Chapter 18, The Blood Tithe
Skarde
The silence was suffocating, thick with the smell of wet slate and the electric hum of the generators. Silas looked like he was vibrating with a mix of fury and fear.
“I’ve been lied to,” Silas finally spat, his voice cracking as he looked at the High King.
“My own men... they deceived me. Majesty, let me take them back. I will handle this. I will punish my own pack as High-Ridge law demands. You don’t need to involve the Night-Stalkers in our internal discipline.”
Alaric didn’t even look at him. He was watching Wren, who stood perfectly still under Kora’s hand.
“Internal discipline is for missed patrols and stolen goods, Silas,” Alaric said smoothly. “This was an act of war built on a fabrication. The Night-Stalkers were almost pulled into a blood-feud because you couldn’t control your warriors’ greed for revenge.”
Alaric stepped toward Wren, his presence softening just enough to let her breathe. “The First Shift Rites are in three days, aren’t they?” he asked, his voice conversational, as if we weren’t standing in the middle of negotiations. “How is your preparation going, Wren?”
Wren looked up at him surprised, her pale face stark against her raven hair.
She swallowed hard. “I... I don’t have any preparation,” she admitted, her voice trembling.
“I don’t even know if I’ll shift. All I have are a few symptoms. My hearing is too loud. The scents are too sharp. That’s how I heard them so clearly.”
She looked at the ground, her shoulders shaking.
“Doing the right thing just seems to cause more trouble. I don’t know how I’m supposed to go home after this.”
Silas let out a harsh, jagged laugh. “Home? You think there’s a home for you after betraying your Alpha? You certainly aren’t going to earn any rank now, girl. That’s for sure. People will hate you for this. You’ll be lucky if you’re allowed to sleep in the dirt with the Omegas.”
A low, guttural growl ripped through the air. It didn’t come from me.
Arthur, Silas’s own Beta, was baring his teeth at his Alpha. His eyes were glowing a fierce, protective silver. The internal friction of the High-Ridge was finally splintering. “That is enough, Silas,” Arthur warned, his voice vibrating with a father’s dormant rage.
Wren flinched, biting her lip as she fought against the tears welling in her eyes. She looked utterly alone, stuck between a father who couldn’t protect her and an Alpha who wanted to break her.
I watched her, Varg pacing in my skull, urging me to just take her, to grab her and run back to the safety of the shadows. But I couldn’t force her hand. If she came to the mountains as a prisoner, she’d never feel like part of us. I needed her to choose the escape I was offering.
I stepped into the light, my eyes locking onto hers for a moment.
“Your Majesty,” I said, my voice cutting through the tension between Silas and Arthur. I turned my gaze on the King, acknowledging the weight of the moment. “Silas has made it clear what her life will be if she returns to the High-Ridge. She’ll be forced to live as an outsider.”
I turned to Silas, my lip curling wickedly. “You want to settle the debt for the lie, Silas? You wish to pay for the insult to my borders? Then give her to me. As a tithe.”
The clearing went dead silent. Even the water seemed to stop lapping at the shore.
Wren didn’t flinch. A flicker of pure, raw confusion crossed her face, her eyes wide and searching, yet beneath the fear there was a sudden, chilling stillness.
She looked at Silas, her chest heaving with a mix of terror and a strange, newfound weight.
For the first time, she wasn’t looking at him as her Alpha: she was looking at him as the man who had no room to negotiate.
“You want the Foundling?” Silas stammered, his confusion overriding his anger. “For a blood debt? She’ll be useless to you, Skarde. She has no rank.”
“She has more honor than your entire council,” I countered.
I looked at Wren, softening my tone just a fraction.
“In the mountains, we don’t care about what rank is given. We care about the family, the blood, the truth. You won’t be hated there, Wren. You’ll be a Night-Stalker. An honored one at that.”
Alaric watched us, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He looked at Arthur, then at the trembling girl. “The choice is yours, Wren,” Alaric said, his voice a heavy weight. “Go back to the High-Ridge and face the pack... or settle the Night-Stalker’s debt and leave with Alpha Skarde.”
The silence on the Serpent’s Neck became absolute. Even the generator’s hum seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the sound of the wind.
Wren looked at her father. Arthur was still bristling at Silas, his jaw tight with a rage he couldn’t act upon, but his eyes were fixed on her with a desperate, heartbroken plea. He was a man watching his world end, unable to reach out and stop it.
Then, she looked at me.
The violet in my eyes flared, but not with the fire of a challenge. I stepped toward her, moving out of the Alpha’s shadow and into the light. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t have to. Varg was silent now, holding his breath as I reached out.
I lifted my hand as an invite.
Come. Please. Come to me. Come home.