Chapter 23
ROWAN
This feels so wrong.
Mom, Liz, and Iris insisted on a lunch with just the girls. Well, the girls and Archie, who is currently wedged between two wicker baskets like he’s royalty presiding over court. And not just any lunch, either.
Considering we’re having a rare sunny, winter day, they’ve dragged blankets and homemade bread and fresh fruit all the way out near the woods, as if the world around us isn’t teetering on the edge of something catastrophic.
As if supernatural leaders haven’t been snatched from their territories.
As if Malrik isn’t somewhere out there building whatever twisted spectacle he believes will prove his worth.
The breeze through the trees is soft. The river nearby hums gently over smooth stones. Sunlight filters through the canopy, dappling the grass in warm gold.
It’s peaceful, and that’s exactly what makes it unbearable.
At least until a cracker smacks into the center of my forehead.
“Quit your worrying,” Iris snaps, her spiky hair shifting wildly as she wags a finger at me. “All you’re going to do is wrinkle early and give yourself a permanent scowl. We Prescott women are better than that.”
Mom reaches over and squeezes my hand before I can respond.
“She’s right,” she says gently. “Sort of. There’s nothing we can actively do right this second.
The wolves are gathering. The witches are searching.
The vampires are standing by. You’ve done what you can for now. So, try to enjoy this moment.”
Try being the keyword there.
I drum my fingers against my knees and watch Archie dart forward to snatch up the fallen cracker from the grass without a care. He doesn’t mind that it touched dirt.
“I know,” I murmur, though the words feel thin.
At least I should know.
Cade has been telling me much of the same. We’ve called every leader who would answer. We’ve formed alliances that would have seemed impossible weeks ago. We have a plan.
Well. Half a plan.
Everyone’s gathering in Solara until the witches can pinpoint RikRot’s location, which is proving more difficult than anyone wants to admit out loud. Apparently, Malrik isn’t just hiding. He’s masking himself. Cloaking his movements with something ancient and layered and clever.
So now we wait.
We wait while knowing innocent people have been taken and are possibly enduring things I don’t even want to imagine.
The waiting and not knowing is the worst part.
A grape comes flying toward my face next, but this time, I catch it midair and glare at the culprit.
Liz only shrugs, completely unapologetic. “The old lady can’t be the only one having fun. Plus, you’re very obviously still worrying over there.”
Mom nudges her lightly with her shoulder. “Leave my daughter alone. She’s doing the best she can, and I think it’s pretty damn awesome.”
Of course she does.
Mothers don’t have a choice but to believe in their children. At least the good ones don’t. And I have the best there ever was.
Now that she’s recovered—minus a few missing body parts that none of us are allowed to make jokes about—it’s almost surreal how normal she feels.
Like she was never gone. Like I didn’t stand beside a grave last year and say goodbye to her.
Like I didn’t grieve her so deeply that it hollowed me out from the inside.
It’s easier to believe if I don’t let myself think about it too long.
But seeing her with my dad, watching the quiet way he hovers close without smothering her, knowing he’s my father and that we’re building something that resembles the family I thought I’d never have… That still knocks the breath from my lungs in the best way possible.
Almost as much as knowing I have a mate like Cade.
A mate who supports me even when I challenge his patience and innate instincts. A mate who stands beside me without trying to step in front of me. A mate who would tear down the world if I asked—and who trusts me not to.
“Are you going to eat that?” Archie asks, nudging my fingers where the grape still rests in my palm.
My eyes widen. “It could kill you.”
“No,” he corrects. “They can kill regular ferrets. I’m magically protected. Now, hand the food over.”
I barely shake my head before he snatches it away, stuffing it into his mouth with shameless enthusiasm.
“It’s a miracle you’re not fifty pounds,” I mutter, eyeing his small frame.
Even after everything, some worries never leave.
He keeps reminding me that he’s not as ancient as I used to call him, and has decades ahead of him, but I still catch myself listening to his breathing when he sleeps around my neck.
He pauses mid-chew and looks up at me. “I’m stress-eating for both of us. You spiral. I snack. It’s called teamwork.”
Liz snorts. Iris cackles like she’s just heard the funniest thing in existence.
And despite the storm brewing beyond our borders, despite the weight pressing against my chest, I find myself laughing too.
Because this—this ridiculous, chaotic, stubbornly hopeful group of women and one charming ferret—is exactly what I’m fighting for.
The breeze shifts slightly, carrying with it a scent that is both familiar and grounding. I don’t need to turn around to know who’s approaching, but I do anyway.
My dad emerges from the tree line at an unhurried pace, his hands tucked loosely behind his back like he doesn’t want to intrude on whatever sacred, feminine ritual he assumes is happening here. There’s something in his expression that makes my chest tighten.
Not concern or urgency. Something steadier.
Pride and love.
“Well,” he says as he steps closer, his gaze sweeping over the blanket, the baskets, and Archie currently licking grape juice off his paws. “I see I’ve arrived at the council of formidable women.”
“You’re not invited,” Iris snaps, though she shifts over slightly to make room anyway.
Liz raises a brow. “We charge admission.”
Mom tilts her face up to him, the sunlight catching in her auburn hair. “Miss me already?”
“Always.” Dad looks at me next, certainty etched into his now golden eyes. “Cade was right.”
I tilt my head slightly. “About?”
“You’ve decided who you’re going to be.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “And you’re not going to let anyone force you into anything else.”
That catches something in my throat.
“I don’t get to decide that alone,” I reply, acutely aware of how many lives are tied to whatever choice I make next.
“No,” he agrees without hesitation. “But you do get to decide how you carry yourself and the actions you take. That matters more than you might think.”
The words settle heavier than they should, rooting somewhere deeper than logic. He isn’t telling me what to do. He isn’t pushing me toward violence or mercy.
