Chapter 6 Sable
Sable
"Absolutely not."
"Sable." Harkan's voice was patient in a way that made me want to throw something at his head. "You need to eat."
"I ate." I gestured vaguely at the empty tray on the bedside table. "See? Empty plate. Eating accomplished."
His lips pulled into an amused half-grin that made me want to punch him in the gut. "That was six hours ago."
"And?" Because the last time I left this room, I got slapped and Trouble got hurt. The evidence suggested leaving was a bad idea.
"And," Cara said from the doorway, her arms crossed and her expression suggesting she'd rather be literally anywhere else, "you can't hide in here forever. The pack needs to see you."
"The pack tried to kick my fox down a hallway," I reminded her. "Forgive me if I'm not eager to break bread with them."
That got me a raised eyebrow and a wintry glare.
"That was Petra. Petra is confined to her quarters and will remain there until the Alpha decides otherwise.
" Cara uncrossed her arms and stepped into the room.
"The rest of the pack is... curious. Some of them, anyway. And curious is better than hostile."
Funny. That hadn’t been my experience. "Is it? Because curious people ask questions, and I'm not exactly in a sharing mood."
"You don't have to share anything." Harkan moved to stand beside Cara, and I hated that the bond purred at his proximity. "You just have to be present. Let them see that you're not whatever monster Petra's been painting you as."
That was a tall order. If I’d had less restraint, I would have snapped her fucking neck. "I pinned her to a wall with magic and threatened to kill her."
"She kicked your familiar and slapped you first," Harkan countered.
He wasn’t wrong but agreeing with him set my teeth on edge. "Details."
Cara made a sound that might have been a snort, but she quickly smothered it.
"Look, I'm not saying this is going to be a party.
But right now, you're a mystery. Mysteries make people nervous.
Nervous people do stupid things." She met my eyes, her gaze steady.
"Eat dinner with the pack. Let them see you're just a person.
It'll make everything easier in the long run. "
I looked at Trouble, who was curled on the bed beside me, his ribs wrapped in bandages I'd infused with healing magic. He lifted his head and gave me a look that clearly said, they have a point, and you know it.
"Traitor," I muttered.
He yipped once, smug.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Every instinct I had screamed against this—against walking into a room full of predators who already didn't trust me.
But hiding wasn't a strategy. It was just delaying the inevitable. And if I was going to survive here, I needed to know who was a threat and who wasn't. Dinner would tell me more about this pack than a week of skulking in Harkan's quarters.
"Fine," I said, pushing myself up from the chair. "But I'm not doing this to make friends. I'm doing this because I need to know who else might try to kick my familiar."
"Noted," Harkan said, and I could have sworn I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
That same mouth had been on mine once upon a time. Had that been only days ago? A trail of heat flooded my body, but I shook it off.
No. Nuh-uh. No way.
I was not going to follow my nether regions down that path. That way was danger and destruction and heartbreak. I knew from experience.
The dining hall was larger than I'd expected.
I paused at the threshold, taking it in before we entered.
The space took up most of the ground floor of the stronghold's main building—a vast room with high ceilings, thick wooden beams, and long tables arranged in rows.
Torches flickered along the walls, casting warm light over the assembled crowd.
And it was a crowd. Dozens of shifters filled the benches, eating and talking and laughing, their voices blending into a wash of sound that spilled out into the hallway.
I'd expected wolves. Mostly wolves, anyway.
What I got was... everything.
A massive man with shoulders like boulders sat at the nearest table, his features heavy and broad in a way that screamed “bear.” Across from him, a lithe woman with tawny skin and golden eyes picked at her food with the delicate precision of a cat.
A cluster of younger shifters near the windows had the sharp, watchful look of birds of prey, their movements quick and darting.
I even spotted a compact, muscular man with silver-streaked hair and a snarl permanently etched on his face—badger, if I had to guess, or maybe wolverine.
And the wolves. There were plenty of wolves, too, but they weren't alone. This wasn't just a wolf pack.
This was something else entirely.
"You look surprised," Harkan murmured beside me.
"I expected wolves," I admitted.
"I don't turn people away based on what animal lives under their skin." His hand settled at the small of my back—light, barely there, but the bond hummed at the contact. "Strength comes in many forms. I'd rather have a loyal hawk at my back than a treacherous wolf."
