“Both, if it works,” Froggy answers.
She stares at us for a beat, then laughs—a deep, wild sound. “You’re idiots,” she says fondly, handing me a full plate of bacon. “Idiots, but mine. Eat, sleep, and don’t bleed on the rugs. You’ve got twelve hours before I pretend I never saw you.”
I take it, warmth curling in my chest. “Thanks, Maggie.”
The gratitude coursing through me is so overwhelming, it almost hurts, like my ribs don’t know how to hold something warm anymore.
She pats my cheek. “Don’t thank me, wolf-boy. Just make it worth something next time fate drops a miracle in your path.”
Her touch is grounding—sharp and soft all at once. It’s the sort of touch that reminds you you’re still worth saving. Even when you don’t believe it.
“Mister. Hey, mister.”
The tiny cub’s voice cuts through my sleep. I blink awake to find a little one with markings so similar to Froggy’s when he was young that for a second I think I’m dreaming.
My heart stutters, ghosts of old memories flickering like they want to crawl out and haunt me, but I shake it off.
Morning came too fast. I’m still exhausted, but not the bone-deep kind where every step feels like a negotiation.
This was more like the ache after a good cry—still raw, but able to move. Barely.
“Mister, Mama Maggie says to come get breakfast so you can get the hel?—”
“You finish that sentence, Emery, and you’ll be chopping wood until your next birthday,” Maggie calls from the kitchen.
Her barked threat snaps my brain into focus. If Maggie’s yelling, the world might still make sense.
I wink at Emery. “She hasn’t changed.”
“I heard that too.”
“Sure you’re not half wolf yourself?”
“Less questions, more getting ready to get the hell out. You want eggs and coffee or not?” Maggie hollers.
Buff sits up faster than I’ve ever seen him wake. I look around. “Where’s Freddie?”
“He’s with Kylie. Tea party.” Emery leans in and giggles. “He made me promise not to tell, but you’re his alpha, right?”
The wordalphalands hot, sharp, and wrong. My chest tightens, heat crawling under my skin like shame trying to claw its way out. If she knew the truth, she’d run the other way.
“Emery, get your brothers and sisters and go collect acorns.”
I get up, fold my blanket, and drape it over Froggy’s. Buff does the same, then makes a beeline for the kitchen.
“Mama, I’m getting you firewood,” I say, hand on the door, ready to run from my shame.
“Hurry up. Your twelve hours are running out.”
Outside, the air is crisp from last night’s rain, but the sun peeks out shyly. I chop more wood than Maggie will need for a week. Grateful she took us in with a bounty on our heads. Grateful she fed us. Grateful she distracted Emery from her alpha talk.
Each swing of the axe cracks through the quiet, cleaner than the noise in my head. If only guilt split as easily as wood.
She’s told me a hundred times I’ve got more alpha in me than wolves twice my size. Easy words from someone who isn’t the one failing.
If Maggie could see the rot under my ribs, the cowardice wrapped around every choice I’ve made, she’d take it back. Hell, I’d take it back.
She doesn’t know I took the coward’s way out. She doesn’t know I handed Buff and Froggy a death sentence.
