Chapter 7
Callum
The great room thrums with celebration. Just yesterday, this same space was filled with makeshift hospital beds and the copper-metal stench of contamination. Now it buzzes with laughter, conversation, and the healthy flow of pack energy.
“Dane looks good,” I say, handing Ben a fresh bottle of beer. “Good to see our Alpha back on his feet.” I study Ben’s face—the gray pallor that had me worried is gone. “How are you feeling?”
“Much improved. Whatever Lyanna did worked.” Ben takes a sip of his beer. “Vitals are completely normal for everyone.” He glances at Callum. “Thanks for hauling me in. Couldn’t have been easy.”
I pat Ben’s stomach with a grin. “Might want to lay off Wyatt’s chocolate chip cookies for a while. Hauling your ass across the territory was a bitch.”
Ben’s mouth twitches. “And here I thought you were finally putting those muscles to good use.” He takes a long pull of his beer. “Besides, I was unconscious. What’s your excuse for being slow?”
Gabriel and Amara sit together on the sectional, her head on his shoulder as they talk quietly with Connor and Mariel, Kieran and Cassie. Kari’s helping Dawn distribute trays of food while Mateo bounces between groups with ridiculous enthusiasm.
My eyes find Lyanna across the room. She’s smiling as Harper murmurs something that makes her nod with visible relief—pack business handled, one less worry on her shoulders.
“Scanning for threats?” Ben asks quietly, amusement in his voice.
I glance at him. “Always.”
“Right.” His smirk is brief but knowing. “That why you’ve looked her direction six times in the last ten minutes?”
I don’t dignify that with a response.
Nova sits beside Dane in matching armchairs near the fireplace, their hands linked as they oversee the celebration. Both look remarkably healthy for people who were unconscious four days ago.
“This pack owes you their lives,” Dane says as I approach. “Every one of us.” He stands, extending his hand. “Thank you for holding things together while we were down.”
I take his hand, somewhat taken aback. Alphas don’t offer handshakes lightly—it’s a gesture of respect between equals.
“Lyanna made the breakthrough,” I say automatically. “I just kept things running.”
“You held the pack together when half of us were dying,” Dane says. “Security, logistics, kept everyone fed and functional. That’s leadership.”
I nod once. Step back.
Derek appears at my shoulder. “The monitoring equipment Lachlan sent is still active. We’ll know immediately if anyone relapses.”
When I glance up, Lyanna’s watching me. Her smile is small, private—just for me. Something warm unfolds in my chest.
Pack bonds hum through the Lodge like electricity, each connection clean and vibrant after the bond dampening procedure. The sensation reminds me of the first deep breath after being underwater too long—essential, life-giving.
“To Lyanna!” Kieran raises his glass from the sectional where he sits with Cassie. “Without whom half of us would be dead.”
A chorus of cheers erupts as Lyanna smiles, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She’s been moving between recovered pack members all evening, checking on them socially rather than medically now. The transition from crisis to celebration suits her—she looks lighter, less burdened.
“To everyone who kept us alive,” Dane adds, raising his glass higher. The pack echoes the sentiment.
I grab two plates from the buffet and start loading them—roasted vegetables, Gabriel’s enchiladas, the honey-glazed carrots Dawn makes. Kari appears beside me, following my gaze toward Lyanna.
“She’s been checking on everyone else all evening,” Kari observes. “Hasn’t stopped moving.”
I add more food to the second plate without comment.
Kari’s mouth quirks. “Subtle.”
“Wasn’t trying to be.”
Across the room, Lyanna accepts a glass of wine from Nova. When she looks up and catches my eye, something shifts in her expression—surprise, then warmth.
I make my decision. Time to find somewhere quieter.
I find Lyanna near the windows, momentarily alone. “Hungry?” I ask, offering the second plate.
She blinks, surprised, then smiles. “Starving, actually.”
“Come on.” I gesture toward the alcove at the far end of the room—quieter, but still part of the celebration.
