Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
“Come.” Ryker’s voice is low but not unkind. “You need to wash, and I need these wounds cleaned.”
He leads me through softly lit tunnels that spiral deep into the earth.
The stone beneath my feet is smooth, worn down by generations of wolf-kind and lovingly polished to a warm shine.
The air carries the faint scent of mineral-rich earth and something floral—lily, maybe? Or perhaps mountain thyme.
Crystal sconces glow softly along the walls, highlighting veins of quartz and amethyst like starlight frozen in stone.
Some of the stone archways are clearly ancient—natural formations reinforced and carved with different images by skilled hands.
Others are newer, smoothed into graceful curves that blend seamlessly with the old.
Woven tapestries hang at intervals, stitched with symbols I don’t recognize—wolves, moons, flames, and eyes.
Weapons line the walls in places, next to fire hydrants and emergency panels. Modern survival and ancient violence coexisting, like the wolves who walk these halls.
I trail my fingers along the cool stone as we walk, my inner wolf quiet but watchful. Ryker’s scent curls around us, and she presses closer.
Mate, she whispers, her certainty absolute.
But I’m not so sure.
She may trust, but I remember betrayal. I remember being paraded before the elders, told to shift until I collapsed from trying. I remember the disappointment in my mother’s eyes, the muttered curses from the alpha when I failed to give them the seer they wanted in wolf form.
My wolf trusts. I remember.
The man in him is more than capable of breaking me.
“It’s through here,” Ryker says, interrupting my thoughts.
The bathing chamber takes my breath away.
A vast cavern opens before us, its ceiling arching high above like the inside of some forgotten temple.
Crystals jut from the rock in jagged blooms, catching the soft lighting and amplifying it into a celestial glow.
The entire space shimmers with cool silver, dusky gold, and the occasional glimpses of violet and green where the mist is thickest.
Steam coils from a series of natural pools, misting the air. As we move closer, I notice the water is an impossible shade of turquoise, clear and inviting. The air is thick with heat and the scent of minerals—salt, stone, and something almost sweet, like warmed honey.
Woven towels sit in thick, orderly stacks on a nearby bench. A low tray holds soaps shaped like pressed leaves, and small polished bowls of clay scrubs and herbal ointments.
It’s... beautiful.
No. It’s more than beautiful. It’s decadent.
I freeze for a moment, unease curling through me.
Everything here speaks of ritual, comfort, and luxury. Of a life where care is not earned but expected. Where softness is not a weakness but a birthright. Where someone thought it was worthwhile to carve beauty into the walls and stock balms that smell like summer and silk.
I don’t know how to exist in a place like this.
All my life I’ve lived on the edge of too little. Too little food. Too little kindness. Too little safety. I’ve washed in cold streams. Slept on the floor. Been told that pain was the price of being tolerated.
And now I stand here in a room designed for pleasure.
My chest tightens. My throat aches with an emotion I don’t have words for. Grief, maybe—for all the years no one ever thought I deserved this.
I run my fingers over a towel. It’s softer than anything I’ve ever touched.
“The waters have healing properties,” Ryker explains, watching me. “Silver burns fade faster when treated in these pools.”
I wrap my arms around my middle, wondering if they have the power to heal my wolf.
Ryker’s gaze drops to my arms, and I’m once again painfully aware of my nudity.
In my old pack, curves like mine were seen as a weakness—another sign I wasn’t a true wolf.
The females there are lean and athletic, their bodies honed for running and hunting.
Here, in this chamber of stone and steam, I feel even more exposed, my weakness on display.
My wolf pushes forward, trying to nuzzle against him, to be close. She trusts him.
He is ours, she tells me.
“You’re afraid,” Ryker says.
“I’m cautious,” I say instead.
He steps closer but doesn’t touch me. “Why? Yesterday you were one of a pack of many. Today you’re a queen.”
I want to answer him but find myself without words.
He waits, the silence growing between us before sighing and turning away. “Help me clean these wounds?”
I’m surprised that his question is a request rather than an order.
“Okay.”
I follow him into the water, the heat seeping into my muscles, easing aches I didn’t even realize I had. The pool has natural ledges carved into its sides, allowing us to sit comfortably with the water at chest height.
Or at least chest height for him. It laps my collarbone, hiding me from his gaze.
