Chapter 23 #2
All eyes turn to me, including Kier’s, and I feel a flush creeping up my neck. “Nothing as entertaining as Kier’s adventures, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Kier says, a mischievous glint in his eye. “The way you handled those pursuers when we reached the northern ridge was pretty impressive.”
I narrow my eyes at him, sensing a trap. “That was just basic survival instinct.”
“Basic survival instinct?” He turns to the others, his expression mock serious. “She led three armed guards on a chase through a burning forest, then climbed a sheer rock face with broken ribs while silver poisoning was still in her system.”
Murmurs of approval ripple through the gathered wolves.
“And then,” Kier continues, his voice dropping dramatically, “when we were cornered at the top with fire closing in from both sides, she found an underground stream that saved both our lives.”
“That’s not exactly how it happened,” I protest, though the memory of those desperate moments brings heat to my face for entirely different reasons.
That kiss really was something else.
From Kier’s knowing smile, I suspect he’s thinking the same thing.
“Always modest, our Beta,” Ryker says, raising his glass. “But worthy of celebration nonetheless. To Lithia—who survived against impossible odds and returned to us stronger than ever.”
“To Lithia!” the pack echoes, raising their glasses.
I accept the toast with as much grace as I can muster, uncomfortable being the center of attention.
The meal continues and more stories are shared, and I find myself genuinely enjoying the evening.
It’s been too long since I allowed myself to simply be present, to enjoy the company of my pack without the weight of responsibility pressing down on me.
After the meal, musicians set up in one corner of the hall. The tables are pushed back to clear space for dancing, and soon the air is filled with lively music. Couples move onto the makeshift dance floor while the young pups run around, dancing in enthusiastic, if awkward, clusters.
“Dance with me,” Kier says, holding out his hand. It’s not a question, but not quite a demand either.
I look up at him, ready to refuse, but the words die in my throat at the expression in his eyes. There’s want there, certainly, but also something softer, more vulnerable. He’s offering his hand, but what he’s really asking for is a chance.
Just for tonight, I remind myself. I can have this, just for tonight.
I place my hand in his, letting him lead me onto the dance floor. The music shifts to something slower, more intimate, as if the musicians somehow knew.
Kier’s hand settles at my waist, warm and steady, while the other keeps hold of mine. He pulls me closer than strictly necessary, our bodies nearly touching as we begin to move with the music.
“You dance well,” I observe, trying to keep my tone light despite the electricity crackling between us.
“My mother insisted all her pups learn. Said you never know when such skills might come in handy.” His smile is tinged with grief. “She was right about a lot of things.”
I squeeze his hand gently, offering silent comfort for the family he lost. “Tell me about her.”
“She was fierce. Protective. Wouldn’t take nonsense from anyone, especially her mate.” His expression softens with memory. “But she was also the first to help when someone was in trouble, the one who made sure everyone had enough to eat, the voice of reason when tempers flared.”
“She sounds wonderful.”
“She was.” He guides me through a turn, his movements graceful despite his size. “She would have liked you.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. She appreciated wolves who didn’t back down from a challenge.” His golden eyes meet mine, filled with warmth.
“I think I would have liked her too.”
We dance in silence for a while, our bodies moving together with surprising harmony. It feels right, being in his arms like this. Safe in a way I haven’t felt since childhood.
“Your pack loves you,” Kier says after a while, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “I can see it in the way they look at you, the way they respond when you speak.”
“They’re my family,” I reply simply. “The only real one I have, apart from Dane.”
“Family is more than blood.” His hand tightens slightly at my waist. “It’s about choice. About who you decide to stand beside when things get difficult.”
I look up at him. “Is that what you’ve been searching for? Family?”
“Maybe.” He twirls me out, then pulls me back in, closer than before. “Or maybe I was waiting to find the right person.”
My breath catches. “Kier—”
“I know,” he interrupts gently. “You’re not ready to talk about us. That’s okay.” His thumb traces small circles against my palm where our hands are joined. “But I want you to know something, Lithia. I’m not going anywhere.”
The simple declaration sends warmth blooming through my chest. “You can’t promise that. No one can.”
“I can promise to try.” His expression is serious now, all teasing gone. “I can promise that whatever this is between us, it matters to me. You matter to me.”
The music changes, shifting to something faster, but neither of us moves to break apart. We stand there on the dance floor, surrounded by laughing, spinning pack members, caught in our own private moment of truth.
“I’m scared,” I admit finally, the words barely audible above the music.
His hand moves from my waist to my face, thumb brushing gently across my cheek. “I know. Me too.”
“You don’t seem scared.”
“That’s because you also make me brave.” His smile returns, slow and warm. “Courage, Lithia.”