As we settle into the alcove, she takes her first bite and closes her eyes briefly. “I didn’t realize how hungry I actually was.”
“Kari said you’ve been checking on everyone all evening. Haven’t stopped.”
“Someone has to make sure no one’s pushing too hard too soon.” She takes another bite, then adds wryly, “Classic healer move—taking care of everyone but myself.”
I lean back against the cushions. “Which is why someone needs to keep an eye on you.”
She sits closer than necessary, our shoulders nearly touching. “And you volunteered?”
“Seemed like the job wasn’t filled.” I pause, studying her. “How are you feeling? And I don’t mean as our healer. I mean you, Lyanna.”
Something softens in her expression. “You kept asking me that during the crisis. Every time you brought food or filled my water bottle.” She shakes her head slightly. “I don’t think I ever properly thanked you.”
“You were busy saving the pack. Answer the question.”
“Exhausted,” she admits, the word carrying the weight of the past week. “But ... relieved. Proud of what we accomplished.” She takes a bite of food and closes her eyes briefly in appreciation.
A faint blush colors her cheeks. “Where did you do your healing training?” I ask, finding myself genuinely curious about her past beyond just her healing abilities.
“Prince Lachlan’s enclave at Tir na Sorcha,” she says, her expression warming at the memory.
“I mean, Lachlan. It’s hard for me to not call him ‘Prince’ given our backgrounds.
He created a progressive space for cross-species healing studies.
It’s where I learned to break through traditional boundaries in fae healing techniques. ”
“That explains your unorthodox approach,” I say, leaning slightly closer. “Most healers I’ve known would never have risked dampening pack bonds.”
“Most healers haven’t had to fight magical contamination designed to feed on those bonds.” She takes another bite, then asks, “What about you? How did you end up as Dane and Nova’s Gamma?”
I find myself telling her about Shadow Peak—things I don’t talk about. Ever.
“My mother died when I was fourteen,” I say, and the words scrape coming out. “Sudden. No warning. One day she was there, and then she wasn’t.”
Lyanna’s hand finds mine on the table. She doesn’t speak, just waits.
“I had four younger siblings. Isla, Mira, the twins—Jace and Leo.” I stare at our joined hands rather than meet her eyes.
“My father... he handled it by disappearing into duty. Traditional Guardian protocols, border patrols, anything that kept him away from the house. So I stepped in. Made sure they ate. Got them to training. Held Mira when she had nightmares.”
“You were a child yourself,” Lyanna says softly.
“I was old enough to feel responsible.” I finally look up. “And I couldn’t save her. My mother. I was supposed to have angel blood, Guardian heritage, all this divine protection in my veins—and I couldn’t do a damn thing when it mattered.”
The old anger stirs, familiar and bitter.
“My father expected me to follow the traditional path. Protect the boundaries, know everyone’s place, keep the hierarchy intact.
And for years, I thought that’s what protection meant—controlling every variable, making choices for people before they could make the wrong ones. ”
“Because if you controlled everything...”
“No one else would die.” I exhale slowly. “Didn’t work out that way.”
Lyanna’s silent, listening.
“My sister, Isla,” I say, the words coming easier now that I’ve started, “she bonded with Rowan. Dane’s younger brother—both of them from Storm Ridge, both former assassins under Viktor and Maelik.
” I pause, remembering the fury, the terror.
“An outsider who’d done things I couldn’t even imagine.
I didn’t trust him, didn’t trust what he represented. ”
Lyanna’s silent, listening.
“I started a fight with him in the middle of a pack gathering. Not my finest moment.” My jaw tightens.
“Looking back, I realize he could have killed me easily. Former assassin trained and … enhanced by Viktor himself. But he pulled every punch, took every hit, because of Isla.” I pause.
“That should have told me everything I needed to know about his character. Instead, I just kept swinging.”
The memory tastes bitter. “I thought I was protecting her. But really, I was trying to control her life because I was terrified of losing someone else I loved.”
