Chapter 11 #2
Harkan stood, rolling his shoulders, stretching out the kinks from a night spent in a chair that was clearly not designed for someone his size. My eyes followed him—couldn't help it—and then I looked away when he caught me watching.
Stop it. He's not yours. He says another woman's name in his sleep.
"Before we go," I said, keeping my voice carefully neutral, "I have a proposal."
His brows rose. "A proposal."
"The Mating Moon. It's in four days." I forced myself to meet his gaze, to project confidence I didn't entirely feel. "You've got enemies. Your father, Varro, whoever planted that bomb in my shop. If they're going to make a move, that ceremony is the perfect opportunity."
Understanding dawned in his expression. "You want to ward it."
"I want to protect it. Properly." I lifted my chin. "I'm a truth-taster. I can weave wards that detect lies, sense hostile intent, identify threats before they become attacks. Whatever basic protections you usually use, I can make them better."
"And in return?"
In return, I stop feeling like I owe you my soul.
"In return, we're even." I held his gaze. "You saved my life. You saved my mother's things. That's a debt I can't repay with words. But I can offer my magic. My skills. Something that actually matters."
He was quiet for a long moment, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
"You don't owe me anything," he said finally. "I didn't save those things because I expected repayment."
"I know." That almost makes it worse. "But I'm not comfortable being in someone's debt. Call it a character flaw. I need to contribute something. And this—" I gestured vaguely. "This I can do."
Another pause. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"The ceremony space is in the northern clearing. We'll need to inspect it, figure out what kind of warding would be most effective." His eyes held mine. "But Sable—this isn't a transaction. You're not paying off a debt. You're protecting the pack. That's different."
"Your pack," I corrected, my voice cooler than I intended. "Not mine. I'll be protecting your people. So you see, it is repayment."
Something shifted in his expression—confusion, maybe, or hurt—but it was gone before I could name it.
"If that's how you need to see it," he said quietly.
I didn't answer. Just nodded and reached for my bag, slinging it over my shoulder with the grimoire still safely inside.
"Then let's go," I said. "We've got work to do."
The walk back to the stronghold was quieter than the walk to the shop had been.
Harkan stayed close—of course he did—but something had shifted between us. He seemed to sense it, kept glancing at me with questions in his eyes that he didn't voice. I pretended not to notice.
Helene.
The name echoed in my head with every step. A ghost I couldn't see, couldn't fight, couldn't compete with.
Not that I wanted to compete. Not that I cared.
Liar, my truth-sense hissed, and I told it to shut the fuck up.
The stronghold gates came into view, and with them, a small figure sprinting toward us at full speed.
"Sable!"
Elodie hit me like a tiny cannonball, her arms wrapping around my waist, her face pressing into my stomach. Behind her, moving at a more dignified pace, came a fox-shaped blur of orange and white.
Trouble launched himself at my shoulder, chittering frantically, his foxfire sparking in agitation.
You almost DIED, he seemed to say. I should have been THERE. I should have protected you—
"You were exactly where you needed to be," I murmured, burying my fingers in his fur. "I'm okay. We're okay."
"Mr. Trouble was so worried," Elodie announced, still clinging to my waist. "He kept pacing and pacing and he wouldn't play with me, and he just stared at the door—"
"I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry." The endearment slipped out before I could stop it, and something warm bloomed in my chest at the way Elodie beamed up at me.
Over her head, I saw Cara approaching. The second's expression was unreadable, but something in her posture suggested grudging respect.
"You survived," she said. Not a question.
"Barely." I met her gaze. "The shop didn't."
A ghost of something—sympathy, maybe—crossed her features. "We heard. The whole district is talking about the fire."
Of course they were. Bad news traveled fast in the Divide.
"I need to see the Mating Moon ceremony space," I said. "I'm going to ward it. Properly. Before the gathering."
Cara's eyebrows rose. She glanced at Harkan, who nodded once.
"Whatever she needs," he said. "She has full access."
Something shifted in Cara's expression. Not quite acceptance—not yet—but closer than before.
"I'll have Berg show you the clearing," she said. "After you've eaten and rested. And before you argue"—She shot a look at Harkan, who nodded once—"that's not a suggestion."
"I don't need rest," I said. "I need to work."
"Sable—" Harkan started.
"Four days." I cut him off, my voice sharper than I intended. "We have four days until every Alpha in the territory descends on this place, and you've got a Devourer stalking your borders and a faceless arsonist who just tried to kill me. Rest can wait."
Cara arched a probing brow. She looked at Harkan, clearly waiting for him to overrule me.
He didn't.
"Berg," he said instead, his jaw tight. "Show her the clearing."
Something flickered in his expression—frustration, maybe, or confusion about why I'd gone cold. Let him wonder. Let him think I was just focused on the mission.
It was easier than the truth.
Elodie tugged at my hand. "But you just got back..."
The words cracked something in my chest, but I forced a smile. "I'll be back before dinner. I promise. And then Trouble can play with you all night."
She considered this, then nodded solemnly. "Okay. But you promised."
"I did."
Trouble dug his claws into my shoulder, making it clear he wasn't going anywhere. Not leaving you again, the gesture said. Not ever.
I couldn't argue with that. Didn't want to.
I turned toward Berg, who was already waiting at the edge of the courtyard.
Work. Focus. Ward the clearing. Repay the debt.
And absolutely, under no circumstances, think about Helene or the way Harkan was watching me walk away like I'd just ripped something out of his chest.
Good, I told myself. Let him feel it.
It was petty. It was unfair. He didn't even know what he'd done.
But being angry at Harkan was easier than thinking about the shop. Easier than remembering that everything I'd built for thirteen years was ash now. That I had no home, no income, no life outside of whatever the wolves decided to give me.
Jealousy I could hold. Jealousy had edges, had shape, had a target.
Grief was just... endless.
So I kept right on walking, refusing to think about everything that I’d lost.