Chapter 14
Sable
Thea's hands were gentle as she cleaned the blood from my knuckles, but her eyes were sharp.
"You know," she said conversationally, "most people use weapons when they want to hurt someone. Fists are so... primitive."
"Weapons don't let you feel the crunch."
Her lips twitched. "Fair point."
We were in the healer's quarters—a small, warm room that smelled of dried herbs and something faintly medicinal. Trouble was curled on a nearby chair, his amber eyes tracking every movement Thea made. He hadn't left my side since Rafe disappeared through the gate.
Rafe.
Just thinking his name made my stomach churn with a toxic mix of rage and nausea. Thirteen years. Thirteen years since I'd seen that handsome face, that easy smile, those scarred hands that had once touched me like I was precious.
Those same hands had built the bomb that destroyed my mother's shop.
"So," Thea said, dabbing something that stung onto my split knuckles, "that was the man who sold you to Varro."
It wasn't a question.
"Is it that obvious?"
Thea let out a snort of laughter. "The 'thirteen years of slavery' was a subtle hint." She wrapped a clean bandage around my hand with practiced efficiency. "He's handsome. In a 'I'd murder you in your sleep' sort of way."
A bitter laugh scraped out of my throat. "He was more charming back then. Less... openly villainous."
"They usually are." Thea secured the bandage and sat back, studying me with those golden eyes that saw too much. "You loved him."
It wasn't a question, either.
"I was nineteen." The words tasted like ash. "I was young and stupid, and he said all the right things. Made me feel special. Important. Like I was the only person in the world who mattered to him."
"And then?"
I closed my eyes for a moment, searching my memories for where I’d gone wrong.
"And then he handed me to Varro like I was a sack of grain." I stared at my bandaged hand, at the faint bloodstains already seeping through the white cloth. "Stood there smiling while they burned the ouroboros into my wrist. Didn't even flinch when I screamed."
Thea was quiet for a long moment. "I'm sorry."
So few people knew this story that her sympathy felt like salt in an open wound. "Don't be. It was a long time ago."
She tilted her head to the side, assessing me like the big cat she was. "Trauma doesn't care about time."
No. It didn't.
Silence stretched between us, comfortable in a way I hadn't expected. Thea wasn't pushing, wasn't demanding more than I was willing to give. She was just... present. Solid. A healer in more ways than one.
Maybe that's why I opened my big, fat mouth. "Can I ask you something?"
"You can ask,” she drawled, her eyes gleaming. "Doesn't mean I'll answer."
Well, that was about as good as I was going to get. "Who's Helene?"
Thea went very still. Her hands, which had been tidying the medical supplies on the table, stopped moving entirely.
"Where did you hear that name?"
The sharpness in her voice made my stomach clench. "Harkan. He said it in his sleep."
A shadow of something flashed across Thea's face—understanding, maybe, or sympathy. She let out a slow breath and set down the jar she'd been holding.
"Helene," she said quietly, "is not what you're thinking."
"And what am I thinking?"
"That she's competition. A lover. Someone who has a claim on him that you don't."
My jaw tightened. "Am I wrong?"
"Yes." Thea met my eyes, her gaze steady and serious. "You're very wrong. But it's not my story to tell. If you want to know about Helene, you need to ask Harkan."
"I'm asking you."
"And I'm telling you to ask him." She held up a hand when I started to protest. "Look, I understand why you're guarded.
After what that piece of shit did to you, trusting anyone—especially a man who literally bit a claim into your wrist—is probably the hardest thing you've ever had to do.
But Harkan isn't Rafe. He isn't Varro. And whatever you think you heard in that nightmare. .. you're wrong about what it means."
The urge to argue was overwhelming. To demand answers, to make her tell me who Helene was and why Harkan said her name with so much anguish and grief.
But Thea's expression was immovable. She wasn't going to budge.
"Fine," I muttered. "I'll ask him."
"Good." She picked up the jar again, resuming her tidying like we'd been discussing the weather. "Now, are you going to tell me why you've been treating him like a stranger all day, or do I have to guess?"
Rolling my eyes, I crossed my arms over my chest. "You already know why."
"I know you heard a name and assumed the worst." Her gaze pinned me in place. "I also know that man out there has been tearing himself apart trying to figure out what he did wrong. He thinks he hurt you somehow. Thinks he ruined whatever trust you were starting to build."
Guilt twisted in my chest, sharp and unexpected.
