“Does anyone else know?” Sera asks. “Mom? Dad? Aunt Lydia?”
“No. You’re the first.” I pick at a loose thread on my sleeve to avoid meeting her eyes. “I don’t even know how to tell them. Mom will cry and blame herself for not keeping a closer eye on me. And Dad…”
“Dad will what?”
I realize I don’t have a good answer. Six months ago, I would have said my father wouldn’t react at all. He would have received the news with the same distant nod he gave everything else, filed it away in whatever compartment he kept his feelings, and moved on without comment. That was how Jordan Thornwick handled problems. He didn’t engage. He endured.
But that was before the curse broke. Before the women in his life started wanting things from him, he didn’t know how to give.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “He’s been so strange lately. It’s like he’s angry about something, but he won’t say what. Every time I try to talk to him, he finds an excuse to leave the room.”
“I noticed that too. When I visited last month, he barely said ten words to me the whole weekend. Mom said he’s been spending a lot of time away from the house, taking long walks by himself, and missing meals. She thinks he’s having trouble adjusting.”
“Adjusting to what? The curse didn’t even affect men.”
“No, but it affected everyone around him. Mom is different now. We’re different. The whole pack is different.” Sera shrugs. “Maybe he doesn’t know how to fit into a world where Llewelyn women actually have feelings. Some of the older men have struggled with the transition. They built their lives around women who didn’t ask much of them emotionally. Now suddenly their wives and daughters want connection, conversation, and intimacy. Not everyone has handled that well.”
I think about my father’s silences. His early departures from family dinners. The way he looked at my mother sometimes, when she laughed too loudly or cried during a sentimental movie—like he was watching a stranger wear his wife’s face.
“I’ll talk to him when this is over,” I claim, though I’m not sure I believe it. “Once everything settles down.”
Sera nods, but neither of us pushes the subject. There are more pressing problems to solve than our father’s midlife crisis, or whatever this is.
Movement in the hallway draws my attention. Reeyan appears in the doorway, probably drawn by the commotion. His gaze sweeps the room, and when his eyes land on Patrick, every muscle in his body goes rigid.
His voice is low and dangerous when he asks, “Who the hell is this? And why does he stink of Thornridge?”
Patrick stands slowly, keeping his hands visible at all times. “My name is Patrick Walzak. And yes, I’m a Thornridge defector. I’ve come to offer intelligence about my former pack’s operations in exchange for protection.”
Reeyan moves to stand beside Sera, positioning himself between her and the stranger in their living room. “A Thornridge wolf in my house. Wonderful. And you brought him here, why, exactly, Caelan?”
My mouth goes so dry that I have to swallow before I can answer. “He’s my mate. And my husband.”
Reeyan’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline. He looks at Sera, who gives a short, curt nod of confirmation. The look on his face would be almost comical under different circumstances.
“I can submit to whatever verification you require,” Patrick continues. “As I understand it, based on Thornridge intelligence, you have a wolf here by the name of Ash Fields-Blacklock who can read my intentions if you need proof that my defection is real. I’ll answer any questions you have about Thornridge’s operations, their troop positions, and their supply lines. I know where Mordaunt keeps his reserves and which wolves are loyal to him versus which ones follow out of fear. That information could save lives.”
“Or it could be a trap.” Reeyan folds his arms across his chest. “Thornridge has tried infiltration before. What makes you different from Bastian Corvelli?”
“Bastian enjoyed what he did. He manipulated people because it gave him pleasure to watch them suffer. I’ve spent sixteen years trying to survive a pack I never chose, doing things I’m not proud of because the alternative was death. The only reason I’m standing here is that keeping Caelan safe matters more to me than my own survival.”
The room goes quiet again. I watch Sera’s face as she works through everything Patrick just said. She’s looking at him the way she used to look at ancient texts in the Llewelyn archives, searching for hidden meanings and buried truths.
“You could have just warned her,” Sera points out. “When you found out Bastian’s plan, you could have just told her to run. Why did you have to marry her?”
“You’re right, I could have. But my wolf recognized her as my mate the first night we met. The bond demanded I protect her myself, not just hope that she’d make it to safety on her own.” He glances at Reeyan before he adds, “I suspect your husband understands exactly what that feels like.”
Sera turns to look at me, and the question in her eyes is one I don’t know how to answer.
Is this man worth the trouble he’s about to cause?
Chapter 16 - Patrick
Every wolf in this room wants me dead.
I can smell it on them, that particular blend of hostility and suspicion that makes my hackles rise, and my wolf bare his teeth at the ready. The council meeting room in Oren Blacklock’s territory is a large, circular space with high ceilings and stone walls, no doubt designed to make visitors feel small. It’s working.
The journey here took most of the morning. After Sera and Reeyan agreed to bring our situation before the allied pack leaders, they made arrangements for a formal council meeting. Caelan and I traveled in a separate vehicle, flanked by Grayhide wolves who watched my every move like they expected me to sprout fangs and attack at any moment. Not an unreasonable expectation, given what they know about Thornridge.
