Chapter 97
Caron
The crowd shifts—wolves exchanging glances, ears flattening, jaws tightening. The truth sits heavy in the air, undeniable.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. It was supposed to be a normal outing, a simple walk through the town to get familiar with this place. But now, thanks to Alric’s big mouth, fear and anxiety spread like wildfire through the pack.
The weight of a hundred stares presses down on . Wolves don’t even have to speak for to hear them. Is he right? Can Caron protect us? Did we trade one disaster for another?
Alric thrashes in the dirt, his shirt torn, his face red from fury and humiliation. "You think you’re safe because you got lucky in a duel?" His spit lands dark on the cracked earth.
"You think you can lead this pack against the vampires?"
Alric’s words cut deeper than I’d like to admit.
I exhale, pinching the bridge of my nose. He isn’t wrong—I know almost nothing about werewolves, and less than nothing about vampires. What the hell do I know about fighting creatures out of nightmares?
But then again what did he know?
Crouching down so I’m eye level with him, my shadow stretching long across his crumpled body.
"Well," I say evenly, "you had your shot at leading this pack against the vampires, didn’t you? Seven months of paying tribute, of bending the knee, of selling out your own people. All those sacrifices you demanded, all that fear you fed on—and yet..." I tilt my head, voice dropping, "...the vampire threat is still here, isn’t it?"
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer.
The crowd ripples behind . A murmur of agreent, faint but rising. They don’t look at Alric anymore—they look at .
Alric snarls, spittle flecking his lips. "You don’t understand. You’ll get them all killed!"
I lean closer, close enough for him to see the truth in my eyes. "Maybe. But better to die standing than to live crawling in the dirt."
For the first ti, his glare falters. Just a flicker, but enough.
I rise to my feet slowly, turning to face the watching wolves. My voice carries, low but steady.
"I don’t know everything. I won’t pretend I do. But I know this: Alric’s way is a dead end. His way leads only to more blood spilled for nothing. If we are to face vampires, it won’t be as beggars or scavengers. It will be as a pack."
The silence that follows is heavy, but not hostile. I can feel it—the shift. Doubt doesn’t vanish overnight, but belief? Belief begins here.
*
"Sorry. It was supposed to be a normal outing, and yet that happened," Lenora murmurs, her hands smoothing over the knots in my shoulders.
We’re in our new ho—or at least what counts as ho for now. Courtesy of her resourcefulness and Simone’s knack for turning nothing into sothing, we’ve ended up in a sprawling canvas tent set up, just outside town hidden by trees. I was not going to be under the sa roof as Alric and the old cabin is now unlivable.
I lean back into Lenora’s touch, exhaustion gnawing at but soothed by her presence.
"It’s okay," I yawn, stretching like I could shake the weight of leadership off my spine.
Her thumbs press harder into a stubborn knot. "When Simone said she was going to set up a tent, this is not what I had imagined."
I chuckle, low and rough. "It is a tent."
"It’s bigger than most of the houses here," she points out, half in disbelief, half in admiration.
"Well," I exhale, tilting my head back against her stomach. "That says more about the state of the houses than it does about the tent."
She snorts softly, her fingers pausing to pinch my shoulder hard enough to make hiss.
"Ow," I mutter, twisting just enough to glare at her over my shoulder.
"Don’t mock my ho," she says, chin tilted up like she’s daring to try again.
I rub the sore spot she just claid with her claws. "Well, it’s my ho too now," I shoot back, more playful than annoyed.
Her expression softens for half a second, then she tries to cover it with another scoff. "You don’t get to claim it so easily."
I smirk, tugging her hand down so it rests flat against my chest, right over the steady thump of my heart.
"Mated to you, standing in this pack, wearing this damn robe... trust , I’ve earned the right. This is mine just as much as yours."
She leans down and hugs from behind, her warmth seeping into like sunlight.
"We should rest. You have a long day tomorrow," she says, pressing a kiss to my temple.
Her arms tighten, fingers splayed across my chest as if she’s trying to anchor there—anchor both of us. For a ridiculous second I let myself pretend the rest of the world has folded away and this tent, this stupid oversized tent, is the only thing that exists.
She moves away from , her warmth slipping from my skin, and I rise from the stool without thinking. My hand finds her waist, firm and insistent, pulling her back until she’s pressed against again.
She blinks up at , eyes flashing, her glare sharp enough to cut glass.
So damn cute.
"This is not what I ant by resting," she says again, voice low, clipped, and stubborn.
"Maybe not," I murmur, leaning down until my lips brush the shell of her ear, my breath warm against her skin.
Her breath hitches. Just a little. Enough for to notice.
"But it will surely help rest better," I whisper, letting the words sink into her like a promise, or maybe a challenge.
Then, just as I expected, her body lts into mine.
Her arms slip around my neck, pulling closer until her warmth presses against , her scent flooding every corner of my senses.
The world outside the tent—the weight of White Stone, the broken wolves, the endless responsibilities—falls away. Right now, it’s just her. Just us.
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