As the Ironwolf and Glaciermaw packs rode into town, a ripple of recognition passed through the crowd. Smiles broke out, hands lifted in greeting, and a few eager souls stepped forward to clasp arms with the shifters, as though welcoming home old friends rather than fearsome warriors.
“Damn, I almost forgot how much I liked this place,” Holden muttered beside him, already eyeing the nearest tavern with clear intent.
Alaric let out a slow breath, taking it all in—the simple yet enduring charm of a town that thrived not through wealth or politics, but through community bonds.
After weeks of exhaustion, tension, and battle-hardened silence, Cindermoor felt like an exhale.
An older woman stepped out from one of the stone-fronted shops, brushing flour onto a well-worn apron. Her silver-streaked hair was tied in a neat bun, and her sharp eyes swept over the group with a flicker of familiarity. Before Alaric could fully register what was happening, she walked straight up to Kaldrek and wrapped him in a firm embrace.
Alaric blinked.
The Ironwolf alpha—the man who so often seemed incapable of affection—stood frozen, arms rigid as though the very idea of softness stunned him. But then, in a breath, the tension seemed to ease from his shoulders, and a genuine smile spread across his face.
Heidara was the next to rush forward, her excitement unrestrained as she wrapped her arms around the woman’s middle like a child greeting a long-lost relative. Alaric wondered if they were family, or something just shy of it.
The woman pulled back, cupping Heidara’s face between her flour-dusted hands before flicking her gaze toward Kaldrek. “You’re far too thin,” she huffed. “And I don’t even want to know how much sleep you’ve lost.”
Kaldrek let out a quiet, rare laugh. “And yet, I live.”
“Barely,” she shot back.
One by one, the older woman greeted each pack member as if welcoming long-lost kin. It was clear now that this town was more than just a stop along the way. It was home to many of them.
“Come, then,” she said, dusting off her apron. “We have plenty of rooms between my husband’s tavern and the lodges. If more are needed, I’ll speak with the other families. You’ll all be taken care of.”
She turned, leading them through the streets and toward the tavern beside her bakery. At the entrance to the tavern, a stout man with broad shoulders and a white beard leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed.
“Took you long enough,” he called out, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.
The older woman rolledher eyes. “Don’t be rude, Garek.”
“I ain’t rude, Eda. I’m stating facts,” he said, pushing off the frame and clapping Kaldrek on the shoulder, then nodding toward the others. “Good to see you lot in one piece.”
Turning toward the tavern full of patrons, he lifted his voice.
“Clear out! We’ve got packs needing a proper meal and a place to sit!”
A typical tavern owner might have been met with groans or complaints, but here, the response was immediate and eager. People rose from their seats, drinks and meals barely touched, offering bows or friendly waves before filing out with a surprising amount of cheer. This wasn’t a begrudging favor. This town welcomed wolves as its own.
The pack members stepped inside, filling the space until the tables could hold no more. Some took seats at the bar, and others found corners to settle into. Plenty remained outside, mingling with the townspeople.
Alaric sat near the hearth, settling beside Evelyne, Heidara, and Holden. He had just started to unwind when Obren slid into the remaining chair beside Evelyne. Heidara exhaled a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes as if she had expected this nonsense. On the other hand, Holden stiffened, his fingers tapping idly against the table as if he were restraining himself from saying something… impolite.
Evelyne seemed to catch their reactions, too. There was still history between these packs; whatever uneasy alliance had been formed, it hadn’t wiped the past clean. Obren, naturally, appeared completely unbothered. He leaned an elbow on the table, his posture relaxed and his eyes locked on Evelyne.
“You’ve managed to remain remarkably untouched.” He smiled. “Impressive, considering the company you keep.”
“Is that your way of calling me delicate, or are you just bragging about your pack’s superior resilience?”
“A little of both, if I’m being honest,” Obren said smoothly.
“How generous,” she replied, her voice cool.
“I give where I can.”
Alaric watched, paying close attention. He recognized the game for what it was: the charm, the banter, the easy pull into conversation. He’d used the same tactics himself, back during the courting season. It meant Obren might actually be interested in Evelyne, or he was deliberately trying to provoke someone. And if Alaric had to guess, it wasn’t Evelyne he was aiming for. It was Kaldrek.
The Ironwolf alpha had been keeping his distance from Evelyne. No lingering looks. No quiet moments. He hadn’t spoken to her in days. Alaric had wanted to ask her about it more than once, but she seemed withdrawn and didn’t want to talk. So he hadn’t pushed, especially now when things between them had finally started to feel normal again.
