Chapter 3 Sable
Sable
Consciousness came in fragments.
The pain came first—a dull roar that radiated from my ribs with every breath.
Sharp spikes where my face throbbed in time with my heartbeat lanced through the tatters of my stupor.
Then there was warmth, which made no sense, because the last thing I remembered were the cold cobblestones and even colder hands ripping me from the ground by my hair.
Then a pleasant scent invaded my nostrils. Pine and rain and something wild—something that made the otherness in my bones purr like a cat in a sunbeam.
No. Absolutely not.
Because I knew who held me, and I wouldn’t laze in his arms for one more second.
I didn't give that first fuck that my ribs screamed in protest. Didn't care that my magic was guttered and damn near gone. I twisted in Harkan’s grip, shoving weakly against his chest with hands that wouldn't stop shaking.
"Let me—" The words came out broken, ragged. "Put me down—"
A growl vibrated through his wide chest, low and resonant, more wolf than man. Before I could process the sound, his head dipped and the sharp press of fangs pressed against the curve of my neck.
Not biting. Not breaking skin.
Just... there. It was part warning and part promise. The kind of gesture that said “Stop fighting me” in a language older than words, older than time itself.
Every muscle in my body locked. My breath caught. The tether between us flooded with something hot and electric that I refused to even contemplate.
The fangs, his breath, lingered for one heartbeat. Two. Then they withdrew, and his voice came rough against the shell of my ear.
"You have broken ribs,” Harkan growled, somehow soft despite his ire. “Internal bleeding, maybe. If you keep fighting, you'll make it worse." He paused for a moment, his warning clear. "So, stop."
I wanted to spit in his face. Wanted to tell him that I'd been manhandled by worse men than him and survived. But my body had already betrayed me, going limp in his arms, the fight draining out of me like water from a broken cup.
The bond purred, smug and satisfied.
Traitor, I snarled at it. Traitor body. Traitor magic. Traitor everything.
"Easy," he said, softer now. "You're safe."
Safe. Right. Because nothing said “safe” like being carried through the streets by an Alpha who'd just put his fangs to my throat.
The link between us disagreed. It curled warm and content in my chest, easing the sharp edges of the pain, whispering things like “home” and “protection” and “his.”
A part of me wanted to scream or cry, and I shoved back against it with everything I had. Which, given my current state, wasn't much—but spite had always been my strongest suit.
You don't get to decide, I thought viciously, chastising my betraying body. You don't get to want him for me.
And naturally—because of course it did—my body ignored me entirely.
The darkness tried to pull me back under. I fought it, stubborn as always, clinging to awareness through sheer spite.
Trouble. Where was Trouble?
A small weight pressed against my neck—warm fur, the faint crackle of foxfire against my skin. There. He was there. Still with me.
Some of the panic eased as my eyelids drooped, falling shut as if spelled.
"—need to think about what you're doing."
A woman's voice, sharp and concerned. I knew that voice. Cara. The one with the scar along her jaw and eyes like winter storms. I fought to keep listening, to stay focused, but my body had other plans.
"The pack is already unsettled after Bram," she continued, and I felt more than heard her footsteps falling into rhythm beside us. "Bringing her here—"
"She's under my protection." Harkan's voice brooked no argument. The arms around me tightened fractionally, and I hated—hated—how my body relaxed into the hold instead of fighting it.
The bond purred louder. I wanted to claw it out of my chest. Wanted to chop off my arm, remove his mark, cast off the whole cursed lot of it, and begin again.
"I'm not questioning that. But the others will. She's not pack, Harkan. She's not even a shifter. Half of them think you've gone feral again, and the other half—"
"I haven't gone feral." The words came out clipped—dangerous—and a traitorous part of me wanted to snap at Cara on Harkan’s behalf.
"I know that. But they don't. They see an Alpha covered in blood, carrying a witch through the streets, and they remember what happened last time you—" Cara stopped herself.
When she spoke again, her voice was careful.
"They remember the chains, Harkan. They remember what it took to bring you back. "
Silence. The arms around me had turned to iron, every muscle locked tight.