Before I can respond, he steps back, his hand sliding from my face to catch mine. “Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”
Curious despite myself, I let him lead me away from the dancing, through the hall and out of the den into the cool night air. The moon is high and bright, casting silver light over the den’s courtyards and paths.
Kier guides me to a small garden tucked away from the main thoroughfares—a peaceful place where herbs and flowers grow in neat beds, with a stone bench set beneath an ancient oak. It’s one of my favorite spots in the den, though I rarely have time to linger.
“How did you know I love it here?” I ask as we settle on the bench.
“Dane showed me. Said you used to come here as a pup when you needed quiet.” He looks around, taking in the moonlit beauty of the garden. “I can see why. It’s peaceful.”
“I haven’t been here in a while,” I admit. “At least not to sit and just think.”
“This seems like a place for reflection. And you’ve been working very hard not to be alone with your thoughts lately.”
The observation is too accurate to deny. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re annoyingly perceptive?”
“Once or twice.” He stretches his arm along the back of the bench, not quite touching me but close enough that I can feel his warmth. “Usually right before they tell me to mind my own business.”
“And do you? Mind your own business?”
“Almost never.” His grin is unrepentant. “Curiosity is both my greatest strength and my worst flaw, according to most people who know me.”
“I can believe that.” I lean back slightly, allowing myself to relax into the space near his arm without quite admitting I’m seeking his touch. “It’s probably what made you a good tracker.”
“That, and stubbornness.” His fingers brush against my shoulder, a touch so light it could be accidental. “Once I set my mind on something, I don’t give up easily.”
“I’ve noticed.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the night sounds of the forest and the distant music from the hall. It’s nice, this peaceful moment away from prying eyes and pack expectations. Just the two of us, the moon, and the quiet garden.
“Thank you,” I say eventually.
“For what?”
“For knowing I needed this space to breathe.” I turn to look at him, finding his golden eyes already watching me. “And for being patient with me, even when I’ve been… difficult.”
“You, difficult?” He places a hand over his heart in mock shock. “I don’t believe it.”
I laugh, shoving his shoulder lightly. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.” His expression sobers, though warmth remains in his eyes. “And you don’t need to thank me, Lithia. I understand why this is hard for you.”
I cock an eyebrow in question.
He shifts, turning to face me more fully. “You’ve lost people you love. Your parents died protecting you and Dane. That kind of trauma leaves scars that don’t heal easily.”
I swallow, the familiar ache of old grief tightening my throat. “I watched them die. Did I tell you that? I was hiding in a hollow tree with Dane, and I saw the hunters kill them. They died because of us, because they were trying to keep us safe.”
“That’s what parents do,” Kier says gently. “They protect their children, no matter the cost.”
“But the cost was too high.” I look away, unable to meet his gaze as I voice the thought that’s haunted me for years. “Sometimes I think it would have been better if they’d just run, saved themselves. Dane and I would have figured something out.”
“Or you would have died too.” His voice is firm but not unkind. “Your parents made a choice, Lithia. They chose your lives over their own. That’s not something to feel guilty about—it’s something to honor.”
“By what? Hiding behind walls so thick no one can reach me? Pushing away anyone who tries to get close?” I laugh bitterly. “I don’t think that’s what they would have wanted for me.”
“No,” he agrees. “I think they would have wanted you to be happy. To live fully, not just survive.”
“I don’t know if I remember how.”
His hand finds mine on the bench between us, his fingers intertwining with mine. “Maybe that’s something we could figure out together.”
The simple offer—not a demand, not a declaration, just a possibility—breaks something open inside me. A tear slides down my cheek before I can stop it, followed by another.
“Hey,” Kier murmurs, his free hand coming up to brush away the tears. “It’s okay.”
“Is it?” I ask, my voice cracking. “Because it doesn’t feel okay. It feels terrifying.”
He pulls me closer, and I let myself be drawn into his embrace, my head resting against his chest where I can hear the steady beat of his heart. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight. There’s time.”
I close my eyes, absorbing the comfort of his arms around me, the security of his strength. “What if there isn’t? What if something happens during the rescue mission? What if—”
“What if we focus on right now instead of all the what-ifs?” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Right now, you’re here with me. The moon is full, the night is beautiful, and for once, neither of us is bleeding or being shot at.”
Despite everything, I laugh. “When you put it that way, it does sound pretty good.”
“It is good.” His arms tighten around me slightly. “It’s perfect.”
We stay like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms beneath the ancient oak, the music from the hall a distant backdrop to our private moment of peace. I let myself savor it—the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms, the steady rhythm of his breathing.
Just for tonight, I’d told myself. But as I lift my face to his, seeking his lips in a kiss that feels like coming home, I know I’m lying to myself.
One night will never be enough.