Chapter 42 #2
"Shuffle the cards," I said, holding them out to him, my voice gentle.
"Think about what you want to know. About yourself, about us, about the future.
Don't tell me—just hold the question in your mind.
" His hands engulfed the deck, making it look almost comically small, his scarred fingers careful as he shuffled.
I watched him—watched the furrow between his brows, the slight movement of his lips like he was praying, the way his broad shoulders slowly relaxed as he focused.
After a minute, he handed the cards back. I spread them face-down on the table and let my hand hover over them, waiting for the pull.
Three cards. Past, present, future.
I turned the first.
The Hermit.
"Your past," I said softly, tracing my finger over the image of the solitary figure with his lantern, my voice taking on that distant quality it sometimes got during readings.
"Isolation. Solitude. You've spent a long time alone, Harper.
Not just physically—emotionally. Building walls, keeping people out.
Convincing yourself it was safer that way. "
His jaw tightened, but he didn't look away, his gray eyes fixed on my face. "Wasn't wrong," he said, his voice rough like sandpaper.
"No," I agreed, shaking my head slowly, my fingers moving to the second card. "But things change."
I turned it over.
The Lovers.
His breath caught audibly, his gray eyes dropping to the card, something raw flickering across his face.
"Your present," I said, unable to keep the warmth from my voice, feeling my own heart beat faster.
"Connection. Union. Choice. You've let people in, Harper.
You've chosen love over isolation. This card isn't just about romance—it's about integration, about bringing together different parts of yourself. You're not the Hermit anymore."
"Because of you," he said, his voice thick with emotion, his gray eyes suspiciously bright when they lifted to meet mine. "Because of all of you."
"Because of you," I corrected gently, reaching across to touch his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin. "We just gave you somewhere to land. You're the one who made the choice."
I turned the third card.
The Emperor.
I smiled, feeling the rightness of it settle into my bones, warmth spreading through my chest.
"Your future," I said, tapping the card with one finger.
"Leadership. Structure. Protection. You're meant to lead this pack, Harper.
Not with force—with stability. With strength.
The Emperor isn't a tyrant; he's a foundation.
Something for others to build on." I looked up at him, holding his gaze steady.
"That's what you are for us. That's what you've always been. "
He stared at the cards for a long moment, his massive chest rising and falling with deep, measured breaths. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, cracking at the edges.
"I've never—" He stopped, swallowed hard, his throat working visibly. "No one's ever seen me like that before."
"Then no one's been paying attention," I said simply, my voice firm with conviction, gathering the cards. "Who's next?"
Remy bounded into the chair like an excited puppy, all golden energy and barely contained enthusiasm, his amber eyes bright with curiosity.
"Lay it on me, chere," he said, rubbing his hands together with exaggerated eagerness, his dimple cutting deep. "What deep dark secrets do your mysterious cards reveal about little old me?"
I handed him the deck, keeping my expression neutral. "Shuffle. Focus," I instructed, my voice gentle but firm.
He shuffled with surprising skill—quick, fluid movements that spoke of practice. "I may have played a lot of poker in my misspent youth," he admitted when he caught me watching, his dimple flashing, his amber eyes dancing. "Cards and I are old friends."
"Different kind of cards," I said, taking them back when he finished, feeling the warmth his hands had left on the paper. "Different kind of truth."
I spread them, let my hand hover, and pulled three.
The Fool.
"Past," I said, and Remy's grin faltered slightly, uncertainty creeping into his amber eyes, his body tensing almost imperceptibly.
"That's... not great, right?" he asked, his voice losing some of its bravado. "The Fool?"
"It's not an insult," I assured him, studying the image of the figure about to step off a cliff, his face turned toward the sky.
"The Fool is about beginnings. Potential.
Taking leaps without knowing where you'll land.
But also..." I hesitated, choosing my words carefully, knowing this would hit close to home.
"Recklessness. Running before you know what you're running from.
Moving so fast you don't have to feel what's chasing you. "
Remy's jaw tightened, his easy charm cracking at the edges, something wounded flickering in his amber eyes. "Yeah," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "That sounds about right."
I turned the second card.
Temperance.
"Present," I said, relief softening my voice, a smile tugging at my lips.
"Balance. Patience. Integration. You're learning to stand still, Remy.
Learning that not every problem can be outrun.
" I met his eyes, held them steady. "You're finding your center.
Mixing the different parts of yourself into something whole. "
"That a good thing?" he asked, vulnerability bleeding through his voice, his usual mask entirely absent.
"It's a necessary thing," I said gently, my hand reaching out to brush his knee. "The Fool had potential. Temperance is learning to use it."
The third card.
The Sun.
Remy stared at it—the bright figure, the radiant light, the pure joy emanating from every line of the image.
"Future," I said, and my voice came out thick with emotion, my heart squeezing almost painfully. "Happiness, Remy. Real happiness. Not the kind you perform, not the kind you use to hide. The Sun is about authenticity. About finally being able to be yourself—all of yourself—without fear."
His eyes were wet when they met mine, his amber irises swimming with emotions I'd rarely seen him let show. "You really believe that?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, stripped of all pretense. "That I could be... happy?"
"I don't believe it," I said firmly, reaching across to cup his face in my hands, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palms. "I know it.
The cards know it. The only one who doesn't know it yet is you.
