chapter 13
The walk home was silent after that—too silent. Abdie didn’t speak, didn’t even look at her, just kept pulling her along like he was afraid she’d drift back toward the Alpha heir if he loosened his grip for even a second.
When they reached the building, he released her wrist so abruptly she stumbled.
“Do you see,” he hissed, “why I’m losing my mind?”
Ferial leaned against the wall, heart still pounding. “Abdie, I didn’t—”
“You didn’t what? Ask him to show up? Ask him to almost break that soldier’s neck? Ask him to look at you like—like—” His voice cracked. “Like you belong to him.”
She froze.
Because she had felt it too.
That unmistakable pull.
That terrifying intensity.
A gravity she couldn’t shake.
“Abdie,” she whispered, “I don’t want any of this.”
“I know,” he said, softer now, exhausted. “But it doesn’t matter what you want. Wolves take what they want.”
The door to her apartment suddenly burst open.
Then came the sound of slippers slapping the floor.
“Oh, thank the heavens—my child!” her grandmother cried, appearing in the doorway in a huge floral night gown, hair wrapped in a scarf so excessively tall it gave her an extra ten centimeters of authority.
“I saw the trucks! I heard the howling! I almost fainted, and your grandfather didn’t even help me up! ”
Behind her, her grandfather shouted, “I did help you! You told me not to touch you because you said my hands were cold!”
“My spirit was cold, you old man!” she snapped.
Abdie covered his face with both hands.
Ferial managed a weak laugh and stepped into the apartment.
Her grandmother immediately grabbed her cheeks. “Let me look at you. Yoh! You’re pale. You look haunted. You need soup. You need tea. You need prayer. Keep.in mind we dont have much of either of those things. ”
“I need quiet,” Ferial murmured.
“You’ll get soup,” the grandmother corrected.
Grandfather limped to the door, dramatically leaning on the frame. “Werewolves are nervous today. This is bad.”
“They’re always nervous,” her grandmother said. “They have too much hair to be calm.”
“Woman!” he protested. “You can’t say that out loud!”
“I’ll say it inside my house,” she declared, arms folded. “Freedom of speech. Goddess bless us all and protect us all.”
“There is no freedom of speech,” he whispered urgently. “Not even freedom of whisper. They can smell freedom.”
Abdie plopped onto the couch, letting his head fall back. “Grandma, Grandpa, please…”
But the grandmother was still examining Ferial like she was looking for bite marks.
“What happened?” she demanded.
Ferial didn’t answer immediately.
Her grandparents watched her.
Abdie watched her.
And somehow, the truth felt heavy enough to sink through the floor.
“The Alpha heir stopped a patrol truck from hitting me,” she said quietly. “He… he came out of nowhere.”
Her grandmother gasped, hand flying to her chest. “Oh, no. No, no, no. That boy is looking at you.”
Grandfather crossed himself repeatedly. “We need garlic.”
“Garlic does nothing and who.can afford garlic? Isnt that like an illegal substance?,” Abdie muttered.
“It makes my house smell nice,” the old man snapped. “And if wolves don’t like it, good! Also yes it illegal, but what I grow and where I get it is my punishment.”
Ferial rubbed her temples. “Please stop. I’m tired.”
Her grandmother softened immediately, guiding her toward the small kitchen table. “Sit. Breathe. I’ll make you honey tea.”
“You hate honey tea,” Abdie whispered.
“Honey tea is for spiritual danger!” she hissed.
Grandfather nodded sagely. “The Alpha heir is a spiritual danger.”
Ferial rested her forehead on her arms.
Her grandmother set a steaming cup in front of her and stroked her hair. “Tell me everything, my girl.”
She didn’t want to.
But she did.
Not all of it—just enough.
The patrol stopping.
The shouting.
The Alpha heir stepping out of the second truck.
How he’d looked at her.
How he’d said her name.
Her grandmother inhaled sharply. “He knows your name?”
Ferial winced. “Apparently.”
Grandfather whistled. “We are doomed.”
“We are not doomed,” her grandmother snapped. “We are prepared. There’s a difference.”
“No,” he insisted. “Doomed.”
Her grandmother threw a dish towel at him.
Abdie leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Did he say anything? Did he tell you why they were here?”
“He said there was a breach,” Ferial murmured. “Something crossed in from the northern border.”
Silence fell so suddenly she felt it slam.
Grandfather sank into his chair. “That… that hasn’t happened since the last Outbreak.”
Her grandmother crossed herself. “We don’t speak of that.”
“The wolves will be restless,” he continued, eyes distant. “Dangerous. On edge.”
Abdie swallowed. “Which means even more patrols.”
Ferial lifted her head. “He told me to stay home.”
All three of them turned sharply.
“He what?” Abdie snapped.
“He told me not to walk alone.”
Her grandmother gasped. “No! No, no, no. That’s worse.”
“How is someone caring about my safety worse?” Ferial asked, frustrated.
“Because wolves don’t care,” her grandmother said. “Wolves claim.”
Ferial’s stomach twisted.
Grandfather pointed at her dramatically. “If he looks at you like a claim again, we move.”
“We can’t move!” her grandmother scoffed. “Where will we go? The southern districts have worse wolves, and the eastern side has mold problems! Mold! I will not die of mold. Also relocation is a myth and a hassel”
“We’ll die of wolves,” Grandfather muttered.
“We’ll die of mold!” she shouted back.
Ferial dragged her hands down her face. “Can we please not talk about dying?”
Abdie sighed heavily. “Gran, Grandpa… she’s scared.”
Her grandmother immediately pulled Ferial into a warm, smothering hug that smelled of mint lotion and cooking oil. “My angel, listen. You are strong. Nothing will happen if we stay smart. And maybe—maybe—you stay out of sight a little.”
“I wasn’t trying to be seen,” Ferial whispered.
Her grandmother cupped her cheeks. “But he saw you anyway.”
Ferial felt her throat tighten.
Because beneath the chaos, beneath the jokes, beneath the stress…
That was the truth she couldn’t escape.
He kept seeing her.
And she didn’t know how much longer she could pretend she didn’t notice him back.
Outside, a howl tore through the night.
This time, closer.
Her grandfather looked toward the window. “Whatever crossed the northern line… it’s not done.”
Her grandmother whispered, “Neither is the Alpha.”
And Ferial knew—
deep in her bones—
that something was shifting.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
Inevitably.
And she was standing right at the edge of it.