Chapter 7 - Rowan
Rowan
Heat still coursed through my veins as consciousness crept back, my body responding to the echo of that amazing dream with Freya, Zak, and Torsten. Even still half-asleep, the memory left me aching with want.
As a lone wolf, I’d never expected to find a mate, especially not a hybrid like Freya. I’d been surprised by my wolf’s interest in Zak, and how my body instantly responded to him. But the way that Tor and I instantly connected could have only been because of the dream.
I didn’t dare question whether any of it had been real. Time would tell. When Tor finally arrived, and our wolves actually met—
The stench hit me like a physical blow.
Unwashed bodies. Dried blood. The acrid tang of fear and piss that permeated every corner of the Denraider barracks. My arousal died instantly, snuffed out by the brutal reality of where I was and what surrounded me. My wolf recoiled, hackles rising as survival instincts slammed back into place.
I’d spent every minute of our trip into Oregon trying to find out anything I could about Valkyrie. When the time came to split us up into different assignments in different towns, I managed to convince the foreman to send me to this town in particular based on rumors I’d heard of her location.
This was my first overnight here, and so far, us new recruits had been treated as no better than slaves. I had yet to gain any additional clues as to the whereabouts of Freya’s sister.
The phantom ache in my chest where the Howling Echo pack bond used to be throbbed, uneasy and vindictive. Without that anchor, every sense felt too sharp, too exposed. My wolf paced restlessly beneath my skin, confused by the isolation, searching for pack connections that no longer existed.
Only the faint warmth of the Bonded link provided any comfort, a thread connecting me to my mates across the distance. I vaguely sensed the echoes of Freya and Zak’s mating, despite Zak clearly doing his best to keep the curtains closed.
A few minutes later, their connection snapped into place, the bond crystallizing in the afterglow of Freya and Zak’s claiming.
Their mate bond settled into the many bonds among us all, and my wolf silently howled in triumph.
Gage, Heath, Flint, and I poured our reassurances to Freya and our congratulations to Zak through the Bonded link… and that’s when I felt it.
A seventh presence.
The dream had been real. Freya had done it — she’d pulled Tor into the Bonded link over the distance. The Bonded circle that I’d been so suspicious of felt complete in a way that settled my wolf. Even packless, we were connected to our mate and our family.
Around me, other wolves began to stir. This was not the time or place to be distracted, so I forced myself to focus.
The cramped barracks was smaller than where I’d slept my first night in Denraider, packed tighter with bodies and the desperate energy of wolves still fighting for acceptance into Denraider’s ranks.
I kept my breathing steady and my posture relaxed, even as I assessed the situation. And the potential threats.
Nearby, a witchfire-scarred alpha stretched and, like me, immediately scanned the room for potential challenges. Near the door, two rogues in human form were whispering to each other. By the window, another wolf whimpered in his sleep. I had a feeling he wouldn’t last the day.
Looking outside, I took stock of my current home at this conquered town in Oregon.
Downwind of the barracks, a wolf’s corpse had been staked upright as a warning — a new ‘recruit’ who decided to try to flee rather than work.
Even from here, I could see the gaping holes where his fangs and claws had been carved out for trophies.
“Fresh meat didn’t last long,” someone commented, also staring at the staked body.
“Lazy bastard,” another replied. “At least his teeth will make decent dice.”
Their conversation shifted to speculation about when Lydell might bring us into the pack so we could claim our rightful place in the hierarchy and leave behind this labor camp.
I forced my expression to remain neutral as bile rose in my throat.
This was the pack that had shaped my childhood, the brutality I’d escaped only to willingly walk back in.
My fingers traced over Zak’s witchfire scar that obliterated my Howling Echo pack tattoo. I couldn’t wait to have it back. But Freya’s sister was here somewhere, and I was going to find her.
Making no sudden movements that might draw attention, I headed for the mess hall.
The expected morning chaos buzzed inside — jostling for position, the clatter of metal bowls, and the ever-present undercurrent of potential violence.
I kept my head down as I moved through the line, accepting my portion of thin gruel without comment. Better to blend in than draw attention.
But my efforts failed as Keith got into the serving line behind me. “How are you settling in, rogue?” he asked.