" He kissed me then—not the lazy, teasing kisses from this morning, but something deeper, something desperate and grateful and achingly tender.
"Thank you," he breathed against my lips, his voice breaking on the words.
"Don't thank me," I said, wiping a stray tear from his cheek with my thumb, feeling my own eyes burn. "Just stay. Just be happy."
"Working on it," he promised, his dimple appearing through the tears, his smile wobbling but real. "Working on it."
Silas approached the table like he was approaching an enemy position—careful, watchful, every sense on alert, his pale eyes scanning for threats that weren't there.
"You don't have to do this," I reminded him gently, the deck held loosely in my hands. "If it's too—"
"I want to," he said, cutting me off, his voice quiet but certain, his jaw set with determination. He sat across from me, his scarred hands flat on his thighs, his pale eyes fixed on mine. "I need to."
I handed him the cards. He shuffled slowly, methodically, like he was field-stripping a weapon—each movement precise, deliberate, intentional. His pale eyes went distant, focused on something internal, and I could see the questions churning behind them.
When he handed the deck back, his fingers trembled almost imperceptibly.
I pulled three cards.
The Tower.
Silas went very still, his face draining of color, his breath stopping in his chest, every muscle in his body locking tight.
"Past," I said quickly, holding up a hand, my voice firm and steady. "This is your past, Silas. The destruction already happened. This isn't a prediction—it's an acknowledgment. Whatever fell apart, whatever burned down—it's already done."
He exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping slightly, some of the tension bleeding from his frame. "My unit," he said, his voice barely audible, rough with old grief. "They were my tower. When I lost them—"
"Everything crumbled," I finished softly, my heart aching for him, my own eyes stinging. "I know. I'm sorry."
He shook his head, a sharp motion, his jaw tight, his pale eyes hardening with resolve. "What's next?" he asked, his voice clipped.
I turned the second card.
The Star.
Something eased in my chest, relief flooding through me, warmth spreading from my heart outward.
"Present," I said, unable to keep the smile from my voice.
"Hope. Healing. Renewal. After the Tower falls, the Star rises.
You're rebuilding, Silas. Not the same tower—something new.
Something different." I tapped the card with one finger.
"This is about finding peace after trauma.
About learning to believe in good things again. "
His pale eyes were fixed on the card, something raw and wounded moving behind them. "I'm trying," he said, his voice cracking slightly, his scarred hands clenching on his thighs. "It's harder than I thought."
"Healing always is," I agreed, reaching for the third card, my fingers hovering over it. "But you're not doing it alone anymore."
I turned it over.
The World.
For a long moment, I just stared at it—the dancing figure, the wreath of completion, the symbols of achievement and wholeness.
"Future," I breathed, feeling the truth of it settle into my bones like coming home.
"Completion. Integration. Belonging. This is the last card of the major arcana, Silas.
It's about reaching the end of a journey and finding that you're exactly where you're supposed to be.
" I looked up at him, tears pricking at my eyes, my voice trembling with emotion.
"You're going to find your place. Here. With us. You're going to be whole again."
Silas stared at the card for a long, long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw and broken and beautiful.
"I want that," he admitted, the words seeming to cost him everything, his pale eyes glistening. "I want it so much it terrifies me."
"Good things usually do," I said, standing and moving around the table to wrap my arms around him, pulling his head against my chest, feeling his scarred hands come up to grip my waist like I was the only solid thing in a shifting world. "But you don't have to be afraid anymore. You're home."
He shuddered against me—one full-body tremor that might have been a sob—and held on.
Later, when the cards were put away and the table cleared, we ended up back in the nest. Another pack pile—this time intentional, deliberate, everyone arranging themselves with care.
Harper at my back again, his steady heartbeat against my spine.
Remy at my front, his golden head tucked under my chin.
Silas between us, his scarred hand over my heart, his breathing slow and even.
"So," Remy said into the comfortable silence, his voice sleepy and content, his breath warm against my collarbone, "you learn anything interesting about us from your mysterious cards?"
"I learned that I'm surrounded by emotionally constipated Alphas with tragic backstories and hearts of gold," I said dryly, scratching my fingers through his curls, feeling him practically purr against me. "Shocking revelation, really."
Harper snorted against my shoulder, his chest vibrating with suppressed laughter, his arm tightening around my waist. Even Silas made a sound that might have been amusement, his lips twitching against my sternum.
"Emotionally constipated," Remy repeated, his voice heavy with mock offense, his amber eyes opening to give me a wounded look. "I am a delight. A ray of sunshine. Ask anyone."
"You're something," Silas muttered, but there was no bite in it, his pale eyes soft with something that looked dangerously like affection.
"A delight," Remy insisted, yawning widely, his jaw cracking with the force of it, his eyes drifting closed again. "Absolute delight."
I smiled against his hair, feeling the warmth surrounding me, feeling the rightness of it settle into my bones.
The cards had shown me what I already knew—that these three broken, beautiful men were exactly where they were supposed to be.
That we were building something together, something strong enough to weather whatever storms came our way.
The Emperor. The Sun. The World.
Leadership. Happiness. Completion.
I closed my eyes and let myself drift, surrounded by warmth and the mingled scents of pine and honey and rain, listening to the steady rhythm of three heartbeats that somehow, impossibly, had become home.