Chapter 26
Rowen
I stood a few feet inside the glade, and I could feel the power emanating from it.
Through the trees, I heard the pack regrouping.
Checking in with each other, fixing what was broken, and taking a moment to mend themselves.
It made me smile at their resilience; my dad would have been proud of them.
My smile turned into a frown. Wolfe thought I had forgotten or pushed it aside, but I heard what Lewis implied every time I had to pause during our preparations.
Or when my mate fell asleep before I did, and the quiet of the night allowed all my doubts and insecurities to rise.
I felt it the moment Wolfe entered the glade—the heaviness in the air and the soft tremor beneath the soil.
The Hollow wasn’t panicking; it was bracing itself.
He moved through the trees, ducking to avoid the lower boughs.
His eyes immediately found me, warming when he saw me waiting.
Wolfe stepped toward me, blood smeared across his forearm and dirt streaking the side of his jaw.
“You’re hurt?” I asked, reaching for him.
“No,” he countered, gently grasping my wrist, bringing my hand to his mouth, and softly kissing my palm. “Not my blood.”
I nodded, swallowing down the emotion tearing at my throat. “The druid wants you.”
“You said.” He looked around, as if expecting the druid to have materialized the moment he appeared. “Where are they?”
“At the Heartwood,” I said, voice low and steady. “They’re strengthening defenses, I think they called it.”
Wolfe’s lips twitched. “And what does my mate call it?” he asked conspiratorially.
I felt guilty, but I couldn’t fight the smile. “Avoidance of hard work?”
Wolfe laughed out loud, pulled me close, and kissed the side of my head. “I won’t tell,” he whispered with a low chuckle. “You smell…inviting,” he murmured, his hand slowly running over my hip.
I pulled my shirt up to my nose and sniffed. The ritual’s smoke still clung to my clothes from earlier, along with the faded scent of freshly laundered fabric and the morning mist.
“I smell like I haven’t been to bed yet,” I corrected him, catching his hand from cupping my ass.
Not that I usually complained, nor was I complaining now, but I had other things on my mind.
“Before we go meet them, I…” I tried to step away, but my husband wasn’t having it; he held me tighter, and I looked up to see the concern in his eyes. “We need to talk,” I said quietly.
His brows lifted. “About?”
“Lewis.”
The name triggered the reaction I expected. Wolfe dropped his arm and took a few steps back, giving me space, his arms crossed and his expression flat. “What about him?”
I hesitated, hating the words even as they formed. “When you caught him…he said something. About my father.”
Wolfe didn’t react, just waited for me to continue.
I forced the rest out. “He said my father knew about the rogue attacks. That Malric was…complacent. He implied that he helped the Pack Council keep the territories under control through fear.”
Wolfe’s jaw tightened, eyes darkening. “Rowen—”
“No.” My voice cracked. I pressed a hand against my chest because the pressure there was unbearable. “I just…I need to know if there was any truth in it. If you think it’s true.”
For a moment, Wolfe remained silent, then he moved toward me steadily and slowly until I couldn’t breathe. “Your father,” he said softly, firmly, with certainty, “was not a traitor.”
“You don’t know that,” I whispered, hands itching to reach out, pull him closer, and make him swear it was true.
He did not step back. “I knew your father, and”—he gave me a brief smile—“I know alphas better than you think. And I now know the Pack Council. They manipulate people. They distort information. They tell you a quarter of the truth and let your fear fill in the rest.”
My throat burned. “Then why would Lewis say that about Dad?”
“I’ve thought about this,” he admitted. He gave me a sheepish look.
“I feel like it’s all I’ve thought about since that night.
” He blew out a breath. “I’ve gone over everything we know and everything we’ve learned.
And I think…I think Lewis was already theirs.
” Wolfe’s voice dropped to a growl. “He wasn’t serving your father—he was surveilling him.
Playing loyal. Feeding the Council enough to make him useful, enough to make him indispensable. ”
The need inside me to believe his words was frightening. “So Lewis was lying?”
Wolfe hesitated for a brief moment, just a tiny pause, but it was enough for me to notice and for that silence to make me nervous.
“Tell me,” I whispered. “Please.”
His hand brushed mine—light, grounding, unbearably gentle.
“I think your father suspected something. Something off. Something wrong. The way he suddenly stopped the records. He put an end to the rotations. He shut it all down. I think he suspected, but he didn’t know the truth.
” Wolfe’s eyes grew hard. “And he didn’t confront the Pack Council.
In fact…” He hesitated again. “He never attended another gathering.”