Ryker hands me a cloth, turning so I can see the silver burns across his back.
Some are already healing, but others look angry and deep, the skin blistered and raw.
With gentle fingers, I begin to clean them, watching as the mineral-rich water washes away the remnants of metal and grit, seeming to soothe the worst of the damage.
My wolf is calm, tail curled around her paws. Safe, she tells me again. He is safe.
He may be tame now, but I have little doubt he could become feral quickly.
“Tell me about the Shadowmist Pack,” I say softly, needing to fill the intimate silence. “I know so little about you.”
“What do you know?”
“Barely anything at all. Alpha Varick rarely asked me to turn my vision your way, and we aren’t taught your lore.”
Ryker shakes his head. “Fool. Let me guess, he didn’t see us as a worthy threat.”
“You’d have to ask him.” I dip the cloth back in the waters, then lift it, running it across his back. “Are you a threat?”
He glances behind him, our gazes meeting. “Yes.”
I swallow, ducking my head as I concentrate on cleaning his wounds. “Thaddeus seemed angry with you. Why?”
“Because we are what they try to forget. We hunt as wolves are meant to hunt. We embrace the darkness they’ve tried to purge.” He hisses as I find a particularly deep burn. “We are what they fear becoming.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “You will. In time.”
I wring out the cloth, grimacing at the blood that falls.
He continues, his voice low. “Our pack were almost wiped out in the Blood Wars. Betrayed by the former Grand Alpha. The survivors live here now, underground. We welcome wolves who don’t fit anywhere else.”
I pause at the mention of the Blood Wars, my stomach tightening.
It was a bloody time in our recent history—a time when wolves were dragged from their dens by fae magic, children turned into weapons, whole bloodlines erased in the name of balance.
The fae courts wanted control over the were, and the former Grand Alpha opened our borders to them.
Sold our kind in exchange for his own power.
“I was a pup when they happened,” I say, lifting up on my knees to reach a cut near his shoulder. “You couldn’t have been much older.”
“I wasn’t. But my wolf is large and fierce, and so we went to battle at the side of my pack.” His shoulders tense under my hands. “I was in the final battle. When I became injured, I hid at the direction of my Alpha, surviving by huddling under bones and bodies.”
My wolf makes a sound deep inside me, calling her sympathy and comfort to his wolf.
“I’m sorry—for both you and your pack.”
He turns, slow and deliberate, and lifts a hand toward my face. I tense—but he only brushes a wet curl behind my ear.
“Thank you.”
We’re silent as he turns back and I continue to wash him, watching as the silver is removed and his natural healing takes over.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“For what?” he asks.
“For being honest. And for being patient with me.”
Ryker moves so fast the water barely ripples. One moment I’m cleaning his wounds, the next I’m pulled onto his lap, his large hands spanning my waist. The sudden heat of his skin against mine steals my breath.
Every nerve lights up as I register exactly how close we are.
We’re both naked. His chest presses against mine, his thighs bracketing me.
And beneath me—gods—I feel him. His thickening length presses against my core, hard and growing harder by the second.
The only thing separating us is the slick heat of the water and whatever thread of control he’s still clinging to.
I’ve never been this close to a man before. Never wanted to be.
And yet, I don’t move.
My hands are on his shoulders, braced there as if for balance.
The muscle beneath my palms is iron-wrapped tension.
His body hums with it—restrained strength, coiled and waiting.
His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle ticking beneath the stubble.
His nose flares once, twice, drawing in my scent like it’s the only thing anchoring him to reality.
His gaze locks with mine.
There’s heat there, yes. Hunger. Claiming. But there’s something else too. Something wild and reverent and deeply, achingly tender.
He’s holding me like I imagine a mate should hold their heart.
“I’m not a patient wolf, Kitara,” he says, voice low and ragged. “My instincts demand I claim what’s mine. Completely.”
It’s too much. I start to pull away, but his hand catches my wrist—not painfully, but firmly enough to stop me.
“But I can smell your fear and hesitation on your skin,” he continues, his thumb stroking the inside of my wrist where my pulse jumps beneath his touch. “And I want you willing. I won’t take what isn’t freely given.”
“Why?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
His smile is dark and full of promise. “Because submission is sweeter when it isn’t gained through coercion. And you will submit to me, little seer. When you’re ready.”