Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
After the training session, exhaustion and hunger gnaw at me.
I follow the mouthwatering scent of food through the winding stone corridors.
Unlike the polished formality of my old pack’s dining hall, which is rarely used, this space is bustling and alive with energy.
Stone tables of various heights fill the room, with some designated areas designed for wolves who prefer to eat in their animal forms. Torches and crystal formations provide warm, dancing light that create pockets of intimacy despite the hall’s size.
I hesitate at the entrance. In my old pack, mealtimes were taken alone unless during special occasions.
When we did have a feast, the eating order was rigidly hierarchical—omegas and “undesirables” like me ate last, often receiving only scraps, while Alpha Varick and his inner sanctum gorged on fresh kills, sweet desserts, and multiple courses perfectly cooked.
Now, all eyes turn to me, conversations hushing. I’m suddenly aware of my status, the Alpha’s mate, marked and claimed, yet still a stranger.
A tall wolf with auburn hair rises from a nearby table and approaches. His movement is measured, deliberate, his eyes—a striking amber—are assessing but not hostile.
“Alpha Female,” he greets with a slight bow of his head. “I’m Elias, head of security. Second to Lithia.”
“Please, call me Kitara,” I say, feeling awkward in the silence that’s fallen over the hall.
His smile is surprisingly warm. “Of course. Welcome, Kitara.” He gestures toward a raised platform where a single table sits. “The Alpha’s table awaits you.”
The elevated table, carved from dark stone, is set a few steps above the rest of the dining hall. From here, it commands the room. It’s a show of dominance and separation, a visible reminder that the one who sits there leads.
I glance around, noting the wolves sharing meals and laughter, their bodies pressed close as stories fly back and forth across the long benches.
I look back to the black table, my stomach twisting.
I hate it.
My wolf stirs, watching with sharp, steady eyes. We are pack. We should not be separate.
I agree. I don’t want to be stared at.
Then be with the pack.
Relief curls in my chest as I turn to Elias. “If it’s okay, could I join you?”
Surprise flickers across his face, followed by a look that might be approval. “Of course.” He indicates his table, where several wolves watch our interaction with undisguised curiosity.
The choice feels significant somehow, my first real decision as Alpha Female. I nod, following him back to his table. The wolves seated there rise in respect, though their expressions range from open interest to careful neutrality.
“My hunting unit,” Elias explains. “Zella, our tracker.” He indicates a woman with pale-cream skin, delicate features, and warm-chestnut hair that frames her face in soft waves.
Her eyes, a striking forest green, light up with genuine warmth when they meet mine.
She offers a brilliant smile that immediately puts me at ease.
“Heath, weapons master.” A massive Black man with a bald head and scar bisecting his left eyebrow nods solemnly. His shoulders are broader than Ryker’s, though he lacks the alpha’s predatory grace.
“And Kaden, our resident troublemaker.” Said with a gesture toward a lean wolf with mischief in his green eyes and silver-streaked-black hair that seems at odds with his tan, youthful face.
“I prefer comedian,” Kaden corrects with an easy grin that reveals slightly crooked canines. “Someone has to keep things interesting around here.”
I slide onto the bench, hyperaware of the space they make for me. In Silvercrest, no one would have willingly sat beside me.
“We saw your training session,” Zella says, leaning forward with an encouraging smile as she helps herself to what looks like roasted venison from a central platter. “Very impressive.”
I blink in surprise at her unexpected praise. “You were there?”
“Even if we weren’t we already know about it,” Kaden says, pushing a plate toward me. His movements are casual but there’s an intensity to his gaze when it meets mine. “For most it’s our first time seeing a seer work. Plus, you know, curiosity about the Alpha’s new mate.”
Zella gently nudges a basket of freshly baked bread in my direction. “You have to be starving after that workout. The kitchen made blackberry honey butter today—it’s perfect on the warm bread.”
I take the plate, unsure how to respond. Through the claiming bond, I sense Ryker’s distant awareness spike. I force myself to calm, turning away from his questing mind.
I need to stand on my own.
“What they’re failing to say,” comes a new voice, cool and precise, “is that they wanted to see if you’re worthy of the Alpha’s mark.”
A slim woman slides onto the bench across from me. Unlike the others, who wear jeans or sweats suited for hunting and fighting, she’s dressed as if she’s about to go to a party. Her coppery hair is pulled into severe braids, while her deep-burgundy dress complements her milky skin perfectly.
