His face crumples for just a moment before he gets control of himself again. For that brief second, he looks as broken as I feel, and something in my chest cracks at the sight.
“I know,” he admits. “And I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry for all of it.”
The quiet between us stretches long enough for me to hear the fire crackling and the wind whispering through the gaps in the walls. Part of me wants to retreat to the bed, turn my back on him, and pretend he doesn’t exist for however long we’re stuck here together.
But curiosity burns in my chest, stubborn and persistent despite my best efforts to smother it. What he said about Thornridge not being what I think keeps replaying in my mind, over and over like a song I can’t shake. He said he has a brother named Jonas, which haunts my thoughts, along with the other wolves he claims are trapped in a pack they never chose.
Why would a Thornridge warrior risk everything to save an enemy he’d known for less than a day?
None of this makes sense unless he’s telling the truth about at least some of it.
“You said you’d explain.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. “About Thornridge. About why you wanted out.”
Patrick blinks at me, and hope comes alive in those amber eyes.
“I did say that.”
“Fine.” The small table is only a few steps away, and I drop into one of the wooden chairs before I can change my mind. My arms fold across my chest as I fix him with my hardeststare, the one Sera always said could curdle milk. “You have ten minutes.”
Chapter 10 - Patrick
She’s giving me ten minutes to justify sixteen years of hell, but fuck, I’ll take it.
I pull out the chair across from her and sit down, keeping the width of the table between us. The fire crackles behind me, throwing heat against my back, but I barely feel it. All my attention is on the woman in front of me. My wolf wants me to reach for her, to close the distance and make her understand through touch what words might fail to convey. I keep him leashed and start talking instead.
“I was born in the Eastern Reaches,” I begin. “A small pack called Silverbend. We had maybe forty wolves, a decent stretch of territory along a river valley, and leadership that actually gave a damn about the people under their care. My father was one of the alpha’s closest advisors. He used to take me hunting on weekends, just the two of us, and tell me stories about our ancestors while we tracked deer through the morning mist.”
Caelan’s arms stay folded across her chest, but she doesn’t interrupt. The mate bond carries a hint of curiosity beneath all that anger, so I continue.
“We weren’t wealthy or powerful. We didn’t have Amanzite reserves or strategic territory that other packs coveted. What we had was community. Neighbors who looked out for each other. Elders who taught the young ones our history and traditions. A place where everyone mattered, not just the strongest or the most ruthless.” I pause, letting the memories come back to me. “Thornridge came for us when I was twelve. They wanted our territory because their own lands had gone barren thanks to decades of overuse and poor management thathad stripped the soil, driven away the game, and left them with nothing but rocks and dust. So they decided to take what they needed from someone else.”
“Just like that? They just showed up and took over?”
“They sent an emissary first. A wolf named Harken who made promises everyone knew he couldn’t keep. He offered us a choice. Join Thornridge voluntarily and keep some autonomy, or refuse and face the consequences.” My hands curl into fists beneath the table where she can’t see them. “Our alpha told Harken exactly where he could shove his offer. A week later, Thornridge attacked.”
The memories surface like bodies rising from deep water. I haven’t talked about this in years. I haven’t even let myself think about it if I could help it. But Caelan deserves to know where I come from, even if the telling costs me more than I want to admit.
“My father fought. A lot of wolves did. They knew surrender meant losing everything we’d built, everything our ancestors had sacrificed to create. So they drew a line at the river crossing and dared Thornridge to come across. Mordaunt’s father was alpha back then. He was a wolf named Crassus who made his son look gentle by comparison. He crossed that line before the sun finished rising.”
“What happened?”
“Slaughter. Twenty-three of our wolves died in a single night. My father was one of them. I watched Crassus tear out his throat while my mother held me back with her hand clamped over my mouth so I wouldn’t scream and give away our position in the brush where we were hiding. She made me watch my father die and kept me silent through all of it because she knew that screaming would get us killed, too.”
Caelan’s arms loosen a bit, though they don’t unfold.
“After the fighting stopped, the survivors were given that same choice. Join Thornridge or die. My mother chose to live.” I swallow against the tightness in my throat. “She remarried six months later. One of Crassus’s warriors, a man named Gregor who needed a wife to improve his standing in the pack hierarchy. He wasn’t cruel, not exactly, but he never let us forget that we existed at his sufferance. My mother did what she had to do to keep us safe. I’ve never blamed her for that, even when I was young enough and angry enough to want someone to blame.”
“And you just accepted that? Your father’s killers became your new family?”
“I was twelve, Caelan. I didn’t have a choice. Neither did she. The first few years, I hated every second of it. I used to lie awake at night planning how I’d kill Crassus, how I’d avenge my pack and everyone we lost. I memorized the faces of every wolf who participated in the attack and swore I’d make them pay when I was old enough and strong enough to do it. But children don’t stay angry forever. Eventually, the hatred just becomes background noise you learn to ignore because the alternative is letting it consume you.”
“That doesn’t explain how you became one of them. How you went from a conquered child to a Thornridge warrior.”
“It was a matter of survival. Thornridge doesn’t tolerate weakness. If you’re not useful, you’re disposable. Absorbed wolves who can’t contribute get the worst assignments and the most dangerous missions, the scraps left over after everyone else has eaten. So I made myself useful. I trained harder than anyone else, fought better than anyone else, and followed orders without question or complaint. By the time I was eighteen, I’d earned aplace in the pack. The wolves who used to sneer at me for being absorbed started treating me like one of their own.”
“And you liked that? Being accepted by the people who destroyed your home?”
“I needed it.” I rest back in my chair and let out a slow breath. “You have to understand how Thornridge operates. They don’t just conquer territory. They conquer minds. From the moment I joined, I was fed a constant stream of propaganda about how we’d been wronged, how other packs had pushed us out of fertile lands generations ago, and how everything we took was just reclaiming what should have been ours in the first place. The elders told stories about ancient betrayals and stolen birthrights. The warriors talked about honor and justice and righteous vengeance. After a while, you start believing it. You start thinking that maybe the things you do are justified because you’re on the right side of history.”
