Chapter 5 - Sera
“Absolutely not.”
The words are saturated with finality as I cross my arms over my chest. Reeyan keeps driving like I haven’t just told him to turn this truck around.
“Sera—”
“No.” I cut him off. “Take me home. To Llewelyn. Right now.”
“I can’t do that.” His voice is calm, which only makes me angrier.
“You can’t, or you won’t?” I demand. “Because last I checked, the steering wheel works in both directions.”
He doesn’t answer. Just keeps his eyes on the road like I’m not sitting here about to lose my mind.
“Reeyan.” I try again, forcing my voice to stay level, “I appreciate you saving my life back there. Really, I do. But you can’t just kidnap me after rescuing me from kidnappers.”
“I’m not kidnapping you,” he insists, though he still won’t look at me. “I’m keeping you safe.”
I lean forward in my seat and throw my hands in the air. “By taking me somewhere without my consent? Pretty sure that’s the definition of kidnapping.”
“You’re not safe. Thornridge knows where you were. They might send more wolves to finish what those three started. Taking you back to Llewelyn means driving through areas where we have no backup.”
“So call someone. Get backup.” I gesture toward the radio I can see mounted under the dashboard. Smart call, I must admit. Cell service out here can be spotty. “Problem solved.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It really is.” My voice gets louder despite my efforts to stay calm. “You pick up that radio, you call Oren or whoever, and you arrange for safe passage back to my territory. Simple.”
He doesn’t respond. Just keeps driving south, away from Llewelyn and deeper into Grayhide lands.
Fury bubbles up in my chest, and I can’t shove it down this time. I’ve had enough of being dragged around tonight by men who think they know what’s best for me.
“Stop the truck,” I grind out.
“Sera—”
“I said Stop the truck.” I reach for the door handle. “Either you stop it, or I’m jumping out while it’s moving.”
That gets his attention. His head whips toward me, and those green eyes are suddenly very focused on my face. “Don’t you dare.”
“Then. Stop. The. Truck.”
For a long moment, we just stare at each other. I can see him trying to figure out if I’m bluffing.
I’m not.
He must see that, because he lets out a long breath and pulls over to the side of the road. The truck rolls to a stop with the engine still running.
“Thank you.” I reach for the door handle again, but his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that I can’t easily pull away.
“Where exactly do you think you’re going?” he questions with a cocked brow.
I try to yank my arm free. “Walking back to Llewelyn if I have to. Let go of me.”
“You’re cut off from your wolf,” he points out. “You’re injured. You’re in shock. And you want to walk through hostile territory in the dark? That’s suicide.”
“My choice to make.” I pull harder, but he doesn’t let go. “Not yours.”
“I can’t let you do that.” Something in his voice makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Something possessive and fierce that doesn’t match the calm historian I always imagined him to be.
“You can’t stop me. Unless you plan to tie me up like those Thornridge wolves did.”
He flinches like I’ve slapped him. Good. Maybe that will get through to him.
“I would never—” he starts, then stops. Takes a breath. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“I didn’t ask for your protection. I didn’t ask for any of this.”
He lets go of my wrist but doesn’t move away. We’re close enough in the cab of the truck that I can see the blood still drying on his shirt and smell the copper tang of it mixed with his scent.
“You’re right,” he acknowledges. “You didn’t ask for this.
But those Thornridge wolves knew exactly where you’d be.
Do you think it was a coincidence that they happened to be on this road at the same time you were?
They were waiting for you. Watching you, I’m willing to bet. Don’t you want to know why?”
That stops me. Because he’s right, and I hate that he’s right.
“I don’t know why they targeted you instead of just going after your aunt,” he continues. “I don’t know how they knew your route or that you’d be traveling alone. And until I understand those things, I can’t in good conscience take you back to a situation where you might be in more danger.”
“You keep saying you can’t let me,” I point out. “Like you have any say in what I do.”
He drags his fingers through his hair, making it stick up even more, and sighs. “I don’t. I know that. But please, Sera. Just give me a few hours to think this through. To figure out what’s going on and how to keep you safe.”