“Sara,” Elias acknowledges, his tone neutral but with an undercurrent of tension. “I didn’t realize you were joining us.”
“Of course I am,” she replies, her eyes never leaving mine. “I’m the pack historian and record-keeper. Your claiming is the first time a Shadowmist alpha has taken a mate who can’t shift. It’s a historic event.”
There’s something in her tone, not quite hostility, but a clinical detachment that makes me feel like a specimen being examined. I straighten my spine, meeting her gaze directly.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“We’ll see.”
Kaden chokes slightly on his drink, eyes widening at her boldness. Heath’s massive hand tightens around his fork, while Zella watches the interaction with sharp interest.
“Sara,” Elias says, his voice carrying a warning.
She shrugs one elegant shoulder. “I merely speak what others think. Our pack survives on strength. The Alpha’s mate must embody that strength.”
My wolf stirs, her teeth baring. I don’t like this one.
Me either.
“Are you saying strength only comes in one form?” I ask, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. I reach for some food, trying to appear casual as I serve myself venison and roasted vegetables. “That only fangs and claws matter?”
“They’ve kept us alive for centuries,” she counters. “History shows that seers rarely bring anything but trouble with them.”
An uncomfortable silence falls over the table. I can feel other wolves watching, listening, gauging my response. This has become as much a test as the training session.
I spear a piece of meat, chewing slowly as I consider her statement.
The meat is tender, perfectly seasoned—someone’s worked hard on this meal.
“Tell me,” I continue, voice soft but pointed, “when an elder can no longer hunt, does their worth to the pack vanish?”
Sara frowns, her brow furrowing. “Of course not.”
“Why?”
“Because they hold knowledge. Wisdom. They guide the young. Teach the old ways.”
“And when a wolf is injured, what value do they hold?”
She bristles. “Of course they are valued by the pack. They might serve as advisors or makers, looking after children or helping the frail. There’s always a place in our pack.”
I nod, swallowing another mouthful of perfectly seasoned meat.
“In my experience, what makes a pack strong isn’t just fangs and claws.
It’s the bonds between us.” I see the understanding flicker across her face but continue to gently make my point.
“The elder who comforts a frightened pup. The injured wolf who shares hard-won wisdom. The ones who can’t fight but tend the hearths, keeping home fires burning for those who do.
Strength comes from many places. Compassion creates loyalty.
Kindness builds trust. Without those bonds, a pack might survive—but it will never thrive. ”
Kaden lets out a low whistle, leaning back in his seat. Even Heath’s stoic expression cracks slightly with the tiniest flick of a smile.
Sara studies me for a long moment, then inclines her head in acknowledgment. “Well said, Alpha Female.”
“Tell me about your records,” I say, genuinely curious. “What exactly does your pack know about seers?”
“Less than we should,” comes another voice, and I turn to find a weathered older woman approaching our table.
Her once-black hair is now mostly silver, but her movements remain fluid and strong.
Deep lines mark a face that has seen decades of pack life, and her eyes—an unusual amber gold—hold wisdom and assessment in equal measure.
The respect with which the others make room for her tells me this is someone of significance.
“Elder Lyra,” Elias greets her, bowing his head deeply.
“Save the formalities for public ceremonies.” She waves him off, settling her gaze on me. “So you’re the seer who’s turned our pack upside down.”
I swallow hard. “I didn’t intend to cause disruption.”
Her laugh is unexpectedly bright. “Disruption is precisely what this pack needs. Stagnation kills faster than any enemy.” She studies me openly, her gaze lingering on my claiming mark. “The Alpha chose well. Though many still doubt.”
“With respect, Elder,” Sara interjects, “the concern isn’t about the Alpha’s choice, but about what her presence means for our future. A broken seer is hardly a threat. The Grand Alpha won’t—“
I flinch. The word broken lands like a brand. I’ve heard it all before, of course. Broken, damaged, useless. Only good for my visions. My old pack treated me as if I were a half-wolf just because I couldn’t shift.
I shouldn’t be surprised or hurt, but I am. Ryker treating me as a whole being doesn’t wash away the perceptions others have of me.
“The Grand Alpha, bah!” Lyra cuts her off sharply. “Thaddeus has been looking for an excuse to bring us to heel for decades. He’ll simply use the Alpha Female as his latest excuse.” Her gaze returns to me. “No offense intended, child.”