Chapter 19 Harkan #2
Cara stepped forward, her expression professionally neutral. "This way, Alpha Ulric. Your wolves as well."
Ulric held my gaze for a long moment, something calculating moving behind his eyes. Then he inclined his head—not quite a bow, but an acknowledgment—and followed Cara toward the tent city.
His wolves trailed after him, the one I'd choked still rubbing his throat.
The moment they were out of earshot, Sable sagged against me.
"Easy." I caught her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "I've got you."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're running on fumes and spite."
"Spite is underrated. I’ve survived a lot of years on it." But she leaned into me, letting me take some of her weight. "He's going to report everything. The mate mark. My gift. The way you defended me."
"I know."
"Your father will use it against you."
"I know that, too."
She looked up at me, her hazel eyes searching my face. "You don't seem worried."
"I'm fucking terrified." The admission came out easier than I expected. "But I'm also done hiding. Done pretending I'm the obedient son he tried to break." I touched the mark on her throat, my mark, and felt the bond pulse warm between us. "Let him come. Let them all come. I'm not losing you."
Her expression softened. "Not alone."
"Never again."
We stood there for a moment, forehead to forehead, breathing each other in. The chaos of the day faded to background noise. For just a moment, it was only us.
Then a horn sounded—different from the first. Two short blasts followed by one long.
"That's not a warning," I said, frowning.
Cara appeared at my side, slightly out of breath. "More banners approaching. But these..." She hesitated, something like hope shining in her eyes. "These aren't flying the High Alpha's colors."
I turned toward the tree line.
Through the afternoon haze, I could make out riders approaching. A dozen, maybe more. Their banners were green and gold, catching the sunlight like leaves in autumn.
My heart stuttered.
"That's Thornwood's sigil," I breathed.
"Alpha Sera?" Cara's voice sharpened. "I thought she was neutral."
"She was." I watched the approaching riders, something loosening in my chest. "Apparently she's not anymore."
Sable straightened beside me, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Is that good?"
"Thornwood controls the eastern passes. If Sera is here, if she's openly not flying my father's colors..." I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "It means we might actually have allies."
The Thornwood delegation drew closer, and I could make out the figure at their head. A woman, tall and fierce, her auburn hair streaked with silver, her posture radiating the quiet confidence of an Alpha who'd held her territory for centuries.
Sera of Thornwood. My mother's oldest friend.
The delegation came to a halt at the gate, and Sera dismounted with the fluid grace of someone who'd spent more centuries in the saddle than most wolves had been alive. Her green eyes found mine immediately, and something warm flickered in their depths.
"Harkan." She strode forward, ignoring the formality of waiting to be greeted. "Look at you. You've grown into those shoulders since I saw you last."
Before I could respond, she pulled me into a fierce embrace—the kind my mother used to give, all warmth and strength and the faint scent of pine.
"Alpha Sera," I managed when she released me. "I wasn't sure you'd come."
"Nonsense. Wild horses couldn't have kept me away." Her gaze sharpened, and I saw the steel beneath the warmth. "Your father's been getting too comfortable. Someone needed to remind him that not every pack in the Divide answers to his whistle."
Then her attention shifted to Sable, taking in the mate mark, the exhaustion poorly hidden behind stubborn pride, the way Sable's hand remained firmly clasped in mine.
"And this must be the witch I've heard so much about." Sera circled Sable slowly, assessing. "Truth-taster. Former slave. Current thorn in the High Alpha's backside." A smile curved her lips. "I like you already."
"You've heard about me?" Sable's eyebrows rose. "Should I be flattered or concerned?"
"Both, probably." Sera stopped in front of her, arms crossed. "Word travels fast when the High Alpha's son claims a witch as his mate. Half the Divide thinks he's lost his mind. The other half thinks it's the smartest thing he's ever done."
"And which half are you?"
Sera laughed—a rich, warm sound that reminded me painfully of my mother. "The half that knows a good match when I see one. Anyone who can make this stubborn pup smile like that is worth her weight in gold."
Sable glanced at me, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Stubborn pup?"
"Don't start," I muttered.
"Oh, I'm absolutely starting." Her smirk widened. "I'm going to remember that forever."
Sera watched the exchange with obvious amusement. Then her expression sobered, and she turned back to me.
"Your mother would have adored her, you know." The words landed like a blow to the chest. "She always said you needed someone who could match your fire. Someone who wouldn't let you brood yourself into an early grave."
My throat tightened. "You knew her better than anyone."
"I did. Which is why I'm here." Sera's gaze hardened.
"I've stayed neutral for too long, Harkan.
Watched your father tighten his grip on the Divide, pack by pack.
Watched him chain his own son and call it discipline.
" Her voice dropped. "I won't watch him destroy what's left of Elara's legacy.
Not while I still have breath in my body. "
Elara. My mother's name, spoken aloud for the first time in centuries.
Sable's hand tightened on mine. Through the bond, I felt her understanding—her recognition of grief that mirrored her own.
"You're not the only one who answered the call," Sera continued. "Blackmoor is a day behind me. Silverfen sent word they're coming. Even old Theron from the northern reaches is dragging himself out of retirement."
Hope bloomed in my chest, fragile and fierce. "How many?"
"Enough to make your father think twice." Sera's smile was all teeth. "Enough to remind him that the Divide doesn't kneel to tyrants."
"We're housing allied packs in the stronghold," I said. "You'll have proper quarters."
"Unlike the Ironhold delegation," Sable added innocently. "They seemed so disappointed about the tent city."
Sera's eyebrows shot up. "You put Ulric in a tent?"
"With all the other honored guests," I confirmed.
The laugh that burst out of Sera was loud enough to startle the horses. "Oh, I wish I could have seen his face. That pompous windbag has been licking your father's boots for decades. Must have choked on his own pride."
"He did turn an interesting shade of red," Sable offered. "Very fetching."
I looked at my mate—exhausted, drained, running on nothing but spite and stubbornness—and felt something warm settle in my chest.
"Come on," I said, tugging her toward the stronghold. "Let's get Sera settled. And then you're resting whether you like it or not."
"I'm fine—"
"You're swaying on your feet, little witch. Don't think I haven't noticed."
Sable grumbled something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "overprotective, high-handed wolves," but she let me guide her inside.
Behind us, Sera's voice carried on the wind: "Oh, yes. I like her very much indeed."