Chapter 37 Torben #2
As we approach, her smile widens just enough for us to see, a warm contrast to the room's formality. "Tor, Khal, then Diaval—in order of bonding," she announces, a playful shrug accompanying her words that tells me she's found some equilibrium in the time we were apart.
I understand the unspoken logic behind the arrangement.
Easton should technically be seated to Diaval's left given the dragon's seniority, but the politics of her position require Feray to appear married to Easton—a wolf mate that the pack can accept without question.
It's the lesser of two evils; otherwise, she would be pressured to marry another royal or an alpha from another pack.
Better to keep these things in house, where we can control the narrative.
"My queen..." A deep voice fills the room as an older man enters through a side door, his gray hair swept back from a weathered face that speaks of decades spent in service.
He bows deeply, showing respect without meeting her eyes—the proper deference for addressing a Luna.
Feray's gaze flickers to her aunt, seeking guidance in this unfamiliar social landscape.
"Beta Jurian, always a pleasure to see you," Astrid says smoothly, her voice carrying just enough information for Feray to work with.
"Welcome, Beta Jurian," Feray replies without missing a beat, her chin held high and her face betraying no emotion despite the rapid learning curve she's navigating. "Is there something you need of me?"
"The yearly hunt and celebration happens in two days, my queen. Will you be leading the hunt?" He bows again, his eyes fixed on the floor in deference.
Feray's eyes sweep over us, calculating and considering.
Khal and I exchange a glance, both of us knowing we lack the speed and endurance required to keep pace with a pack of wolves hunting across the frozen tundra.
The only ones capable of matching that pace are Diaval and Easton, who could simply fly above the chase.
Feray turns to her aunt, who nods with an encouraging smile that indicates her own participation alongside her family. "Yes, I will lead the hunt with my aunt's assistance," Feray declares, her voice ringing with confidence that echoes softly through the hall.
Beta Jurian straightens, nodding to each of us in turn before retreating through the door he entered. As he leaves, Feray turns to Astrid with curiosity brightening her features. "Tell me about this hunt."
Astrid's eyes light up with excitement, the kind of enthusiasm that comes from discussing beloved traditions.
"We do it once a year during the hunter's moon, when the world is illuminated day and night by the sun that never fully sets.
The light paints everything in shades of gold and rose, and the wolves run for hours without tiring. "
She shares a look with her mate before continuing, her voice taking on the cadence of someone sharing ancient lore.
"There is a herd of giant moose that crosses the tundra annually—magnificent creatures, some standing fifteen feet at the shoulder with antlers that span wider than this table.
We time our hunt with their migration, intercepting them at the narrowest point of their crossing. "
"How many moose does the pack usually kill each hunt?" I ask, taking a sip of the cool, refreshing water before me.
"We aim for two to three, but given their size and ferocity, we're fortunate if we manage to take down one.
" She glances down at her plate, absently pushing a meatball around with her fork.
"To properly feed the pack through the harshest part of winter, we need four.
It would make life significantly easier if we could stockpile that much meat.
" Her gaze lifts to meet Feray's, hope flickering in her eyes like a candle flame. "Maybe this year will go better."
Feray's eyes move over each of us with the sharp, calculating look of a general surveying her troops before battle. When her gaze finally settles on Easton, there's something almost predatory in her expression that makes me shiver despite the warmth of the fire.
"I believe this year four will fall without fail," she says, and her laugh is a sound both melodious and slightly wicked as she looks between Khal and me.
"I can drive the moose into an ambush point while the pack harries them from behind.
Torben can help take at least one down with his bear's strength, and Khal is skilled enough with weapons to drop another from a distance. "
Her eyes move fondly between Easton and Diaval, glinting with a mix of affection and mischief that tells me she's already envisioning fire and fury raining from the sky. "I won't bust out the big guns unless needed. But it's nice to have them in reserve."
"Can someone supply us with a map of the area?" I ask, looking at Bjorn, who nods immediately.
"I'll bring the most current one to your chambers after dinner, and we can talk strategy then." Bjorn's presence is as solid and imposing as the mountains surrounding the territory—broad shoulders, confident demeanor, the bearing of a man who has fought many battles and won most of them.