The please does something to me. Softens the anger just enough that I can think instead of just reacting.
“A few hours,” I repeat. “And then?”
“Then I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” He holds my gaze. “Llewelyn, Ambersky, wherever Raegan is staying. Your choice.”
I study his face, trying to determine if he’s lying. But I don’t see deception there. Just worry, and something else I can’t quite read.
My wolf stirs, which surprises me. According to Reeyan, the suppressor should have another couple of hours before it wears off, but I can feel her starting to wake up. Confused and groggy, like she’s coming out of a deep sleep.
“Wait.” I focus on that sensation, on the faint stirring where there should be complete emptiness. “My wolf. I can feel her.”
Reeyan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Already? It hasn’t even been half an hour.”
“I know what I feel.” I close my eyes, reaching for that connection. It’s weak, barely there, but it’s something. “She’s waking up.”
“The suppressor they used must have been a newer model.” He sounds thoughtful now, like he’s filing this information away. “Or maybe less powerful than the ones we’ve seen before. Either way, that’s good. The sooner she comes back, the better you’ll feel.”
He’s not wrong. Even this faint awareness of my wolf is better than the complete emptiness from before. But she’s agitated, restless in a way I don’t understand. Like something is pulling at her, making her pace and whine.
“Fine.” I finally relent. “A few hours.”
Reeyan smirks, and I nod and settle back into my seat, arms still crossed. He puts the truck back into gear and continues driving.
We don’t talk for the rest of the drive. I spend the time watching the landscape change, trying not to think about how tired I suddenly feel. The adrenaline from the attack is wearing off, leaving me shaky and exhausted.
My wolf keeps stirring, getting stronger with each passing minute. Whatever the suppressor did to block our connection is definitely wearing off faster than Reeyan expected. But the agitation isn’t fading. If anything, it’s getting worse.
Eventually, Reeyan turns off the main road onto a smaller one. Then onto an even smaller one that’s barely more than packed dirt. Trees start appearing—desert plants that somehow survive in this harsh climate—and I realize we’re heading into a more secluded area.
Great. Because this isn’t creepy at all.
Finally, he pulls up in front of a modest house that looks like it’s been here for decades. Single story, earth-toned walls that blend into the desert surroundings. There’s a covered porch with two old rocking chairs, and I can see warm lighting through the windows.
It’s not what I expected. I’m not sure what I expected, but this isn’t it.
Reeyan kills the engine and climbs out without a word. I follow, my legs shaky as my feet hit the ground. Every muscle in my body aches, and I’m starting to realize just how many bruises I’m going to have tomorrow.
He unlocks the front door and holds it open for me. “After you.”
I walk inside and stop immediately.
Books. Everywhere.
Every wall has floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with volumes of all sizes and ages.
There are stacks on the floor, on side tables, on what looks like it used to be a dining table but is now buried under research materials.
Maps are tacked to one wall, covered in notes and markings in multiple colors of ink.
A leather journal sits open on a desk in the corner, pages filled with dense handwriting I can’t read from this distance.
It’s organized chaos. Like a library exploded, and someone tried to put it back together but gave up halfway through.
Reeyan moves past me, already gathering some of the loose papers scattered across a chair. “Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”
“It’s fine.” I take a few more steps inside, looking around with growing fascination.
The house is small but comfortable. There’s a worn couch that looks like it’s been sat on thousands of times, the leather cracked in places but still sturdy. A fireplace dominates one wall, clearly used regularly based on the ash and the stack of wood beside it. And more books. Always more books.
The walls are a warm tan color that makes the space feel cozy despite the clutter.
Thick rugs cover most of the hardwood floor, muffling sound and adding warmth.
Everything feels lived-in and real, not staged or perfect.
It’s the kind of space that belongs to someone who actually uses it rather than just sleeps here.
There are personal touches too—a mug on the side table with a faded university logo, a blanket draped over the back of the couch that looks handmade, a pair of reading glasses perched on top of a particularly tall stack of books. The kind of details that make a house feel like a home.