I noticed they gave him stew from a different pot — proper chili, by the scent of it. My stomach growled, wishing for what he got.
“Just fine,” I said, not letting my surprise show. I hadn’t seen him in the convoy down here and had assumed he’d stayed behind. Had the foreman told Keith I’d asked for this assignment specifically?
When I left the line to find a table near the back, Keith watched me go, but found a table with some of his packmates instead.
I’d just settled into a chair where I could keep my eyes on both him and the door, when she walked in.
My breath caught in my throat. Even malnourished and bruised, she was unmistakably beautiful — and unmistakably related to Freya.
The same delicate bone structure. The same striking, nearly-white hair.
The same stubborn tilt to her chin despite the circumstances.
Her movements carried an echo of my mate’s grace, though tempered by obvious pain and careful wariness.
Valkyrie.
She approached the serving area with measured steps, her eyes downcast but alert. When she spoke to request food, her voice was quiet but clear — no broken spirit there, despite whatever they’d done to her.
The wolf serving food — a beta with cruel eyes — looked her up and down with obvious disdain. “What makes you think you’ve earned anything today, slave?”
“My master sent me here,” she replied. “That should tell you what you need to know.”
I winced at her spirited response, knowing it wouldn’t help her cause. He ladled a meager portion of the same sludge he’d given me into her bowl, then deliberately tilted it as he handed it over. Half the contents splashed onto the floor.
“Oops,” he said with a smirk. “Clumsy of me.”
“Well?” Keith growled. “Clean it up.” His words were for Valkyrie, but his eyes found mine, as though waiting to see my reaction.
Had he heard me asking around about her?
For just a moment, Valkyrie’s eyes flashed with the same fire I’d seen in Freya when she was angry. But she quickly schooled her expression and knelt to try to salvage what she could from the floor. Both her skinny forearms remained bare, unmarked by any pack tattoo or the bite of a pack alpha.
“Look at her crawl,” someone called out from nearby. “Still thinks she’s too good for us.”
“Spoiled bitch,” another voice added. “Should’ve been tossed out years ago like any other late shifter.”
Valkyrie’s movements stilled for just a second — so brief I might have imagined it — before she continued gathering the spilled food. When she rose to stand, her eyes met mine across the mess hall. The same snow-blue as Freya’s, but haunted in a way that made my chest ache.
Recognition flickered there — not of me specifically, but of another wolf who didn’t quite belong. When Keith approached her table, she immediately averted her gaze, shoulders tensing in a learned response I knew all too well.
Through the din of the mess hall, I couldn’t hear his words to her, but I saw him point at me, and she glanced over her shoulder at me. Her brows furrowed at the sight of me, but she turned back to Keith, shaking her head.
Had he asked if she knew me? Somehow, he seemed to know I was interested in her. Had Drew told him I’d asked about her? If so, she was in more danger than I thought.
Every instinct screamed at me to intervene, to put myself between her and the nightmare surrounding her. My wolf snarled beneath my skin, demanding action. But I forced myself to remain seated, to observe and gather intelligence instead of destroying my cover in an instant.
When she finally left with her meager meal, I had to grip my bowl to keep from following.
The ache in my chest where the pack bond used to be pulsed with fresh pain.
She was living the same isolation I felt now, but worse — she’d never known the comfort of a true pack bond due to being thrown into this hell as a child.
“Pathetic, isn’t it?”
I turned to find an older wolf pulling out a chair beside me — graying hair, weathered face, eyes that had seen too much. Unlike the others, he didn’t carry himself with the predatory swagger typical of Denraider. There was something almost… apologetic in his expression.
“The girl?” I asked carefully.
He nodded, his expression carefully neutral but his voice carrying an undertone of disgust. “You’re one of the new rogues, right? Name’s Mavis.”
“That’s right” I replied, refusing to give my name as I studied him.
He was an alpha, but of the same or slightly lower dominance than me. Something about this wolf felt different from the others — less eager for violence.
Maybe he was working with Keith, and this was a test, but I couldn’t resist asking, “What do you know about her?”
Mavis glanced toward where Valkyrie had disappeared, then lowered his voice. “You asking about her for the usual reasons, or just curious?”
I kept my expression neutral. “Just trying to understand the dynamics here. She’s not pack, but they keep her around?”