Chapter 21
Rowen
The office emptied slowly. One by one, the pack was questioned and dismissed or detained.
Wolfe hadn’t moved from behind the desk in over three hours.
He sat in the chair that had once belonged to my father, elbows on the arms, fingers steepled in front of his mouth. His eyes were closed. His Will had receded—mostly—but the heaviness of it lingered in the room like smoke after a fire.
He hadn’t said a word since the last shifter left, and I hadn’t pushed.
Not yet.
The bond might not be sealed, but it was very much alive. I felt it now—pulling me toward him, even when he didn’t ask for anything at all. I crossed the room and stopped a few feet from him. Let the silence envelop us for a moment longer before I broke it.
“You need to rest.”
His head tilted slightly. He didn’t open his eyes. “Not yet.”
Stubborn male. “You’re drained. I can feel it.”
“I can’t afford to be.”
I stepped closer. “You can’t afford to burn out, either.”
Finally, his eyes opened. Silver was fading back to blue, the sharp edge dulled by exhaustion. He looked at me like he wasn’t entirely sure where he was for a moment.
Not unsure of me. Just unsure if he could let go.
“Don’t do this,” I murmured softly. “Don’t beat yourself up like this. You held back,” I said softly. “I felt it.”
He didn’t answer. But his jaw clenched.
“You could’ve broken every single one of them that sat in this room.” Still no reply. “But you didn’t.” I narrowed my eyes as he stonewalled me. “Wolfe, don’t do this.”
Finally, he let out a deep sigh. “Would it have made me a better alpha?” he asked quietly.
“No,” I said. “I think it would’ve been easier than this, but no, not better.”
He huffed a humorless breath. “Easy doesn’t hold a pack together.”
I moved to him. Rested my hand on the back of his neck, fingers threading into the damp hair there.
“You did what you had to. But that kind of power—it doesn’t leave you untouched. It’s why only alphas have it,” I reminded him.
His shoulders sank a little, his head leaning back into my hand.
“Let me touch you now,” I whispered. “The way I want to.”
I stepped into the V of his legs and pulled him toward me until his forehead rested against my belly. His arms wrapped around my hips, slow and heavy like it hurt to lift them.
I stroked his hair. “You’re not alone,” I said. “Not anymore.” My hands stroked along his shoulders, feeling the knots there, kneading them to get him to loosen up. “You did what you had to, for our pack. You did nothing wrong.”
He didn’t respond with words. Just held on tighter. Minutes passed. The air in the room shifted again—not heavy this time. Just quiet. Like the Hollow itself had exhaled.
He leaned back enough to look up at me. “I’m sorry.”
My brow furrowed in confusion. “For what?”
“For leaning on the bond like that. For needing you the way I did.”
I cupped his face. “Don’t be. That’s what the mate bond is for. To carry weight when one of us needs it.”
He pressed a kiss to my stomach, just above my waistband. Soft. Wordless.
I tugged his hand. “Come on,” I said. “You need sleep. Real sleep. Not passed-out-on-a-chair sleep.”
He didn’t argue or protest. Just stood. I knew for definite that he was exhausted as we made our way quietly back to the house. I knew one if not two of his betas followed, but I didn’t look back. No one bothered us as we made our way home.
Inside, he let me lead him back through the living room, and the hall, and to the bed that—hours ago—we’d only half claimed.
He let me help him with his clothes, and then slowly he undressed me. His mouth skimmed over my shoulder as he lay me back on the bed, his body covering mine. His fingers stroked softly between my legs, and then he pushed into me gently, with none of the previous urgency.
This time, there was no overwhelming heat.
No ravenous hunger. Only skin on skin. Breath on breath.
Bodies moving slowly together, intertwined and gentle.
Healing each other with our touch and our lovemaking.
There was nothing between us anymore, only the bond holding steady, and when I called his name on a broken breath, and he emptied deep inside me, I felt the bond settle into a slow, steady hum.
Wolfe collapsed into the bed, pulling me closer, and I curled around into his side like I was the only shield he had left.
Even with his arms around me, even with his breathing evening out against my collarbone, my mind didn’t rest.
Wolfe was asleep.
I could feel it in the way his body softened—still thick, but no longer tense. His breathing had slowed. The tight coil of power that usually hummed just beneath his skin had finally quieted.
But my own thoughts refused to do the same.
I lay still, letting him stay wrapped around me, one of his arms locked loosely over my hip. But my eyes were open, tracing the shadows on the ceiling.
What one of the shifters said kept looping through my head. They wanted to keep the packs separate.