“Sit.” He gestures to the couch. “I’ll make tea.”
“I don’t need—”
“Sit,” he repeats, firmer this time. “You’re about to fall over.”
I look down and realize my legs are shaking so badly I’m not sure how much longer they’ll hold me up.
I sink onto the couch, and it’s even more comfortable than it looks. The leather is soft and worn in all the right places, molding to my body like it’s been waiting for someone to collapse into it. My body immediately wants to curl up and pass out, but I force myself to stay alert.
This is fine. I’m fine. A few hours, and then I can leave.
Reeyan disappears through a doorway that must lead to the kitchen. I hear cabinets opening, water running, the clink of mugs. Normal sounds that should be comforting, but somehow make everything feel more surreal.
I was almost kidnapped tonight. Three men died because of it. And now, I’m sitting in a stranger’s house waiting for tea like this is some kind of social call.
My hands start shaking. Then my arms. Then my whole body.
The reality of what almost happened crashes over me. Those men were going to take me. They were going to do who knows what with me. If Reeyan hadn’t shown up when he did—
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop the shaking. It doesn’t work.
My wolf whines inside me, confused and upset by my distress. She’s stronger now, more present, but still not fully back. The suppressor’s effects are fading but haven’t disappeared.
Reeyan returns with two mugs, takes one look at me, and sets them down on the coffee table before crouching in front of me.
“Breathe,” he urges me. “You’re safe now.”
“I know.” But my voice comes out thin and reedy. “I just—”
“It’s the adrenaline crash.” He doesn’t touch me, but he stays close. “It’s normal. Let it happen.”
So I do. I sit there on his couch and shake while he watches, those green eyes never leaving my face. He doesn’t try to fix it or make it stop. Just stays there, steady and present, until eventually the shaking slows and then stops.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice yet.
He hands me one of the mugs. The tea is hot and sweet, with honey and something floral. Maybe chamomile? I take a sip and feel the warmth spread through my chest, chasing away some of the cold that’s settled in my bones.
We sit in silence for a few minutes. Him on the coffee table, facing me, me on the couch, trying to pull myself together and failing.
My wolf is getting more agitated, pacing inside me like she wants something but can’t figure out what. Every time Reeyan moves, she perks up, paying attention in a way that makes me uncomfortable.
More silence. I should probably say something, thank him again, or ask questions about Thornridge or literally anything. But the words won’t come.
Instead, what comes out is, “I had a vision.”
He goes very still. “What?”
“A vision. Or something like it. That’s why I was on that road tonight.” The words start tumbling out before I can stop them. “I was going to see Raegan because I needed to talk to someone who would understand. Someone who wouldn’t just tell me I was stressed or imagining things.”
“Tell me about it.” His voice has changed, become more focused. Like I’ve just said, the most interesting thing in the world. “The vision.”
So I do. I tell him about the women in the circle, about their blank faces and empty eyes.
About the dark chains wrapped around their hearts, squeezing and constricting until nothing was left but hollow shells.
About waking up in a cold sweat and not being able to shake the feeling that something is fundamentally wrong with my pack.
About searching through the archives all day, looking for any reference to curses or magical bindings. About finding nothing and feeling more alone than I’ve ever felt in my life.
He listens without interrupting, his full attention on me as I speak. When I finish, I expect questions. Scholarly curiosity about the details or the symbolism.
What I don’t expect is the way his jaw sets, or the way his hands curl into fists, or the low growl that rumbles in his chest.
“You’re not going back there,” he declares.
“Excuse me?”
“To Llewelyn. You’re not going back until we understand what that vision means.
” His eyes have gone dark, almost feral.
“Something is wrong with your pack—you said it yourself. And Thornridge targeted you instead of going after your aunt or any of the other council members. Why? What makes you different?”
“I don’t—”
“You’re staying here.” He cuts me off. “With me. Where I can keep you safe while we figure this out.”
Oh, hell no.