Chapter 12
RIVIK
The scent of home hit me before I saw it, smoke and pine resin, cured meat and wolf musk, the living pulse of my pack woven into every breath of wind.
Hanging Rock came into view, a massive boulder that the Great Mother had placed at the edge of the valley, looking as though it would tip over at any moment.
Generations of wolves had watched the Hanging Rock in every storm, waiting for the day when it would fall, but it had never even shifted.
We held all of our most sacred ceremonies there, and the rock itself bore many hand and pawprints, some faded over the years, others fresh from last year’s adulthood ceremony.
Normally the sight of Hanging Rock brought joy to my heart, or after perilous and hard hunts, relief, but now my chest tightened as it came into view.
I was bringing strangers into the heart of the Hanging Rock Pack during the lean season with questions I couldn't answer and two injured humans that would drain our resources further. I didn’t know how the rest of the pack would react, but I hoped with our successful hunt, they might be more understanding.
The camp sprawled across the side of the valley floor ahead, hide shelters and windbreaks fanning out from the small cave system that wove through the rockface beyond.
Smoke curled lazily against the grey sky, and figures moved between the structures.
Children's laughter carried on the wind and adult voices mixed with playful growls from those in their spirit form.
Safety. Belonging. Everything I would bleed to protect. And I was about to risk it all for a human woman I couldn’t mate.
Behind me, Daska carried her. The sight made something dark and vicious twist in my gut every time I glanced back.
I’d taken turns, giving my brother a much needed rest, but he’d made sure they hadn’t lasted long, and in some ways I’d been grateful.
She’d slipped in and out of consciousness, her arms wrapping around my neck as I held her, her breath tickling my neck, her warmth seeping through my clothing.
It had been incredible, and it had been terrible.
Every moment her body had been pressed against mine had only strengthened the bond between us, the one I was trying to fight.
She had felt so right in my arms, it had taken all my strength to give her back to Daska each time.
She's not yours. She can't be yours.
I forced my gaze forward. Scanned the camp with the automatic thoroughness that came with years of vigilance.
Counted the shelters. Noted the positions of the sentries.
Saw old Maren hanging hides near the river and Coad tending the smoking racks with her youngest strapped to her back, her other two playing in their spirit from about her feet.
Everything looked as it should. Peaceful. Ordered. The pack functioning as it always did in my absence, because my father and his had built it to run that way. Because a good alpha ensured the pack didn't crumble every time he left to hunt.
Torin's sharp whistle announced our return—three rising notes that carried across the valley.
The response was immediate. Heads turned.
Wolves in spirit form lifted their muzzles from whatever they'd been doing.
A ripple of recognition passed through the camp like wind through grass, and then they were moving toward us, the way packs always moved toward their alpha.
Not running. Not panicked. Just drawn, the way water found its level.
Elder Sira emerged from the cave mouth first, leaning on her walking staff but moving with a sureness that belied her age.
Her dark eyes swept over our group with the sharpness of a hawk assessing prey.
Nothing escaped that gaze. Not the strangers.
Not the stretcher. Not Daska carrying the unconscious woman in his arms like she was the most precious thing in the world.
Not me, watching him do it.
Sira's eyes found mine across the distance, and I saw the question in them sharp as flint.
What have you done?
I lifted my chin and kept walking.
We hadn’t even reached the outskirts of the shelters when another alpha came running towards us. As he drew close, his spirit form melted away, leaving a man my own height and with a younger and fairer version of my own looks walking towards us.
“Ryke,” I said, forcing a smile, as my littermate swept me into a strong hug.
“Alpha. Rivik, it’s good to see you, brother.” He stepped back and caught my forearms in the traditional greeting. "We expected you yesterday. What happened?"
"Long story." I returned the grip, then released him. "We found strangers on the river. They'd been attacked by Broken Ridge."
Sira joined us then, leaning on her walking staff but moving with the same quiet authority she'd carried since before I was born.
Her white hair was braided back from a face that time had carved into something fierce and beautiful, and her dark eyes missed nothing as they swept across our returning party.