He’s reminding me that the choice is mine.
Before I can respond, another presence brushes against my awareness—stronger, warmer, and threaded directly into my pulse.
Cade.
He doesn’t call out as he approaches, but the bond hums differently when he’s near, like something inside me straightens instinctively.
He steps into the clearing a moment later, his expression calm but purposeful. There’s no immediate alarm in his posture, but there’s movement in his eyes.
“Almost everyone has arrived,” he says, staring only at me. “The alphas we could get in touch with are inside the pack house. The vampires sent two representatives. Even a few witches from the southern territory showed.”
Liz whistles softly. “Well, that’s either comforting or horrifying.”
“It probably means they’re scared,” Mom offers.
“It means they’re paying attention,” Cade corrects gently.
I rise first, brushing grass from my jeans. “Then we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”
I watch as Dad offers Mom his hand—not a demand. Just a steady presence if she wants it.
I smile when she does.
The walk back toward the pack house is quieter than the one out here. The breeze feels heavier. The air, denser. Not oppressive but charged.
Wolves stand posted along the perimeter. Some from Solara. Some not. The scent of unfamiliar packs lingers in the air, but there’s no hostility threaded through it. Only alertness.
As we near the front steps, I feel it.
The pull.
Not from Cade or Solara.
From something broader.
Something older.
Inside the house, voices murmur low. The energy isn’t chaotic, but it’s coiled, as if everyone is waiting for a signal they don’t fully understand.
Cade reaches for my hand just before we step through the doorway. The moment we cross the threshold, the room shifts, subtly enough that every conversation slows, and heads turn.
For the briefest second, I swear I can feel threads—thin, luminous, and almost invisible—stretching from me to every alpha in the room.
Not pulling or demanding but connecting.
And somewhere deep beneath my ribs, my wolf lifts her head.
She knows what I’m not entirely ready to understand.
The room doesn’t fall silent all at once.
It happens in increments, like a ripple traveling across still water.
Conversations taper into murmurs. Murmurs dissolve into awareness.
I feel it before I consciously register it—the collective attention of predators who have learned to read a shift in the air before a storm breaks.
The wolves stand in a loose semi-circle near the hearth, their postures controlled but alert.
Bram is closest to the fire, broad-shouldered and steady.
Two Glacier Crest members stand near the wall, silver eyes watchful and cool.
A Thornwell representative lingers near the window, green gaze sharp and assessing.
Across from them, Taren from Shadowyn waits with arms folded, posture almost too relaxed.
Each of them is powerful in their own right, and yet, something subtle moves through the space the moment my foot crosses the threshold.
It isn’t dominance or aggression.
It’s recognition.
The threads I felt outside from the new arrivals sharpens now, no longer faint and speculative but tangible in a way that makes my breath catch. They stretch from my center outward, delicate but unbreakable, brushing against each wolf, like fingers testing the surface of a still lake.
No one speaks.
No one challenges.
For a suspended heartbeat, it feels as though the world itself has leaned closer.
Then Bram moves.
He doesn’t waver. He doesn’t look around for confirmation. His chin dips first, not sharply, not in submission, but in acknowledgment. Slowly, he lowers himself to one knee, one fist pressing against the floor in a gesture I’ve never seen before yet somehow understand.
The movement cracks something open in the room.
The Glacier Crest wolves follow, then Thornwell and Shadowyn.
One by one, without discussion, without visible coordination, the shifters standing in front of me lower themselves in the same steady motion until they’re each on one knee with their heads bowed just slightly.
The sound of fabric shifting and boots brushing against hardwood echoes far louder than it should as my pulse roars in my ears.
Alpha Queen, Wolf whispers.
What am I supposed to do? I feel like I should panic, but even with this sudden attention, I’m calmer than I’ve ever been.
You stand there and accept their allegiance.
The weight of it presses against my ribs, not crushing but undeniable.
Wolf rises to the surface now, standing tall inside me with a clarity that feels older than prophecy.
Beside me, Cade goes utterly still, and through the bond I feel the quiet thunder of his realization before he ever speaks it. There’s no jealousy in him. No flicker of insecurity. Only pride so fierce it nearly steals my breath.
He doesn’t step in front of me or try to speak for me.
Instead, he shifts subtly to my side, standing satisfied as if this is what he’s been waiting for.
Behind me, I hear my mother’s sharp inhale. Dad doesn’t move forward, doesn’t interrupt, but I can feel his gratification like a steady flame at my back. Liz and Archie are silent. Even Iris has nothing clever to say.
My eyes burn faintly. Nobody could ever explain to me why they held the color of each pack, but now I know.
Even with my heart and soul belonging to Cade, it isn’t just Solara that I’m connected to.
It’s all six packs. Each of them is a part of me, and I don’t know how I could have missed this before, when it feels like the most right thing in the world. But I won’t forget it now.
The threads tighten slightly. Not binding, but settling as if something ancient has finally clicked into alignment.
I swallow against the thickness in my throat and take a slow step forward, the movement enough to remind them that I’m still just a woman standing in a room full of warriors.
“You don’t have to kneel,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
Bram lifts his gaze first. “But we do,” he replies quietly.
The others murmur their agreement, not loudly, but as fact.
Because this isn’t about titles.
This isn’t even about the Ashmark prophecy.
This is about something bigger than all of us.
The unity of all wolves.
Cade’s fingers brush mine, and I feel his vow through the bond without words. It’s not possessive or claiming, but recognizing.
And somewhere deep within my chest, my wolf settles into this truth. Whatever I thought I was before this moment no longer fits. Whatever the prophecy intended, it underestimated me.
I’m no longer merely Rowan, the hybrid Ashmark, or Cade’s mate, or Solara’s luna.
I am Alpha.