Then we stepped through the door together.
The room didn't just go quiet.
It stopped.
Every conversation died mid-sentence. Every fork froze mid-bite. Dozens of heads turned toward us, and something ancient and instinctual rippled through the assembled shifters. Spines straightened. Eyes lowered. Even the massive bear shifter ducked his head in acknowledgment.
Alpha. The word seemed to pulse through the room without anyone speaking it.
Then Harkan gave a slight nod, and the tension broke. Conversations resumed, forks moved again, but there was a different quality to it now. An awareness. Their Alpha was here, and they knew it in their bones.
"That was..." I started.
"Pack," Harkan said simply.
A group near the door stood as we approached, their expressions stony. Three wolves, all male, and even though they'd lowered their eyes like everyone else, the resentment rolling off them was palpable. They waited until Harkan acknowledged them with a glance before the leader spoke.
"Alpha." The word was correct, but the tone was cold. "We'll take our meal elsewhere, if you permit."
"As you wish," Harkan replied, his tone neutral. "Though you'll miss Gianna's roast. I hear it's particularly good tonight."
The wolf's jaw tightened, but he dipped his head—shallow, perfunctory, the bare minimum of respect—before the three of them filed out.
I watched them go, then turned to Harkan. "Friends of Petra's?"
"Something like that." He gestured to an empty spot on the bench. "Sit. Try not to look like you're waiting for someone to stab you."
"Hard to do when someone might actually stab me."
"No one's going to stab you." Cara dropped onto the bench across from us, reaching for a pitcher of something amber. "Not with the Alpha sitting right there, anyway. Later, you could have problems, but right now? You’re the safest you can be."
Comforting.
I sat, acutely aware of the attention still prickling against my skin. Trouble had insisted on coming despite his injuries, and he perched on my shoulder now, his small body tense with alertness. His foxfire flickered weakly—he was still recovering—but his eyes were bright and watchful.
A plate appeared in front of me, pushed across the table by a woman I didn't recognize. Dark hair streaked with gray, warm brown eyes, flour dusting her apron.
"Eat," she said firmly. "You're skin and bones and too damn weak." She angled her chin toward Harkan. "He might not force-feed you, but I will."
"Gianna," Harkan said by way of introduction. "She runs the kitchen. And she's right: you should eat."
"I'm not—"
Gianna fixed me with an expression that reminded me uncomfortably of my mother. "Don't you dare fib and say you're not hungry. I have ears and I could hear your stomach from the other side of the compound. Eat."
I got to eating. Hell, I was tempted to salute her for good measure.
The plate was piled high—thick slices of roast venison swimming in a rich, herb-flecked gravy, roasted root vegetables caramelized at the edges, and a hunk of crusty bread still warm enough to steam when I tore it open.
Someone slid a tankard of honeyed ale in front of me, and I didn't bother to see who before I took a long drink.
The food was good. Better than good, actually—rich and savory, the kind of meal that warmed you from the inside out. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until I started, and then I couldn't seem to stop.
Around me, the tension in the room slowly began to ease. The conversations grew louder again, the laughter more frequent. People stopped staring quite so much.
And then a small voice said, "Is that a fox?"
I looked down to find a little girl standing beside the bench, her eyes wide with wonder. She couldn't have been more than five or six, with a wild tangle of dark curls and the unmistakable energy of a wolf pup practically vibrating beneath her skin.
"His name is Trouble," I said, surprised by how steady my voice came out. The last time I’d been around a child, I was one.
"Trouble," the girl repeated on a giggle. "That's a funny name."
A smile curved my lips before I could stop it, her joy infectious. "It suits him."
She reached out a tentative hand, then stopped, looking up at me with sudden uncertainty. "Can I pet him?"
I glanced at Trouble. He was watching the girl with an expression I couldn't quite read—curious, maybe, or amused. Through our bond, something like interest sparked.
"Ask him," I said. "He makes his own decisions."
The girl shifted her attention to Trouble, her face serious with the gravity only children could muster. "Mr. Trouble, can I please pet you?"
Trouble chittered once, then deliberately lowered his head, presenting himself for scritches.
The girl's face lit up like the sun coming out from behind clouds. Her small fingers sank into his fur, gentle despite her excitement, and Trouble's eyes half-closed in contentment.