Chapter 25
ELOWEN
Before I can message Gideon, my phone buzzes.
Grandmother: I'm here, little one. Which building?
I stare at the screen, trying to process. She's here? At Elderwood. Without warning.
"Elowen?" Julian notices my stillness. "What's wrong?"
"My grandmother just arrived on campus." I look up, bewildered. "I didn't know she was coming."
All three are immediately alert. Protective.
Mira wouldn’t make the four-hour drive on impulse. She's too practical for that. If she's here, she senses something. My stomach tightens. Does she know about the bonding? About the three of them?
Of course she knows. Somehow, she always knows.
"I need to meet her." My bag is already on my shoulder, hands shaking slightly.
"We're coming with you," Calder says.
I want to protest, give myself time to explain before she sees them all together. But I know they belong with me even for this.
"Okay," I agree quietly. "But let me talk to her first. Please."
Tyler squeezes my shoulder. "We'll hang back. Just close enough."
Mira's truck sits in visitor parking, far corner, under the oak tree, because she doesn't trust campus drivers not to ding her doors.
The sight of it makes my throat tight. Familiar forest-green paint, rusted spots near the wheel wells, ‘Rowan's Tea Clinic’ painted on the side in fading gold letters.
Home. It smells like home even from here.
She's at the truck bed when we arrive, lowering the tailgate to reveal neatly packed boxes. Herbs, I know without looking. She's brought replenishments for my work.
"Grandmother."
She turns, and relief floods her face. Then she moves toward me with arms open, steady and certain as mountain stone.
I collapse into her hug, breathing in sage and mountain air and the particular warmth that belongs only to her. For a moment I'm eleven years old again, being held after my parents' funeral, being promised I'd survive this.
"Let me see you." She pulls back, hands framing my face, eyes searching with that knowing gaze that misses nothing. "Thinner. Not eating enough."
"I eat plenty," I protest, but I'm smiling despite the tears threatening.
"Hmm." Her attention shifts past me to where the pack stands at a respectable distance. Her expression doesn't change, but I feel the shift in her focus.
She sees everything. Always has.
"You needed these." She gestures to the herb boxes, voice deliberately casual. "Mugwort was running low. And you're almost out of blue vervain."
She's right. I am. How does she always know?
"Thank you." I glance back at Calder, Tyler, Julian, trying to look casual and failing. Three alphas radiating protective tension. "Grandmother, I—"
"Introduce me," she says calmly. Not a question. A gentle command.
My mouth goes dry. "They're… I mean, we're…"
"I can see what you are." She steps around me, moving toward them with deliberate purpose. "Three alphas bonded to one omega. And recently, from the scent."
Heat floods my face. Our pack scent is unmistakable, honey-green tangled with cedar-smoke and sunshine-warmth and crisp-clean. Kira Matsuda is temporarily shelved while I soak up the familiar comfort of my grandmother.
"Are they kind to you?"
The question stops me. Because that's what matters. It's all that's ever mattered to her.
"Yes," I manage, voice thick.
She nods once, satisfied. Then she's standing before them, barely reaching Calder's shoulder but somehow taking up more space than all three of them combined.
"Well?" She looks at each in turn. "Help an old woman with these boxes. They won't carry themselves."
Calder moves first, stepping forward with careful respect. "Calder Ashford, ma'am." He extends his hand.
She takes it, studying him with that assessing gaze. "You're the one who watches."
He blinks, startled. "I… yes, I guess."
She releases his hand. "She needs watching over. We all do." Her mouth quirks slightly. "Though I suspect you already know that."
Tyler's next, sunshine-bright despite obvious nerves. "Tyler Vale. It's an honor to meet you, Mrs. Rowan."
"Mira is fine." She accepts his handshake, and I see her expression soften fractionally. "You make her laugh."
"Every chance I get," Tyler says, and means it.
"Keep doing that." She turns to Julian, who's been watching this exchange closely. "And you must be the one who thinks too much."
Julian's lips twitch. "Julian Cross. Someone has to think, ma'am."
"True enough." She nods approvingly. "Though thinking isn't worth much without feeling. I trust you're learning that."
"I am," he says quietly, glancing at me. "She's an excellent teacher."
Grandmother follows his gaze, sees something in my face that makes her expression gentle. "She takes after her mother that way." Then she's all business again. "Now. These boxes need to go to wherever Elowen's been working. I assume you know where that is?"