"That was different," he said finally, his voice a low rumble against my cheek.
"Was it? You tore four men apart tonight. You didn't even leave enough for the crows, let alone the bone pits."
"They shouldn’t have touched what’s mine."
The words landed like stones in still water. The weight of them settled into my bones, and the bond—the traitorous, treacherous bond—bloomed warm at the claim.
Not yours, I thought viciously. Never yours. I don't care what this thing in my chest says.
"And that's exactly what worries me," Cara said quietly. "The last time you claimed something as yours, you nearly destroyed yourself protecting it. And when you lost—" She cut herself off. "I won't watch that happen again."
Another silence. Longer this time. Heavy with things I didn't understand and wasn't sure I wanted to.
When Harkan spoke again, his voice was rough. "I won't make the same mistakes. I won't let the wolf take everything this time."
"I'm not saying turn her away," Cara said, softer now. "I'm saying be smart about it. The pack needs to see strength, not—"
"Not what? Compassion? Mercy?" A bitter edge crept into his tone. "I spent a century learning what happens when strength is the only thing that matters. I won't rule that way."
A century. Chains. He'd mentioned both before, and I still didn't know what they meant. What kind of creature lived that long, suffered that long, and came out the other side still capable of the gentleness that seemed to surround my whole body?
Don't, I warned myself. Don't start thinking of him as anything other than a threat. That's how Rafe got you.
The memory surfaced before I could stop it—dragged up from the depths by pain and exhaustion and the desperate need to remember why I couldn't trust this.
"Don't trust that man, Sable."
My mother's voice, sharp with worry, her mirror-bright eyes fixed on something I couldn't see. She'd been standing in the doorway of her shop—our shop, filled with glass and light and the smell of dried herbs—watching Rafe walk away down the street.
"Mama, you don't even know him."
"I know enough." She'd turned to me then, gripping my shoulders with hands that trembled. "I've seen what he is. What he'll do. Promise me you'll stay away from him."
I hadn't promised. I'd been nineteen and stupid and so desperately in love with the man who smiled at me like I was the only person in the world. What did my mother know about love? What did she know about anything except her mirrors and her visions and her endless, exhausting warnings?
Everything. She'd known everything.
And I hadn't listened.
The memory dissolved, leaving behind the familiar ache of guilt and grief. Thirteen years later, and I still couldn't think about her without tasting regret.
I'm sorry, Mama. You were right. You were always right.
"—post guards and send for a healer," Cara was saying, her voice pulling me back to the present.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. Half the pack thinks you've lost your mind, and the other half is waiting to see if they're right."
"Let them wait."
Their voices faded in and out after that, words blurring into sounds I couldn't parse. The pain was getting harder to ignore, each breath a fresh reminder that at least one of my ribs had given up on being a rib. Trouble pressed closer, his worry bleeding through our bond in waves of distress.
I'm okay, I tried to send him. Still breathing. Mostly.
He didn't believe me. Fair enough. I didn't believe me, either.
The rhythm of Harkan's footsteps changed—stairs, then a doorway, then what felt like a courtyard opening up around us. The air shifted, carrying new scents: woodsmoke, roasting meat, the sharp musk of wolves.
Lots of wolves.
I forced my eyes open, just a sliver.
The stronghold sprawled before us—stone and timber, old and solid, lit by torches that cast flickering shadows across dozens of watching faces.
Shifters in human form lined the path, pressing close enough that I could feel the weight of their stares.
Some curious. Some hostile. Some carefully, dangerously blank.
"Is that her?" someone whispered. "The witch?"
"Look at the blood—"
"—killed four of Varro's men for her—"
"—going to bring war down on all of us—"
The whispers built like a wave, rolling through the crowd. I saw teeth bared in something that wasn't quite a smile. Saw hands flexing into claws and back again. Saw the naked hunger of predators sizing up prey.
The bond flared hot in my chest—not purring now, but warning. Even it could sense the danger here.
Good, I thought at it. Maybe now you understand what you've gotten us into.
