A Table Full of Wolves #3
“The town did right by them,” Daniel said from his seat near the head of the table. His voice carried authority that made people listen. “Every single one. Buried with respect. Names remembered. Families supported. That matters.”
“We helped carry all of them,” Evan added quietly. He sat at the head of the table like he'd been born to it, Alpha presence radiating without effort. “Pack and humans together. Making sure nobody went into the ground alone.”
“That's what family does.” Michael's voice was steady despite the grief that still lived in his eyes when he talked about the dead. “We take care of our own. Living and dead.”
The table stayed quiet for another heartbeat. Remembering. Honoring. Letting the weight of loss settle before choosing to move forward.
Then Cal cleared his throat and the mood shifted.
“So about those honorary wolf memberships Mason and I were discussing...”
The table erupted.
“Absolutely not,” Jonah said through laughter. “You don't get to be wolves just because you survived one battle.”
“One battle?” Cal's voice went high with mock offense. “We survived multiple battles. We fought constructs. We held the line while you furry bastards were off doing werewolf things.”
“Furry bastards,” Luke repeated the phrase like he was tasting it. “That's a new one.”
“I've got more where that came from.”
Mason leaned forward with the particular expression that meant he was about to say the exact wrong thing at the exact wrong time. “Technically, if you consider the etymological roots of 'werewolf' and cross-reference with historical accounts of human-wolf cooperation during medieval...”
Sienna snorted into her drink so hard that liquid came out her nose.
That broke the table completely. Laughter rolled through the dining hall in waves that fed on themselves, building until people were wiping tears from their eyes and gasping for breath and holding their sides.
I watched Daniel laugh. I remembered his laugh now. Remembered what it sounded like before thirty years had carved lines into his face and taught him that loving people meant preparing to lose them. This was that laugh. The one from before. The one I'd thought was gone forever.
He caught my eyes across the table and his expression shifted. Recognition. Understanding. The knowledge that I finally remembered, that the memories were back, that we were brothers in ways that went deeper than recent weeks.
His smile widened and he raised his glass slightly. A toast meant only for me. Acknowledgment that we'd made it, that we'd survived, that we'd found our way back to each other through circumstances designed to tear us apart.
I raised my glass in return.
The argument about honorary wolf memberships continued with escalating absurdity.
Cal declared this was discrimination against intellectuals.
Sienna informed him that being able to google facts didn't make you an intellectual.
Mason tried to continue his etymology lecture and got pelted with a dinner roll for his trouble.
Evan intervened before someone actually started a food fight, his Alpha authority cutting through the chaos with the ease of someone who'd learned to lead through affection rather than fear.
I looked across the table at Gideon and found him already watching me.
We'd made it. Against odds that should have crushed us. Through circumstances designed to break us. We'd survived and now we got to sit at this table and listen to Cal argue about honorary wolf memberships while Daniel laughed and the pack rebuilt itself into stability.
My dire instincts settled for the first time in forever.
This was what we'd fought for.
Not the victory. Not the moment Silas died or the fog lifted or the constructs collapsed. This. The table full of wolves and humans who'd chosen each other. The laughter that said we're alive and allowed to be happy about it. The simple ordinary miracle of breaking bread together without fear.
“You're thinking loud,” Gideon said quietly beside me.
“Good thoughts.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I squeezed his hand under the table. “Just grateful. For this. For you. For having memories to compare this moment to and knowing how rare it is.”
Evan raised his glass and the table quieted immediately.
“I want to make a toast,” he said. Voice carrying across the dining hall without needing to shout.
“To the town that stood when they could have run. To the pack that fought when they could have scattered. To the ones we lost who made this possible. And to the ones who stayed, who rebuilt, who chose to keep going when stopping would have been easier.”
He looked around the table. Making eye contact with people. Acknowledging them individually.
“We survived,” he continued. “Not just the battle. We survived grief and fear and circumstances that should have broken us. And we did it together. Pack and human. Supernatural and ordinary. Family that chose each other rather than being born into obligation.”
The dining hall went quiet.
Not uncomfortable. Just reverent. Names flickered through my mind. My parents. Martha. The wolves who'd died in the clearing. The humans who'd been caught in the swarm. Everyone we'd buried with respect over the past month.
I remembered them now. Not just the recent dead but the old ones. The pack members who'd fallen before Silas took me. The understanding that grief was part of pack, that we carried our dead forward by remembering them, by honoring them, by choosing to keep living.
“To family,” Evan said, lifting his glass higher.
“To family,” the table echoed.
We drank and the noise returned immediately.
