Chapter 36 Avine
THIRTY-SIX
AVINE
The Elder Council had descended in force, once again.
Avine spotted them throughout the party—nodes in a web of observation.
Georgia Gentry, sleek in midnight blue, cataloged alliances with calculating precision.
Bartek Arbor had cornered a load-bearing column, examining the joinery with begrudging approval.
Isandro Holt stood with his son, Mayor Hux, both lions radiating careful neutrality while their gazes tracked the pack-coven mingling.
Eamon Amell found her before she could escape. Theo’s great-uncle was old in the way wolves got—not frail, but weathered, carrying a century’s worth of pack history in his sharp gaze.
“Innkeeper.” He inclined his head.
“Elder Eamon.”
For a long moment, he studied her.
“The bond is strong,” he said finally. “Stronger than I expected. Perhaps stronger than any I’ve seen in a hundred years.”
“Is that a problem?”
“It could be. Strong bonds carry strong risks. They can make an alpha reckless. Distracted.” His expression remained unreadable. “Vulnerable in ways his enemies might exploit.”
“And?”
“And strong bonds also make an alpha impossible to break. Give him a reason to fight beyond duty.” The barest hint of approval cracked his stern facade. “Time will tell which you prove to be.”
“A ringing endorsement.”
“It’s the best I offer.” His mouth twitched. “Welcome to the family, innkeeper. Try not to destroy anything else.”
He melted back into the crowd, and Bran Ursa immediately filled the void.
“LITTLE MATE!”
The bear Elder’s bellow preceded his arrival by approximately three seconds. Avine braced herself—and was immediately swept off her feet in a crushing embrace.
“You survived!” Bran set her down, beaming. “The Matrix! The explosion! The claiming! Very dramatic! Bears approve of drama!”
“Thank you?” Avine wheezed, checking her ribs.
“Your alpha did well.” Bran’s voice dropped to what he probably thought was a whisper. “Claimed you properly. No half-measures. The pack respects strength.”
Heat climbed her cheeks. “I think I see Dahlia waving—”
“Go, go!” Bran released her with a final rib-creaking pat. “Enjoy your night!”
She nearly collided with Orryn Vale in her escape.
The Fae Elder materialized from shadows, his ageless face amused, pale eyes gleaming with secrets. “Innkeeper.”
“Elder Orryn.”
“The first bond of the surge.” His gaze drifted across the party. “Not the last. Watch the Tidewell line in the generations to come. There is power there that has not yet decided what it wants to be.”
“Is that a warning or a prophecy?”
His smile was ancient and infuriating. “Yes.”
He was gone before she could demand clarification.
She’d nearly made it to the snack table when the ambush happened.
“Gotcha.” Junie materialized on her left, red hair wild, Glimmer the snake peeking from her collar. Dahlia flanked her right, Marzipan the cat draped over one shoulder. Cassia blocked the escape route, her storm petrel Gust circling overhead. Narla brought up the rear, expression serene.
“We have questions,” Junie announced.
“Personal questions,” Cassia added. “Possibly invasive.”
“You’ve been hiding for three weeks.” Junie continued, herding Avine toward a secluded corner. “Three weeks of mysterious absences and—” She pointed at Avine’s scarf. “—silk accessories.”
“I’ve been busy. Renovations.”
“Horizontal renovations,” Cassia muttered.
Dahlia smacked her arm. “Be nice.” Then, to Avine: “Details. Emotional, not anatomical.” She paused. “Mostly.”
Avine looked at the four of them—her friends, her found family.
“I’m happy.” She spoke simply. “Stupidly, terrifyingly, completely happy. And I know that sounds—” She stopped, her eyes burning. “Theo is present. Really present. In a way no one’s ever been with me before.”
Junie’s expression crumpled. “Damn. That was a good answer.”
“You deserve it,” Dahlia added, pulling her into a hug. “After everything. You deserve to be happy.”
“I can’t believe the growly Alpha turned out to be a romantic.” Cassia shook her head. “All that brooding was pent-up emotions. Tragic.”
“You cried when he carried her out of Piprick’s workshop,” Junie pointed out.
“That was dust! Explosive magical dust!”
Narla stepped in, her quiet voice cutting through.
“The mark suits you. I smelled the potential weeks ago. But this—” She gestured at Avine’s obvious contentment.
“This is better than potential. This is real.” She paused, something shifting in her expression toward quiet relief.
“The surge has steadied, by the way. First bond sealed. The town will stop feeling like a live wire.”
“It is.” Avine touched her scarf. “It really is.”
Beck found her twenty minutes later, a drink in each hand.
“So.” He handed her a sparkling cocktail. “How’s it feel to be the official talk of the town?”
“Overwhelming. Where’s Theo?”
“Pack politics.” Beck nodded toward the far corner.
“Garrett’s faction has gone quiet—he watched you pull apart the Matrix and decided a reckoning with the Alpha’s mate wasn’t worth what it would cost him.
He took his people north two days ago. Seeking counsel, he said.
Nobody’s expecting him back before winter.
” Beck paused. “Nobody’s broken up about it, either.
Nobody wants to challenge the alpha who’s got a witch powerful enough to destroy a Protection Matrix. ”
“There was collateral damage.”
“Potato, extremely powerful potato.” He clinked his glass against hers. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad he found you. He’s been alone too long.”
“He admits it now.”
“I know.” Interest flickered across Beck’s face. His gaze drifted past her shoulder, and when Avine followed it, she found Junie at the bar, red hair catching the light.
Interesting.
“Anyway.” Beck’s attention snapped back, too fast. “The boss is heading this way.”
He vanished as Theo reached her side.
“It’s time.”
Theo laced his fingers through hers. Around them, attention gathered. The wolves were turning toward their Alpha.
“The formal presentation?”
He nodded. “Pack and coven. I want everyone to know exactly where you stand.”
“Beside you.”
“That’s right.”
They moved toward the staircase, the crowd parting. Avine’s heart hammered. She’d faced exploding magical constructs with more composure.
Theo led her up three steps and turned to face the assembled guests. Two hundred seventeen faces looked back. Wolves. Witches. Shifters. Elders. Her friends, beaming near the bar.
The room fell silent.
“The Siren’s Rest has found its keeper.” Theo’s voice carried without effort, alpha authority thrumming beneath. “The inn chose Avine Bell—recognized her power, accepted her magic, welcomed her home.”
He turned to look at her, and the tenderness in his expression stole her breath.
“The pack has found its mate.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd—approval from the wolves, interest from the witches, knowing smiles from the gossip-trackers.
“The bond is sealed. The claim is made.” His hand rose to her scarf, a question in his eyes. She nodded, and he pulled it gently free, revealing the mark—his mark, healed to a pale crescent that would never fade.
The wolves lowered their heads as one. Acceptance. Recognition. Respect.
“Avine Bell is my mate.” Theo’s voice was rough with emotion. “She stands with the pack. She stands with Haven Shores. And she stands with me.”
Silence.
Then Bran’s bellow: “WELCOME TO THE FAMILY, LITTLE MATE!”
The room erupted. Cheers and howls and witch-light sparking. Glasses raised. The chandelier’s lights went wild. Outside, the wardstones hummed in recognition.
Theo pulled her close, forehead pressing to hers. “Okay?”
“Perfect.” She kissed him—right there on the stairs, in front of everyone. Someone—definitely Cassia—let out a piercing whistle. “Absolutely perfect.”