I spent thirty minutes checking every ward marker, every weak point, every place something might have slipped through. Found nothing. The territory was secure. Whatever had spooked us—real or imagined—it wasn't here now.
Alaric metme at the door.
“He's upstairs,” he said, before I could ask. “In his room. Calmed down some. Stopped shaking, at least.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded once, then headed for his room without another word. I watched him go, surprised to find something like respect warming my chest.
Maybe there was more to him than arrogance after all.
I headed upstairs, intending to check on Rafe. Make sure he'd calmed down, that the fear hadn't spiraled into something worse.
His door was closed. I knocked twice, waited.
“Come in.”
His voice sounded steadier than I'd expected. That was something.
The guest room was small but comfortable. Bed against the far wall, window overlooking the forest, a chair and desk that nobody ever used. We'd set it up for visiting pack members, wolves from allied territories who needed somewhere to stay. It smelled like pine and clean sheets and, underneath that, the particular scent of someone who'd been running on fear for too long.
Rafe sat on the edge of the bed, still dressed in the clothes he'd worn on patrol. His hands were clasped between his knees, and he looked up when I entered with eyes that were red-rimmed but dry.
“Hey.” He tried to smile. It didn't quite work. “Sorry about the whole... grabbing you and panicking thing. I know that wasn't exactly dignified.”
“You were scared. That's allowed.”
“Is it?” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Because I keep feeling like I'm supposed to be stronger than this. Tougher. Less of a burden.”
I moved into the room, pulled the desk chair around so I could sit facing him. Close enough to reach if he needed it. Far enough to give him space.
“Rafe. You're still healing from wounds that should have killed you. And tonight, something in that forest triggered every survival instinct you have.” I held his gaze. “Panicking doesn't make you a burden. It makes you someone who's been through hell and is still figuring out how to feel safe again.”
His jaw tightened. For a moment I thought he might argue, might deflect with self-deprecation or try to minimize what he was feeling.
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Say exactly the right thing. Like you actually understand what it's like to feel...” He trailed off, shook his head. “Never mind. You're an Alpha. You probably haven't felt scared in decades.”
“I feel scared all the time.”
That surprised him. His head came up, eyes meeting mine with something that looked like confusion.
“You do?”
“Every day.” I leaned back in the chair, let some of the Alpha weight drop from my shoulders. “Scared I'm making the wrong calls. Scared something's going to get through our defenses and hurt my people. Scared I'm not strong enough or smart enough to handle what's coming.” I shrugged. “Being in charge doesn't mean you stop feeling fear. It just means you learn to function alongside it.”
Rafe was quiet for a moment, processing. Then, softly: “That's... actually really reassuring.”
“Good. That was the goal.”
His mouth twitched. Almost a real smile this time. “You're surprisingly good at this whole comfort thing. For someone who looks like he could bench press a truck.”
“I contain multitudes.”
“Clearly.” He relaxed slightly, some of the tension draining from his shoulders. “So what happens now? Do I just... sit here and try not to have nightmares about whatever was in that forest?”
