Chapter 27 Rhys
RHYS
The sun dipped behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades that reminded me uncomfortably of blood.
I stood on the ridge overlooking the main settlement, watching our people—when had I started thinking of the Heraclids as “our people”?
—prepare for what looked suspiciously like either a celebration or a ritual sacrifice.
With pack ceremonies, the line was often thinner than anyone wanted to admit.
“Contemplating your imminent doom?” Sable asked from behind me, her approach silent as always. The woman moved like smoke when she wanted to, which was both useful and deeply unsettling.
“Just wondering if this bonfire’s going to be the last thing I see before we march off to our deaths.” I nodded toward Blair, who was adding enough kindling to power a small city. “Seems fitting. Go out in a blaze of Blair’s questionable fire-safety decisions.”
She moved to stand beside me, close enough that her scent filled me and made my wolf settle in ways that were probably unhealthy. The bond between us hummed with something that wasn’t quite contentment—more like two broken things that fit together better than they had any right to.
“Having any doubts?” she asked.
“About leaving everyone defenseless while we deal with vampire politics? Just a few dozen.” I watched Logan directing torch placement with the kind of intense focus he usually reserved for battle plans.
“Staying isn’t exactly an option either.
Not with a vampire hunting party circling like vultures with abandonment issues. ”
The mention of vampires made her scent spike with anxiety. Whatever her relationship with her vampire side was, it was complicated. Understandably, since around here, that could get her killed.
Logan and the rest would need to know eventually, but the timing right now was all wrong.
Below us, pack members moved in ways that almost looked normal if you ignored the weapons and how everyone kept checking sight lines to the forest. Heraclid families had established semi-permanent camps throughout the settlement.
Orion teens chased Heraclid pups between the tents like this was a summer camp instead of a strategic relocation with supernatural overtones.
“Look at that chaos,” I said, nodding toward a group of kids who’d apparently formed some kind of inter-pack cookie-theft syndicate. “Six months ago, those Heraclid pups would’ve been hiding behind their parents. Now they’re running protection rackets on Marta’s baking operation.”
“Integration,” Sable said, her voice almost wistful.
“Don’t let Kenza hear you call it that. She’s still convinced half of them are sleeper agents plotting our downfall through baked goods.”
I spotted Kenza sharing what looked like a real conversation with one of the Heraclid warriors, and my point lost some of its bite.
The truth was, seeing our territory alive again felt…
complicated. Good, maybe, but in a way that made me nervous about getting too attached to something that might not last.
For years after losing Nash and Wyatt, Orion lands had felt like a memorial to everything we’d failed to protect. Too much space, too few voices, too many empty buildings in the Old Town. Now the place buzzed with life and laughter, and it reminded me of why we fought in the first place.
It also reminded me of how much we had to lose.
“We should head down,” Sable said. “Logan’s been shooting meaningful looks in our direction, and I think he’s reached his limit for brotherly patience.”
I followed her gaze to where my brother stood beside the growing bonfire, arms crossed and wearing his “responsible alpha about to make speeches” expression.
“Right. Time for the ceremonial send-off to the Southern Council, where everyone pretends this isn’t a trap in progress.
” I started down the ridge, Sable matching my pace.
“Think Raina will break out the ancient songs? I love those. Nothing says ‘safe travels’ like howling in languages that died out before indoor plumbing.”
“You’re deflecting more than usual,” she observed.
“It’s either that or admit I’m terrified of what happens to everyone here while we’re gone playing supernatural diplomacy.” The truth slipped out before I could stop it, and I felt her attention sharpen through the bond. “Strategic necessity doesn’t make it easier to walk away.”
“Rhys—”
“I know. The council needs to hear about the vampire situation. Sitting here waiting for them to make their move isn’t exactly a winning strategy.
” I kicked a loose stone down the path harder than necessary.
“Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about timing our departure with when the pack needs us most.”
After moving in silence, we reached the main circle of the Moonstone Plateau.
Logan stepped onto the stone platform, his voice carrying across the gathered crowd with alpha authority.