"Alpha. You bring humans to the heart of our territory?"
"I bring guests who need shelter. Two wolf spirits, two humans. The humans are injured and require care." I met her eyes steadily. "They'll be treated with pack hospitality until the storms pass."
"Injured?" Her gaze flicked to Dev, then to Ellie in Daska's arms. "Two injured. During lean season, when supplies—"
"Will stretch." I kept my voice even. “The spirits put them in our path, Sira. We don't turn away what the spirits bring."
Her nostrils flared. “And Broken Ridge? Karik?”
“Accepted they were in our care when we intervened.” The old wolf snorted.
“Karik accepts nothing. He won't forget, and he won't forgive if you took what he considered his prizes."
“Sira, females are not prizes. I do not regret my decision.”
Sira's expression darkened at that. Whatever her reservations about bringing humans into the pack, she despised Broken Ridge's practices with a fury that had only sharpened with age.
She'd been vocal about it at every gathering for as long as I could remember, calling Karik's pack an abomination before the Great Mother, demanding the other alphas unite against them.
Few had listened. Karik was powerful and his territory controlled the best river crossings. Politics, as always, trumped principle.
She bowed her head in submission. As close as Sira ever got to that concept.
"As you say, Alpha."
We continued further into the camp and my pack closed around us, wary but curious.
Visitors were uncommon, and these strangers, with their unusual attire, were even more fascinating.
Faces appeared in doorways and children peeked from behind their mothers' legs.
The elderly, freed from the hardest labour, settled by fires to watch, gossiping quietly between themselves.
I felt every gaze like a brand. Felt them cataloguing, weighing, judging.
I cut that thought off before it could finish forming. Focused on the practical. As much as I hated the thought, I needed Daska to focus on the woman. I had seen a wolf die from the blood curse and I needed to know she was going to survive. I turned sharply and snapped at him.
"Daska, take her to your hearth. Get her treated. I'll handle the rest."
Daska didn't need telling twice. He was already moving, shifting Ellie's weight against his chest with that careful tenderness that made my chest ache.
She stirred in his arms, a thin sound escaping her cracked lips, and I saw his jaw tighten as he murmured something low and soothing against her hair.
I watched them go for exactly two heartbeats longer than I should have, then turned to the matter at hand.
"Fen, take the wolves and the injured male to the visitors hearth. Make sure they’re comfortable.
Miska and Jarak, start unloading the hunt.
Torin, can you grab some help and get the meat stored away.
We brought back enough to ease the lean stores, and I want the pack to see that before they start worrying about extra mouths. "
My wolves moved without hesitation. The stretcher bearing the man was lifted smoothly, the two carriers navigating the familiar paths between shelters with an ease born of a lifetime's knowledge.
The stranger's eyes were wide, taking in everything with the sharp attention of a man cataloguing his surroundings for potential threats.
Smart. Even flat on his back with a broken leg, he was mapping the camp. I respected that.
Ryke fell into step beside me. My brother served as my second, and despite his lighter temperament, he was nobody's fool. He'd already taken stock of the strangers with a few quick glances, and I could practically hear the questions stacking up behind his teeth.
"The wolf shifters," he said quietly, nodding toward the strangers, who were standing at the edge of the camp looking like two deer surrounded by a hunting party. "They're… unusual."
I nodded. “They are. I do not recognise their language, but I was hoping Sira might. I thought they might come from the southern tribes. Their wolves are much smaller than ours. The man you see, I believe he is the alpha, and she is his mate, but why they travel with two humans, I have no idea.”
“Karik wanted the females?” Ryke asked, his voice low. “Their pack must be getting desperate.”
“Aren’t we all? Our pack would never enslave females just to breed though. He wanted to claim them. If we hadn’t intervened, they’d be on their way to Broken Ridge as little more than prizes and the males would have been slaughtered.”
“I understand, brother. But if you’ve taken something he believes is his, Sira is right, he won’t let it go. You may have acted with good intentions, Rivik, but it may lead to more complications.”