“I walk,” I correct quietly, “because Jason walked alone for too long.”
Jason sucks in a quivering breath.
Someone circles me once, slow and predatory. “You misunderstand something, little human. Jason doesn’t owe us a single debt.”
Silence slams down.
I blink. “He… doesn’t?”
“He owes many.”
Jason chokes behind me. “Violet, stop.”
But I step forward—toward wolves, toward judgment, toward the truth.
“I don’t care,” I whisper. “I’m not letting him die alone.”
And the clearing shifts. The air grows heavier. The pack leans in. Even the earth seems to wait.
“Then answer our question,” he says slowly. “If a wolf breaks our laws, flees our land, defies our rule, corrupts our daughters, hides among humans, and returns with a human mate?—”
Jason snarls, “She is not?—”
“—what,” the alpha asks, “would you have us do?”
My heart slams. My mouth dries. My knees want to buckle. But I keep my head high. “I’ll pay double.”
Dead silence.
Not a breath.
Not a growl.
Not a whisper.
Then, a bark of laughter from somewhere in the circle, sharp and startled. Another joins it. A snort. A scoff. A delighted, what-the-hell-did-she-just-say? rumble.
“You’ll pay double?” Alpha One, voice warm with amusement and something far more dangerous, asks.
“Yes,” I say, my pulse hammering, my palms sweating, my fear coiling tight but not winning. “Double.”
“And tell me,” he says, stepping closer until I can feel the heat of him, “how exactly will a human afford that?”
I smile, small and razor-edged. “Try me.”
Murmurs grow louder with interest and curiosity.
Behind me, Jason inhales sharply.
“Violet,” he whispers, horrified, “you don’t know what you’re saying?—”
“Quiet,” Alpha Two snaps.
“What,” he asks, almost purring, “do you think he owes us? Hmm?”
I answer without hesitation. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll pay whatever it takes.”
A wave of murmurs rises again, this time stunned, electric, uncertain.
