Chapter 22 Sable #2
I would not let him see me break.
"Sable." Harkan caught my arm. "You're barely conscious."
"The fuck I am." I met his eyes, letting him see the rage burning beneath the exhaustion. "I'm not hiding from him. Not now. Not ever again."
Something fierce flickered in his expression. Pride, maybe. Or recognition. He didn't try to stop me again—just took my hand, threaded his fingers through mine, and turned toward the gates.
We walked to meet my nightmare side by side.
The delegation approaching was larger than Ulric's had been—thirty wolves at least, all of them armed, all of them wearing the crimson and gray of Ironhold colors over their own. But it wasn't the numbers that made my blood run cold.
It was the man at their head.
Varro looked exactly as I remembered. Dark hair silvered at the temples.
Cold eyes that assessed everything and everyone as potential assets or obstacles.
That thin smile that never reached his gaze, the one that made him look pleasant until you realized it was the smile of a man deciding exactly where to place the knife.
He rode a black horse, because of course he did. Everything about him was calculated for maximum impact. Maximum intimidation.
And at the edges of his retinue, half-hidden among the mounted wolves, a hooded figure sat motionless on a pale horse. No face visible beneath the cowl. No sense of presence at all.
My magic slid off it like water off stone.
The Devourer, I thought, my stomach clenching. It has to be.
But it wasn't the hooded figure that made my blood turn to ice.
It was the man beside it.
Rafe sat his horse with the easy confidence of someone who believed he belonged there. His burn-scarred hands rested casually on the pommel, and when his gaze found mine, he smiled—that same charming smile that had convinced a nineteen-year-old girl to trust him.
The smile that had delivered me to Varro.
My hands curled into fists. The urge to blast him off that horse, to make him pay for every bomb, every betrayal, every moment of suffering he'd caused—it roared through me like wildfire.
Harkan's hand tightened on mine. A warning. Not now.
Rafe's smile widened, like he knew exactly what I was thinking. Like he was daring me to try.
Later, I promised myself. When this is over, I'm coming for you.
But right now, I had a more immediate monster to face.
Varro's gaze found me instantly. That smile widened.
"Sable." He said my name like he owned it. Like he still owned me. "How lovely to see you again. Did you enjoy my gift?"
Blood was still drying on my face. My hands were still trembling. But I kept my voice steady when I responded.
"I've had better."
"Have you?" He dismounted smoothly, handing his reins to a waiting wolf. "I thought it quite thoughtful, personally. A reminder of our time together. All those precious memories we shared."
"You mean the months you spent breaking me open while my mother died alone, wondering why her daughter never came?" I stepped forward, and Varro's smile flickered—just for a second. "Yeah. I remember every fucking second."
Varro's horse snorted, sensing the danger, but the man kept right on pushing. "Such a flair for the dramatic. You always did know how to make a scene."
Harkan stepped forward, putting himself partially between us. "You're not welcome here, Varro."
"How rude. And after I came all this way." Varro's attention shifted to Harkan, and something cruel glinted in his gaze. "The prodigal son. I've heard so much about you. Your father sends his regards, by the way."
"Does he?"
"Oh, yes. He's quite interested in how this all plays out." Varro reached into his coat and produced a folded letter, sealed with the High Alpha's mark. "In fact, he asked me to deliver a message."
Harkan didn't take the letter. "Say what you came to say."
"As you wish." Varro broke the seal himself, unfolding the parchment with theatrical slowness. "The High Alpha regrets that he cannot attend the Mating Moon celebration. He finds himself... otherwise occupied. However, he has authorized me to act as his proxy in all matters."
He paused, letting the words land.
"All matters," he repeated. "Including the resolution of certain... property disputes."
"I'm not your property," I snarled.
"The contract says otherwise, pet." Varro's eyes gleamed. "You may have let this wolf bite a pretty mark into your throat, but the ouroboros still binds you. The original terms still apply. And I've come to collect what's mine."
"Over my dead body," Harkan said, his voice dropping into a register that made the wolves around us shift nervously.
"Funny you should mention that." Varro smiled. "The High Alpha anticipated your reluctance. Which is why he's authorized a formal challenge. The old ways. A duel to determine ownership."
My heart stopped.
"If you win," Varro continued, "Sable goes free. The contract is dissolved. You walk away with your witch and your pride intact."
"And if I lose?"
Varro's smile sharpened. "Then Sable returns to me. Permanently. No more running. No more rescue attempts. She becomes my property in the eyes of every pack in the Divide, and not even a mate bond will be enough to challenge that claim."
"I accept."
The words hit me like a physical blow. No. No, no, no—this was exactly what Varro wanted. A formal challenge, witnessed by every pack in the Divide. If Harkan lost—
He won't lose, I told myself, but the fear was already clawing up my throat. Varro didn't fight fair. Varro never fought fair. He'd have something planned, some trick, some way to stack the odds. And if Harkan died because of me…
"Harkan—" I grabbed his arm, my nails digging in hard enough to hurt.
He didn't look at me. Didn't waver.
"I accept," he repeated, louder, his eyes never leaving Varro's face. "Name your terms."
"Combat until death or yield. No outside interference. The duel takes place at moonrise, at the ceremonial grounds." Varro tucked the letter back into his coat. "Oh, and the High Alpha wanted me to add one more thing."
"What?"
Varro's smile was pure poison.
"He says he regrets he won't be there to watch you die. But he has full confidence that I'll make it... memorable."
He turned and walked back to his horse, mounting smoothly, his wolves falling into formation around him.
"Moonrise," he called over his shoulder. "Don't be late, pet. I've waited a week to drag you back where you belong—but I've waited thirteen years to finally watch you break."
The delegation rode toward the tent city, leaving silence in their wake.
I stood frozen, Harkan's hand still gripping mine, the taste of old blood and new rage thick on my tongue.
Moonrise. The Mating Moon.
This ended tonight.