"Perfect, thank you." I raise my glass to him just as the servers arrive, carrying the second course to the table along with steins of dark, foamy beer. The rich aroma of roasted meat fills the air, mingling with the earthy scent of ale.
I take a deep sip, the cool liquid refreshing against the warmth of the fire-lit hall, and let my curiosity get the better of me. "How many wolves live in this pack? I've never seen so many in one area—back in Briarvale, we have perhaps three if we count Feray in that total."
Bjorn's expression shifts, shadows gathering in his eyes as old memories surface.
"Before the disappearance of Lyra, our pack was almost seven hundred strong.
" He focuses intently on the stein he holds, the amber liquid reflecting dimly in the candlelight.
"We're just under that number now. Many of our scouts went looking for Lyra and Claridon after they vanished, searching every corner of these mountains for any sign of their Luna and her mate. "
He lifts his gaze to meet Feray's, searching for understanding or maybe absolution. "None of them ever returned. We always assumed the worst—that they'd been killed by whatever took your parents. But now I wonder if the cavern simply wouldn't open for them once they exited on the other side."
"More than likely, that is what happened," Feray responds, biting her bottom lip thoughtfully. "We didn't find any bodies between the cavern and Silver Falls, which means they made it through. But what they found on the other side..."
"Silver Falls was overrun by vampires," I say, meeting Bjorn's eyes and seeing the deep sadness lurking there—a shadow of mourning that seems to weigh him down like chains.
"They controlled that territory for years before they were finally cleared out.
If your people ended up there, then I am sorry—truly sorry—that they have passed on. "
Feray tilts her head slightly, her ice-blue eyes tracing the lines of Bjorn's weathered face as if reading a story written in the map of his features. "You lost someone who went looking for us, didn't you?" she asks softly, her voice carrying the weight of shared grief.
"I did. My brother, Alaric." Bjorn's admission hangs heavy in the air, the words carrying the weight of years of wondering and never knowing.
Feray's expression shifts, resolve hardening her features into something fierce and determined.
"Khal, can you please go grab the record book from Silver Falls and bring it here?
" She leans forward, her hand reaching out to rest on her uncle's with a gentleness that belies the steel in her spine.
"It's the pack's log book—a record of every wolf who lived and died under vampire rule.
Perhaps you can locate the missing from this pack among the dead.
It won't bring them back, but at least you'll know what happened to them. "
Her eyes shift to Diaval, and a wicked glimmer sparks within their depths. "We should obtain the book from Blackmore as well. There may be wolves from other packs recorded there too. But that's a problem for another day."
With that, she returns to her meal, tearing into the venison with a nonchalance that belies the intensity of the moment—but I see the way her hand trembles slightly as she lifts her fork, and I know she's holding back a tide of emotion that threatens to overwhelm her.
Her determination to uncover the fate of these missing family members, to bring closure to people she's only just met, makes me swell with pride. Each step she takes toward unraveling the mystery of her family's past draws us closer to answers, and it makes me even more proud to call her my mate.
The flickering fire casts dancing shadows across her face, highlighting the strength and resolve etched into her features.
Whatever conspiracies lurk in the shadows, whatever enemies are still plotting her death, I know that together—all five of us bound by love and loyalty and fate itself—we will find the truth.
And when we do, whoever hurt her family will learn exactly what it means to threaten a winter wolf's pack.
Khal retrieves the book from our belongings and passes it to Bjorn at the end of the meal.
The older wolf's eyes scan the text quickly, his weathered fingers tracing names on yellowed pages, and I watch as recognition flickers across his face again and again—several dozen familiar names written in faded ink.
"Thank you," he says finally, his voice rough with emotion as he clutches the book to his chest like a lifeline. "Thank you for this. You have no idea what this means to us."
Feray simply nods, her expression soft with understanding. "Family is everything. No one should have to wonder what happened to the people they loved."
Bjorn thanks us profusely before turning in for the night, the heavy book tucked under his arm like a treasure more precious than gold.
And as I watch him go, I realize that Feray isn't just claiming a throne or uniting packs—she's healing wounds that have festered for decades, bringing closure to grief that's had no resolution.
She's becoming exactly the queen her people need.
And the enemies watching from the shadows have no idea what's coming for them.