I lean back against the wall. “Rowan’s ... he’s good for her. I can see that now. He makes her happy in ways I never could have predicted. But back then, all I saw was an assassin who’d killed for Viktor trying to claim my sister.”
“Dane offered me a place here when he was leaving Shadow Peak. Not because we’d known each other for years—we hadn’t. But because Ash Hollow is different. It’s built for people who don’t quite fit the traditional molds. For outcasts and second chances.”
“Shadow Peak was never home, not really. Too many rules, too many expectations about what a Guardian should be, how protection should look. My father still thinks I made the wrong choice leaving.” I meet her eyes.
“But here ... I get to choose what kind of protector I want to be. Even if I’m still figuring that out. ”
I take a deep breath. I can’t quite believe I’ve opened up so much.
“Protection is in my blood,” I say. “Guardian heritage. But I had to learn that real protection isn’t about control.”
“Still learning that lesson?” she asks with a knowing smile that somehow doesn’t feel judgmental.
I chuckle softly. “Every damn day.”
We fall into a comfortable silence, the background noise of the celebration creating a private bubble around us. I’m acutely aware of how her knee occasionally brushes against mine, how she leans slightly toward me when she speaks.
“What made you choose healing?” I ask eventually.
Her eyes grow distant. “I was thirteen when I first healed someone I shouldn’t have been able to heal—a wolf hybrid servant in my father’s house. Cross-species healing isn’t common among fae. That’s when I knew my path would be different.”
“What happened after?” I prompt, wanting to understand more.
“My father tried to contain it—make me practice only on ‘appropriate patients’.” Her jaw tightens at the memory. “He had very specific ideas about who deserved my gift and who didn’t. Bloodlines mattered more than need. Status more than suffering.”
“But you didn’t agree.”
“I couldn’t.” She sets down her glass, her hands coming to rest in her lap. “The more he tried to restrict me, the more I understood that healing isn’t about politics or propriety. It’s about recognizing that pain doesn’t care about species or status.”
I find myself hanging on her every word, noticing the elegant curve of her neck, the way her fingers absently trace patterns on her glass when she speaks of things that matter to her.
“Is that why you left? To get away from those restrictions?”
“Partly. But I also wanted to learn from healers who understood that life force is universal, not bound by the arbitrary lines we draw between species.” Her forest green eyes meet mine. “This pack doesn’t fit traditional molds. Neither do I.”
She’s quiet for a moment, her eyes on her plate. When she looks up, there’s something thoughtful in her expression. “You kept everyone safe while I focused on healing. I couldn’t have done it without knowing you had everything else handled.”
“Works both ways,” I say. “You saved them. I just made sure nothing got in your way.”
Her smile is soft. “Still. Thank you.”
I watch her smile as she finishes the last of her food, and something settles in my chest—a certainty I haven’t felt in a long time.
This matters. She matters.
Not just because she saved the pack, though that’s part of it.
Not just because she’s beautiful, though she is.
It’s the way she challenges traditional boundaries while still honoring what’s worth preserving.
The way she chose healing over politics.
The way she sees protection as something other than control.
The celebration continues around us—laughter, conversation, the clink of glasses. But this alcove feels separate. Private.
“I’m glad you came to Ash Hollow,” I say, meaning it in ways that have nothing to do with her healing abilities.
“So am I.” Her eyes hold mine, and there’s something in her expression that tells me she understands exactly what I’m not saying.
I should say something. The words are right there, pressing against my teeth.
Ask her to dinner. No—too formal. Coffee? Too casual. Just tell her you want more time with her.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Tactical planning, threat assessment, pack security—those I can do in my sleep. But standing here watching firelight catch the gold in her hair, I can’t string together a single coherent sentence.
Mateo’s voice cuts across the room. “Dessert’s ready! If you don’t come now, Kari’s going to eat all the good stuff!”
Lyanna laughs softly, the spell broken. She squeezes my arm once before moving toward the others.
I let her go. Watch her walk away.
Maybe that’s okay. We have time now. And some things are worth doing right.