A woman stepped into our path. Copper hair, hard eyes, shoulders thrown back in challenge. She looked at me the way a cat looked at something small and wounded—assessing how much fight was left in me.
Not much, if I were being honest. But I'd be damned if I let her see that.
"Alpha." Her voice dripped false respect. "The pack has questions about your... guest."
"Then the pack can wait." Harkan didn't slow down. Didn't look at her. "Move, Petra."
Petra's lip curled. "We have a right to know why you're dragging Varro's property into our home. Unless you've forgotten that his men will come looking for her."
"Let them come."
"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who'll bleed when—"
"I said move."
The words hit the air like a physical force. They reverberated through Harkan's chest, and I felt the way every wolf in the courtyard went still. Even Petra flinched, her challenge crumbling in the face of whatever she saw in his eyes.
She moved.
But her gaze followed us as we passed, and I didn't need my truth-sense to know she'd be a problem later.
The crowd parted reluctantly, wolves peeling away as Harkan pushed through. I caught glimpses of faces—young, old, scarred, smooth—all watching with the same unsettling intensity. A child darted forward, curious, before an older woman yanked them back with a hiss.
"Don't stare," the woman muttered. "That's the witch who got Bram killed."
The words hit like a blow. I hadn't gotten anyone killed. I'd been dragged into that mess against my will, forced to taste lies while a man died on my floor. But they didn't know that. They didn't care.
To them, I was just another problem their Alpha had brought home. Another threat to the pack.
They're not wrong, some part of me whispered. Varro will come for you. And when he does, these wolves will pay the price.
The bond pulsed, warm and insistent. Safe, it seemed to say. He'll keep us safe.
He can't, I thought back. No one can.
More stairs. A hallway. Doors opening and closing as Cara barked orders I couldn't quite follow. The sounds of the pack faded, replaced by quieter things—the creak of wood, the soft rustle of fabric, the steady thrum of Harkan's heartbeat beneath my ear.
I hadn't realized I'd pressed my face against his chest. Hadn't realized I'd stopped fighting the hold entirely.
The bond purred louder, smug and satisfied.
Of course it was. My own body had become my enemy.
"This might hurt," Harkan said, and then he was lowering me onto something soft—a bed, my pain-fogged brain supplied—and fresh agony ripped through my ribs.
I bit down on a scream, tasting blood where I'd split my lip again.
"Sorry." The word was rough. Almost pained. "I'm sorry."
I wanted to snap at him. Wanted to tell him exactly what he could do with his stupid fucking “sorry.” But my body was done, wrung out and hollowed, and the darkness was pulling at me again with insistent hands.
Trouble curled against my shoulder, his small body trembling. Through our bond, his exhaustion crashed into me—he'd fought, too, spent his foxfire defending me, and now he was running on fumes just like I was.
Rest, I managed to send him. We're... we're okay.
The lie tasted like copper on my tongue.
A hand brushed hair back from my face—gentle, careful, avoiding the worst of the bruises. The touch shouldn't have been comforting. I shouldn't have leaned into it like a flower turning toward the sun.
But I was tired. So fucking tired. And the bond was warm, and Harkan's scent was everywhere, and my body had apparently decided that survival meant surrender.
Don't trust him, my mother's voice whispered from somewhere deep in my memory. Don't trust any of them.
"Sleep," Harkan said quietly. "You're safe here. I swear it."
Safe. There was that word again. Like it meant something. Like it could be trusted.
Rafe had promised me “safe,” too, once. Had held me just like this, gentle hands, and gentle words, while he led me straight into Varro's chains.
I wanted to argue. Wanted to fight. Wanted to be the sharp-tongued survivor who'd clawed her way through Varro's hell without breaking.
But the darkness was winning, and my body was done pretending, and somewhere in the space between one breath and the next, I let go.
The last thing I registered was the scent of pine and rain wrapping around me like a promise I didn't ask for.
And Harkan's voice, barely a whisper: "I've got you."
That's what I'm afraid of, I thought.
And then there was nothing at all.