Chapter 21 Harkan #2
Petra stared at her, eyes watering, blood dripping down her chin. For a long moment, no one moved.
Then—impossibly—Petra laughed.
It was wet and pained and slightly nasal from the blood, but it was real. "Fair enough," she managed, her voice thick. "I deserved that."
"You deserved worse."
"Probably." Petra straightened, still cupping her nose, and met Sable's eyes. Something had shifted in her expression—the superiority was gone, replaced by something almost like respect. "You hit harder than I expected, witch."
"Jokes on you. I pulled that punch. The last thing we need right before the Mating Moon is you knocked out in the infirmary instead of fighting with the rest of us. You will be with us, correct?"
Petra snorted, then winced at the pain. "Clearly.
" She pulled her hand away from her face, examining the blood on her fingers with a grimace.
"When the fighting starts, I'll be at your side.
Not because I like you—I still don't. But because you're his.
And despite everything... that makes you pack. "
"I don't need you to like me," Sable said. "I just need you to stay the fuck out of my way."
"That, I can do." Petra turned to leave, then paused, glancing back over her shoulder. "For what it's worth—I was wrong about you. You're not what I thought you were."
Sable’s brows rose, in surprise, but that was tempered by a wariness in her shoulders. "And what's that?"
"Weak." Petra's smile was bloody and begrudging. "You're definitely not weak."
She walked away, one hand still pressed to her face, leaving a trail of red droplets on the cobblestones.
I waited until Petra disappeared into the stronghold before I approached. Sable looked up at my footsteps, and the smile that crossed her face—small, wondering—made something loosen in my chest.
"You heard that," she muttered, returning to her perch on the stone.
"Most of it." I settled onto the wall beside her, close enough that our shoulders touched. "How do you feel?"
"Confused." She laughed softly. "A week ago, she wanted me dead. Now she's pledging to fight beside me."
"People change. Especially when they realize they've been backing the wrong side." I reached over to scratch behind Trouble's ears. The fox tolerated it with regal disdain. "She'll never be your friend. But she might be something almost as useful."
"What's that?"
"An ally who owes you."
Sable considered that, her gaze drifting toward the tent city in the distance. I could see Ulric's banners from here—crimson and gray, flying my father's colors like a declaration of war.
"How was the council?" she asked.
"Long. Tense. Aldric talked too much, Theron talked too little, and Mira spent half the time glaring at Ulric's tent through the window like she was planning an assassination."
"I like her already."
"You would." I caught her hand, threading my fingers through hers. "We have allies, Sable. Real ones. More than I expected."
"But not enough."
I didn't lie to her. "Maybe not. But we have something my father doesn't."
"What's that?"
"Each other." I lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "And you. The variable he didn't account for."
She snorted. "Sera told you about that?"
"She mentioned it." I studied her face, the way the afternoon light caught the gold in her hazel eyes. "You talked to her this morning. About my mother."
"She told me about Elara." Sable's voice softened. "About what she was. What she meant to people." A pause. "What she passed down to you."
My chest tightened. "Sera has a big mouth."
"Sera loves you. She wants me to understand what I'm fighting for." Sable turned to face me fully, her free hand coming up to rest against my jaw. "Why didn't you tell me? About your wolf? Sure, there were the whispers in the Divide, but why didn’t you tell me?"
The question I'd been dreading. I'd known it would come eventually—known that my secrets couldn't stay buried forever. But I'd hoped for more time. More distance from the century of darkness. More certainty that I wouldn't lose myself again.
"Because the last time I shifted," I said quietly, "I didn't come back for decades. I lost a century of my life to the madness. Because I'm afraid that if I let him out again, I'll lose myself. And you."
Her thumb brushed across my cheekbone. "You won't lose me."
"You don't know that."
"No." Her smile was fierce and tender all at once. "But I know you. And I know that whatever you are—whoever you become—I'm not afraid of it. I'm not afraid of you."
She means it, the wolf rumbled. She's OURS. She sees us.
I wanted to believe her. Gods, I wanted to believe.
Before I could respond, footsteps approached. One of the younger wolves—Declan—appeared at the edge of the courtyard, his expression uncertain.
"Alpha. A package arrived for the Lady Sable."
Sable's brow furrowed. "A package? From whom?"
Declan hesitated. "It bears Varro's seal."
The temperature in the courtyard seemed to drop ten degrees. Sable went rigid as an icy spike of fear she tried to suppress stole through our connection.
"Bring it," I said, my voice harder than I intended. Varro had been eerily silent these last few days, but I knew he wasn’t backing down. Whatever this was, it was a sucker punch wrapped in a bow.
Declan disappeared and returned moments later carrying an ornate wooden box. Dark wood, polished to a gleam, with silver hinges and a wax seal stamped with a serpent eating its own tail.
The ouroboros. Varro's mark.
Trouble hissed, his fur bristling. His foxfire sparked to life, casting dancing shadows across the stone.
Sable stared at the box like it was a living thing. Her hand had gone cold in mine.
"You don't have to open it," I said quietly.
"Yes, I do." Her voice was steady, but there was a tremor running through her. "Whatever poison he's sent, I need to see it. I won't let him have power over me. Not anymore."
She pulled her hand from mine and reached for the box.
The wax seal cracked beneath her fingers. The hinges creaked as she lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled on black velvet, lay a pair of manacles.
Old iron, tarnished with age, etched with warding symbols that made my skin crawl. They were small—too small for a grown man. Made for slender wrists. Made for a woman.
Made for her.
Sable's face went white.
"No," she breathed. The word was barely audible.
Through the bond, recognition hit. Horror. Years of pain crystallized in two pieces of metal.
"Sable." I reached for her. "Don't—"
But she was already moving. Already reaching into the box, her fingers stretching toward the iron like she couldn't stop herself.
"Sable, don't touch—"
Her fingers brushed the metal.
And then her eyes went blank.