Louder than before. Like choosing joy was part of survival now. Like we'd earned the right to be happy and nobody was going to take that from us without a fight.
Cal declared again that he and Mason deserved honorary wolf status and the table roasted him mercilessly. Daniel threatened to put them on patrol duty. Mason tried to argue legal precedents and got another dinner roll thrown at his head.
Michael laughed, real and bright, and the pack's center had shifted from fear to steadiness.
We weren't waiting for the next attack anymore. Weren't bracing for impact. Weren't operating under the assumption that happiness was temporary and violence was inevitable. We were just living. Building routines. Making plans that extended past next week.
Later, after the meal had wound down and people were starting to drift toward cleanup or heading home, Gideon and I stepped away from the crowd.
Not far. Just to the hallway leading toward the kitchen. Close enough to hear the warmth of voices but far enough to have privacy.
“You okay?” Gideon asked. Habit. Care.
“Yeah.” I said it and realized it was true. “I am. No compulsion. No missing time. No blank spaces where family should be. Just memories and pack and you.”
“The memories aren't too much?”
“They're a lot,” I admitted. “Thirty years of grief hitting all at once.
Mourning parents I can finally remember losing.
Processing everything that happened while I was locked behind walls.
But it's good grief. The kind that comes from loving people who mattered. The kind that proves I was whole once and can be whole again.”
Gideon's hand found my face. Palm settling against my cheek with warmth that made my eyes want to close. “You're more than whole. You're pack. You're family. You're the person I choose to wake up next to every morning.”
I leaned into the touch. “I didn't think I'd ever feel this safe. Didn't think I'd ever remember what home felt like. Didn't think I'd get to have this.”
“But you do.”
“Yeah.” My throat was tight. “I do. We do. And it cost everything to get here.”
His expression shifted. Acknowledging the price. What I'd endured under compulsion. What he'd endured with the curse. What it had taken to break both and survive the aftermath.
“Worth it though,” he said quietly.
“Yeah. Worth it.”
I looked at him and saw home. The anchor I'd chosen and the man who'd chosen me back. The witch who'd broken into my mind twice, who'd torn down walls to save me, who'd given me back memories that defined who I was.
The words were right there. Had been building since the clearing. Since he'd shattered the memory lock and let thirty years of stolen time come flooding back.
“I love you,” I said. Simple. Unarmored. A vow more than a statement.
Gideon went completely still.
Like the words had hit somewhere tender. His eyes were bright suddenly, wet with tears he wasn't trying to hide, and his smile was soft and disbelieving in equal measure.
“Took you long enough,” he managed. Voice rough with emotion. “I've been waiting to hear you say that.”
“Had to remember what love felt like first,” I said. “Had to have memories to compare this feeling to. Had to understand what I was promising when I said the words.”
“And now?”
“Now I know. I love you. I love your stubbornness.
I love that you broke into my mind without permission and didn't apologize for it.
I love that you chose me when walking away would have been safer.
I love that you gave me back my memories even though it cost you.
I love you and I'm terrified of it and I'm doing it anyway because you're worth the fear.”
His laugh was half sob. “I love you too. So much it scares me sometimes. You're my tether and my home and the person I'd burn the world down to protect.”
“Don't burn the world down. We just rebuilt it.”
“Then I'll burn down anyone who tries to take you from me.”
“Deal.”
I kissed him.
Warm. Unhurried. No urgency this time. Just certainty that felt like finally exhaling after holding my breath for decades. His mouth was soft against mine. His hands found my hair and pulled me closer.
We'd survived the dark. The compulsion and the curse and the battle that should have killed us both. We'd made it through circumstances designed to break us and come out the other side still standing. Still choosing each other. Still building forever out of the rubble of everything we'd lost.
When we pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine.
“We should get back,” he said. “Before someone comes looking.”
“Let them look.”
“Ronan.”
“Fine.” I stole another kiss before stepping back. “But we're doing this again later.”
“I'm counting on it.”
We returned to the dining hall where the pack was still gathered.
Evan sat at the helm, laughing at whatever Jonah had just said. Nate leaned against him with comfortable ease. Daniel and Michael were arguing about something near the kitchen. Cal and Mason were still trying to convince Luke that they deserved honorary status.
The pack house was loud and warm and absolutely chaotic.
Perfect.
I looked at Gideon and he looked back at me. No words needed. Just understanding that we'd earned this. That the people in this room were family. That Hollow Pines was home. That the scars we carried forward were proof we'd survived rather than evidence we'd failed.
My final thought settled into place with the weight of truth I could finally believe.
We survived the dark. Now we get to live.