carries volumes. “I heard interesting reports about her during my travels.”

Before I can respond, more urgent news arrives – four packs attacked simultaneously along the northern borders.

Warriors gather in the courtyard as my father inspects them with critical eyes. He’s lost weight during his absence, though his power still rolls off him in waves.

“The formations need adjustment,” he declares, pointing out positions. “Too much focus on defense, not enough on shows of strength.”

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“Defense keeps our wolves alive,” I counter.

“And weakness invites challenge.” He straightens despite obvious fatigue. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten that while hosting tea parties with visiting healers.”

Through our bond, I feel Sage’s hurt at his dismissal of her work. But there’s something else in his manner – an urgency I don’t understand.

“I’ll join the patrol,” my father declares, already moving toward the door.

“You just returned-”

“I’m not so old I can’t fight,” he cuts me off. “And someone needs to show proper Alpha strength in these times.

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The implied criticism stings, but there’s no time to argue. Through our bond, I feel Sage’s concern as she prepares healing supplies for injured warriors.

“He’s pushing himself too hard,” she observes, watching him drill warriors despite his exhaustion. “The journey took more from him than he admits.”

She’s right. Every line in his body speaks of bone–deep weariness, though he maintains perfect Alpha posture.

“Let me help,” she offers quietly. “My healing could—”

“He’d never accept it.” The truth tastes bitter. “Not from you.”

But watching him struggle to hide his fatigue, seeing him drive himself harder to prove some point about strength…

“Something changed during his absence,” I tell her. “This isn’t just about attacks or healing methods.”

“The Northern territories,” she suggests. “You said they’ve always resisted Silver Crown’s authority.”

She’s right again. The timing of his return, the whispers of alliances forming… something bigger builds on our borders.

“There’s something else,” Sage says when we’re alone, the warriors dismissed and my father gone in search of my mother. “The way he watches everything, everyone… like he’s looking for something specific.”

She’s more perceptive than most give her credit for. My father’s attention does seem unusually focused, his questions too pointed about certain pack members.

“He asked about patrol schedules,” I tell her. “About which warriors take which positions. Details he’s never bothered with before,”

“Like he’s preparing for something?”

The question hangs heavy between us. Because watching him push himself beyond exhaustion, seeing him study our defenses with such intensity… He’s like a warrior who only fights harder when they sense their last battle approaching.

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My father has always tried to prepare me for burdens he sees coming. I just pray I’m reading too much into his behavior. That his sudden intense focus on pack defense doesn’t mean what my instincts suggest it might.

“The mutant wolves target key defenders first,” my father points out during the afternoon strategy meeting.” Almost like they know exactly who to eliminate.”

“Inside information,” I agree. “Someone feeds them pack structures.”

His eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Or someone guides them. These aren’t mindless beasts anymore. They’re

weapons.‘

The observation chills me because he’s right. Each attack grows more strategic, more purposeful. Like someone’s directing an army rather than unleashing monsters.

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