“I’m aware.”
“And you haven’t killed him?”
“Imani won’t let me.”
Ronan grins, and for a moment it’s like the past fiveyears never happened. They’re just brothers again, giving each other shit at their mother’s sink.
It won’t fix everything. There’s still too much history, too much hurt, too much pride between them. But it’s a start.
The sun sets over the mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, and the clan begins to gather.
Tolin finds me on the porch of his mother’s cabin, watching the crowd assemble around the ceremonial tree. He’s changed into clean clothes, his skin still damp from washing, and he looks more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him.
“You ready?” he asks, taking my hand.
“I think so.” I touch the bracelet on my wrist. “Your mother gave me this.”
His expression goes soft and raw.
“That was my grandmother’s.”
“She told me every mated woman in Ironwood wears one.”
“They do.” He lifts my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to my wrist, right above the bracelet. “It looks perfect on you.”
We walk down to the gathering together, hand in hand. The ceremonial tree stands in the center of a large clearing, its branches draped with carved wooden ornaments and unlit lanterns. A huge fire pit crackles nearby, and long tables are laden with food and drink.
People notice us as we approach. Heads turn, conversations pause, eyes track our progress through the crowd. I feel exposed, examined, judged.
Then an older woman breaks away from a group and walks toward us with a warm smile.
“Tolin Ironwood,” she says, shaking her head. “Finally brought a woman home. I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Evening, Martha.” Tolin’s voice is gruff but not unfriendly. “This is Imani. My mate.”
Martha’s eyes go to my neck, to the claiming mark, and her smile widens. “Welcome to Ironwood, dear. It’s about time someone tamed this grumpy bear.”
“I didn’t tame him,” I say. “I just gave him something better to do than growl at people.”
Martha laughs, a deep belly laugh that draws attention from nearby groups. “Oh, I like her. Be good to her, Tolin.”
“I plan to.”
More people approach after that. Names and faces blur together as Tolin introduces me to what feels like half the clan. Some are warm and welcoming, pulling me into hugs I don’t expect. Others are more reserved, polite but distant, waiting to see if I’ll stick around before they invest.
I hold my own. Remember names when I can, ask questions, make conversation. Tolin stays close, his hand on my back or my waist, a constant reassuring presence. Pride rolls off him in waves. Satisfaction. Happiness.
This is what he wanted. For me to fit in. For me to belong.
A horn sounds, deep and resonant, hushing the crowd. Everyone turns toward the ceremonial tree, where Ronan has taken his position.
He looks different tonight. More formal. The weight of Alpha sits visibly on his shoulders, a mantle of responsibility that transforms him from Tolin’s brother into something more. Something larger than himself.
“Clan Ironwood,” he calls out, his voice carrying easilyacross the gathering. “We gather tonight as our ancestors gathered. To celebrate the winter solstice. To give thanks for the year behind us. To welcome the year ahead.”
The crowd murmurs in response, a ripple of acknowledgment.
“This has been a year of change,” Ronan continues. “Of challenges and growth. Of loss and gain.” His eyes find Tolin in the crowd. “And of homecomings.”