"The greenhouse," Calder confirms, already reaching for the nearest box.
"Greenhouse." Grandmother's eyes spark with interest. "Show me."
The walk to the greenhouse should feel awkward—three nervous alphas, one assessing grandmother, me caught between worlds that I never expected to meet.
Instead, it feels... right.
Grandmother asks questions as we walk. Casual ones about classes, about campus, about how we met.
By the time we reach the greenhouse, Tyler has made her laugh with a story about Juniper stealing his sandwich.
Julian's explaining the academic structure with barely suppressed enthusiasm.
Calder's carrying two boxes like they weigh nothing, steady and reliable as stone.
And Grandmother watches all of it with that quiet assessment that means she's forming conclusions.
The greenhouse smells like earth and growth and home. My space. My sanctuary. Bringing her here feels vulnerable in ways I wasn't expecting.
She steps inside and goes still.
For a long moment she just... looks. At the neat rows of planters, the organized drying racks, the labeled jars arranged by property and use. The evidence of everything she taught me, everything her mother taught her, everything passed down through generations of Rowan women.
"You've done well, little one." Her voice catches slightly. "Better than well."
The praise shouldn't make me cry, but it does. "You taught me."
"I taught you technique." She runs her fingers along a lavender plant, testing its health with practiced touch. "But this…" She gestures at the whole space. "This is yours. Your gift. Your calling."
She turns to the pack, still lingering near the door. "Sit. All of you. I want to hear how this happened."
We settle on overturned crates and the bench Calder built, and somehow the greenhouse that always felt spacious suddenly feels intimate. Close. Safe.
The story comes out in pieces. I start, stumbling through nervousness, and the pack fills in details naturally.
Calder describes me coming here that first day, voice careful as he admits how immediately he noticed me.
Tyler tells her about smoked salmon and cream cheese bagels that turned into something more, sunshine enthusiasm making her smile.
Julian explains the moment he realized what we were building, his analytical precision giving weight to emotion.
She listens without interrupting, watching our faces more than hearing our words. When we finish, she's quiet.
"Three is unconventional," I say finally, needing to acknowledge it.
"So was Asha leaving her education for love." Grandmother's voice is firm. "So was your mother marrying an alpha without pack support. So was me, raising you alone after they died." She looks at each of us in turn. "Rowans choose their own path. Always have."
Relief crashes through me so hard it steals my breath.
"Tradition matters," she continues. "But so does joy. So does choice. So does finding the people who see you clearly and choose you anyway." Her gaze pins me. "Do they bring you joy?"
I look at Calder's fierce protectiveness, Tyler's unwavering warmth, Julian's careful devotion.
"Yes. So much."
"Then that's enough." She stands, brushing dirt from her hands with brisk practicality. "Now show me these blends you've been working on. I want to see if you remembered what I taught you about extraction ratios."
Just like that, we shift to work. Grandmother examines my herb stores with a critical but approving eye, asking questions that test my knowledge, nodding when my answers satisfy her.
The alphas watch this new side of me, the student, the apprentice, the girl who grew up learning medicine at her grandmother's elbow.
"You've refined the sleep blend," she notes, testing a pinch between her fingers. "Less poppy, more passionflower. Good instinct."
"The poppy was too sedating for students." I show her my notes. "They needed something gentler."
"Exactly right." Pride in her voice, warm and certain.
We work through my inventory together, and she offers corrections and praise in equal measure, me drinking in her approval like rain after drought.
Eventually Calder clears his throat. "Ma’am… Mira. Would you stay for dinner? Let us cook for you."
Grandmother turns, surprised. "You cook?"
“Pasta. Nothing fancy.” Calder turns to me. “I promised to show Elowen my apartment. Now seems like the perfect time.”
She smiles and it makes something in my chest ease completely. "I love pasta."
Calder's off-campus apartment is spacious, simply furnished, neat. Walking there, he tells me that he’s been sneaking back to town after we say goodnight, afraid that it would change things if we knew he wasn’t staying in the residence halls.
In the well-equipped kitchen, Calder stands at the stove, Julian chops vegetables with precise efficiency, and Tyler handles the grill on the small balcony. Grandmother watches from the living room, and I know she's seeing what I see, not three separate alphas, but one cohesive unit.
"Let them show you they can care for you properly,” she says. “Sit with me. Talk to your grandmother."