"He didn't—" I stopped, swallowed. "It wasn't anything he did. Not really."
"Then tell him that. Before he drives the entire pack insane with his brooding."
A knock on the door interrupted whatever response I might have made.
Cara stepped inside, her winter-gray eyes sweeping over me with brisk assessment. "You done bleeding everywhere?"
"For now."
"Good. War council in ten minutes. The Alpha wants everyone there." Her gaze flicked to Thea. "That includes you."
She was gone before either of us could respond.
Thea sighed. "War council. How delightful."
I flexed my bandaged hand, wincing at the pull of torn skin beneath the cloth. "What exactly does a war council involve?"
"Lots of growling. Occasional threats. Someone inevitably suggests we just kill everyone and sort it out later." She stood, brushing off her skirt. "It's very civilized."
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
The council chamber was already tense when we arrived.
Harkan stood at the head of the massive table, his presence filling the room like a storm about to break. Cara took her position at his right. Berg stood to the left, silent and immovable. Riven hovered near the door, pale-faced and trying not to show it.
And across the table—a wolf I didn't recognize. Older, gray-streaked hair, cold eyes that tracked me as I entered like I was prey.
"Sable." Harkan's voice cut through the tension. "Have a seat."
I took the empty chair beside Thea, acutely aware of every eye in the room.
"Now that we're all here," the gray-haired wolf said, his tone dripping with false civility, "maybe we can discuss the actual problem."
"The problem," Harkan growled, "is that my father is sending a viable threat to the Mating Moon under diplomatic protection."
"The problem," the older wolf countered, "is that the High Alpha has requested the witch, and you're considering refusing."
Harkan’s body seemed to expand inch by inch as his eyes lit with either his animal or his fury. Maybe both. "I'm not considering fuck all. Sable stays. That's not negotiable."
"Isn't it?" The wolf leaned forward, his cold eyes finding mine.
"One witch—an outsider, not even pack—versus open war with the High Alpha and his army. The math seems pretty simple to me, even if you put your mark on her. That mark means exactly dick unless it’s under a Mating Moon, and everyone knows it. "
The temperature in the room dropped several degrees as my heart felt like it was going to leap out of my chest. What the hell did that mean?
"Careful, Aldric," Cara said softly. "Be very careful."
"Fuck careful. I'm being smart about this." Aldric spread his hands in a gesture of false reasonableness. "We all know what the High Alpha is capable of. We all remember what happened to the last pack that defied him. Is one truth-taster really worth—"
"Yes."
The word hissed through the room like a lightning strike. Harkan's hands were planted on the table, claws extended, his eyes blazing amber, his wolf peering from their depths.
"She is mine. And if anyone in this room suggests handing her over again, I will rip out their throat and mount their head on the gate as a warning."
Silence. Absolute, ringing silence seemed to echo through the room, booming like a gong in my chest. No one—other than my mother—had ever stood up for me like that.
Aldric's face had gone pale, but he didn't back down entirely. "The High Alpha—"
"The High Alpha can come take her from my cold, dead arms." Harkan's voice was barely human. "But you and I both know that we are nothing like the packs he’s destroyed. And one better? He knows it, too."
I should have stayed silent. Should have let him defend me, let the wolves sort out their pissing match without my interference.
Instead, I stood.
"You want to hand me over?" I met Aldric's gaze, letting him see every ounce of rage I'd been suppressing since Rafe walked through that gate. "Go ahead. Try it. But understand something first."
I held up my bandaged hand, still stained with Rafe's blood.
"The last man who tried to decide my fate is currently limping away with a broken nose and that’s only because he had diplomatic protection and I’m not a fucking idiot.
I seriously doubt anyone else has the High Alpha’s seal of approval to try and take me down.
Why don’t you ask Petra what happens when people fuck with me and mine.
" I smiled, and it wasn't a nice smile. "I warded your precious ceremony space this morning.
Do you know what that means? It means nothing gets in without my permission.
Not Varro. Not the fucking High Alpha himself. "
I let that land, then added: "So if you want to try and trade me like livestock, you go right on ahead. But those wards come with me. And then you can explain to every pack at the Mating Moon why they're standing in an unprotected clearing when the Devourer comes calling."
Aldric's jaw worked, but no words came out.
"The witch stays," Berg rumbled. First words I'd heard from him all day. "She's earned her place."
"Agreed," Cara said.