It wasn’t just convenient. It was intentional. A system, not an accident. Someone designed this—compartmentalized trust. Prevented shared knowledge.
It was too clean.
Too perfect.
I’d seen tactics like that in war councils. Divide operatives, keep intel on a need-to-know basis, and eliminate leaks by eliminating connections.
But who in the Hollow had the experience for that? Who had both the knowledge and the opportunity?
I shifted slightly, careful not to wake Wolfe. His arm tightened, and I stilled until his breath evened again. When it did, I let my gaze move past him—toward the dresser across the room.
That bottom drawer. I knew what was in there.
My father’s records. His private ones. The ones I hadn’t touched since Wolfe had taken the role I was raised for.
And over the weeks, I’d trusted him to handle it. I still did. But if there was something in those papers—anything—that could explain who was orchestrating this, I had to look. He would want me to look.
Slowly, I slid out from under his arm.
He murmured something in his sleep, low and wordless. I brushed my hand over his hair, kissed the line of his jaw, and whispered, “Rest. I’ve got you.”
I padded across the room barefoot.
I crossed to the bottom drawer in the far dresser, pulled it open, and knelt. The folder inside had been there since Wolfe had told me I was to stay with him. I’d skimmed them once after his death, but grief had made me sloppy. I hadn’t looked deeply.
Now I did.
Inside, there were notes, letters, copies of old council decrees, and—something I hadn’t seen before. A map. Faded, ink-streaked. Marked with territories. Not just Blueridge Hollow. Not exactly. This was outside our borders.
Rogue lands. Tracked. Labeled.
There was a separate bundle—sealed in twine—marked with a name I didn’t expect. Galvin. One of the older Blueridge advisors. Retired. Respected. Present for every council meeting Corrin ever attended.
I frowned, flipping through the bundled notes. There were letters—communications between my father and Galvin—about rogue watch posts, controlled border incursions, and calculated resource scarcity.
As I read, it was clear that they were managing the rogues. Like a resource. I sank to the floor, the folio open in my lap.
Corrin wasn’t the architect. Not in the beginning. He was just the one still willing to get his hands dirty now.
But Galvin? He had the reach. The time. The position. He’d stepped down right before my father’s death. Quietly. Without protest. Claimed age. Health. Fatigue. But maybe he’d just passed the baton. Maybe Corrin was the obvious one. The disposable one.
Whoever had picked up after Galvin was still operating—more carefully now, but trying to make us bleed from the inside.
I looked over at Wolfe, still sleeping. His face was peaceful now, slack in a way I rarely saw.
He didn’t need to know yet. Not tonight. But come morning—I’d show him everything. Because the war we thought we were fighting? It went deeper than rogue attacks and pack division.
It went back to my father. Had his own actions cost us the lives of our pack now? I stood and carefully rebound the papers. Tucked the bundle under my arm.
Wolfe stirred as I crossed the room again. Eyes half-lidded. Voice hoarse. “Come back to bed, princess.”
“I will.” I leaned down, brushing my lips across his. “But when you wake up, we’re going hunting. And I think I know where to start.”
He blinked, trying to focus. “You found something?”
“No,” I said quietly, watching his eyes flutter closed again. “I found someone.”
I was already dressed.
The bundle of my father’s records sat on the windowsill, tied neatly. The morning light crept through the heavy glass, brushing across the bed in soft golds and grays.
Wolfe shifted under the covers, a low sound in his throat—not pain, not discomfort. Just the sound of a man surfacing after too long beneath.
His eyes blinked open slowly, unfocused for a moment. He didn’t wake with a start. Just a slow return to himself, like a tide rolling back over wet sand.
I was already watching him. “Hey,” I said quietly.
His gaze found me. Bleary, soft around the edges. “You’re dressed.”
I nodded. “I didn’t want to waste the quiet.”
He stretched, a low, rough sound in his chest. “How long was I out?”
“Long enough for the pack to calm down. A little.”
He sat up slowly, the sheet falling to his waist. The sight of him there—bare-chested, hair mussed, strength dulled by sleep—sent a tug through the bond between us. Something tender. Something grounding.
“You watched over me.”
“Not all night,” I said with a shrug. “You would’ve done the same.”
He looked around, eyes landing on the bundle of records. “What’s that?”
I crossed the room, picked it up, and brought it to the bed, setting it down with a heavy sigh. “These are my father’s,” I said softly. “I’ve had them here since he passed. Last night, I went through the drawer. Their mostly old council records.”