“Tonight, we send two of our own to represent Orion interests at the Southern Council. They carry not just our political hopes, but our trust.”
“No pressure there,” I muttered, earning a look from Sable that I chose to ignore.
The ceremony unfolded with the kind of ancient ritual that made my wolf pay attention even while my human brain listed off all the ways this could go wrong.
Weapons were blessed with herbs and protection charms woven from the hair of every pack member.
It was a process that looked a lot like organized superstition, but felt oddly reassuring.
Raina came forward—and everything changed.
The elderly Heraclid positioned herself beside the bonfire as the flames reached their peak, casting shadows that danced across her weathered face. When she opened her mouth, what emerged was language through music.
The melody rose and fell like wind through forests that existed before humans learned to make maps, carrying stories of hunts and loyalty and bonds that lasted beyond death.
Other voices joined gradually—older pack members who remembered fragments, younger ones adding harmonies they felt rather than knew.
I found myself humming before I realized it, my wolf responding to rhythms buried in our DNA. Beside me, Sable had gone very still, her eyes wide as she listened to sounds that predated written history.
“It’s beautiful,” she said quietly.
“It’s goodbye,” I replied, and the reality hit me. When Wyatt and Nash went to the Southern Council, they didn’t come back. This might be the last time I stood in this circle, surrounded by my pack family, listening to songs that connected us to thousands of years of pack memory.
The thought should have been sobering. Instead, it made me hyperaware of Sable beside me, the way her breathing had matched mine, the warmth of her presence in the firelight.
As Raina’s song swelled to its peak, something in the crowd changed. What had started as a formal ceremony was becoming a celebration of unity that transcended old divisions between Orion and Heraclid blood.
Logan raised his voice over the dying notes. “My beta, Rhys, and our new arrival, Sable, represent what we’ve become—stronger together than we were apart.”
Pack members began approaching us with personal blessings, small tokens, weapons that had been in families for generations.
Blair pressed a silver knife into my palm so tightly the grip left marks.
“Blessed by three elders,” he said seriously.
“Should cut through most supernatural vampire nonsense.”
“Thanks, friend,” I said—because what else do you say when someone hands you a vampire-killing knife heirloom at your farewell party?
My attention kept drifting to Sable, who was growing increasingly tense as the evening progressed.
She accepted the blessings gracefully, smiled at the appropriate moments, even laughed at Killian’s terrible joke about council bureaucracy.
I could feel undercurrents through our bond—a restlessness that couldn’t be explained as pre-travel nerves.
When Kenza approached with what looked suspiciously like a peace offering—a leather journal bound with protective charms—I thought I understood what was bothering her.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Kenza said, pressing the journal into Sable’s hands. “You’re stupidly dangerous, probably suicidal, but you’re in the pack, and I really fucking hope you keep our beta safe.”
The acceptance in Kenza’s voice was grudging but genuine, and something flickered across Sable’s expression that she quickly suppressed.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Don’t make me regret it,” Kenza replied. I was surprised at how little bite it had.
As the formal ceremonies shifted toward celebration, I studied Sable’s profile in the firelight. She was holding herself carefully, even though the atmosphere was peaceful and—dare I say it—fun.
“What’s wrong?” I caught her arm as she turned from another well-wisher.
“Nothing.”
“Try again. You’re broadcasting tension through our bond like a distress beacon.”
She was quiet for a long moment, staring into the flames. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible over the celebration around us.
“It’s going to take a while to get used to you feeling things I’m feeling and hearing things I think I’m keeping to myself.” She sighed. “I’ve never had this before. People who…” Her voice trailed off.
“Know how to have a good time? Are invested in our success? Think you’re awesome simply because you’re with me?” I offered her a wink.
“People who accept me, just because. They don’t even know all that I am.
And now we’re leaving, and I keep thinking…
” She pressed her lips together. “I keep thinking this might be all I get.” The words came out flat, matter-of-fact, like she was discussing the weather instead of confessing something that obviously terrified her.
“We’re coming back,” I said.
“You can’t promise that.”