I stared at the ground, nausea twisting in my stomach. “He knew and did nothing?” That was worse, wasn’t it?
“Suspected,” Wolfe corrected me, his hand cupping the back of my neck.
“Malric was a good alpha and a better father. And he was alone. Surrounded by a Pack Council that wanted more than he was willing to sacrifice.” He looked away from me, mulling over his next words.
“Think about it, keeping the rogues happy by working with them—it’s almost a good idea,” he conceded, “if you’re always prepared for the fact they’re uncontrollable, unpredictable, and not really your ally.
” He looked back at me. “It’s a reckless strategy. But it is a strategy.”
I blinked back tears. “In the later years, he always sent Lewis to the Pack Council gatherings.”
Wolfe’s throat bobbed. “Sent, or did he volunteer to go?” He dragged a hand over his face. “We’ll never know, but I suspect the latter.”
The world tilted as I listened to what my mate was telling me. My father hadn’t been a traitor. It wasn’t betrayal. It might not even have been complicity. Just a man realizing the fight was with a bigger player, and he wasn’t sure what the rules were, but he knew he couldn’t win.
“He sent me to the Pack Council with Lewis,” I reminded Wolfe.
Wolfe gently tugged me into his chest, one hand spreading over my back. “He was dying, Rowen. He was…desperate to make sure you were protected.”
“Do you think Lewis cared about that?” I asked him bitterly.
“I think they twisted the story,” he murmured against my hair. “Like they twist everything else. It’s likely Lewis never saw it clearly either. They want you to doubt yourself. Your family. Your legacy. Because fractured wolves are easier to control.”
My fists tightened in his shirt. “I hate them.”
“I know,” he said softly. “But don’t hate your father. I really believe he tried and he never knew we, you, would be the ones to pay the price for it.”
I swallowed hard. “Then we need to do what he couldn’t.” I looked up at him. “We need to be stronger and show them that we don’t tremble in fear at the thought of their corruption.”
Wolfe pressed his forehead to mine, his wolf growled in approval through our bond. “That’s what we’re doing, princess,” he said, lips brushing mine. “Together.”
Reaching up, I kissed him, and the Hollow didn’t pulse beneath my feet. It felt as if it settled, as if it approved.
“Oh shit, I forgot about the druid,” I told him, stepping back.
“I didn’t,” Wolfe chuckled. “It’s fine, they’ve been demanding my attention for the last five minutes.” He turned his head to look around, and something moved in his expression—a shadow of understanding, a flicker of recognition. “Come on, let’s go see what they want now.”
As we walked, I wondered how I had never noticed until now that he never argued when the Heartwood called. As we approached the Heartwood, the air shifted. The ground felt warmer, the wind quieter, and the weight heavier.
The druid knelt at the roots of the ancient tree, palms pressed flat against the ground, eyes closed. Smoke curled from carved bowls placed around the trunk—herbs burning low, glowing blue and violet in the early dawn light.
“Finally,” the druid murmured, without looking up. “You’re here.”
Wolfe moved forward, shoulders squared. “What do you need?”
The druid opened their eyes—and for the first time, I saw worry break through their calm. “Protection,” they said simply. “For the Hollow. For you.” Their gaze flicked to me. “And for the life you carry.”
I stiffened. “Does the Hollow—”
“The Hollow knows everything born within its reach,” the druid said softly. “It remembers every child of the bloodline. It remembers you, Rowen. It knows your mate now. And it knows what grows inside you.”
Wolfe’s hand slid into mine, grounding me. I hadn’t expected to feel vulnerable in front of our druid—but there it was, sharp and unavoidable.
“What’s happening?” Wolfe asked.
The druid touched the Heartwood’s bark, fingers tracing grooves older than our entire bloodline. “The Pack Council wants to conquer and destroy. They believe the land will submit to new rule if they fracture the old. So we protect the old.”
Wolfe frowned. “Meaning?”
“Meaning,” the druid said, rising to their feet, “we bind the Hollow to its chosen guardians. You. And you.”
My heart thudded painfully. “Bind…how?” I exchanged a look with Wolfe. “Isn’t it already bound to us?”
“The how, we do through ritual.” The druid’s eyes softened. “Through acknowledgment. Through promise.” They glanced at our joined hands. “You’re tied to it, yes, but bound? Not yet.”
Wolfe took a step closer. “Tell me what I need to do.”
The druid studied him for a long moment—like they were memorizing something only they could see. Something the rest of us weren’t meant to understand yet.