Patrick makes a strangled sound behind me, but I don’t turn around.
Lydia stares at me like she’s seeing a stranger wearing her niece’s face. Maybe she is. The Caelan she knew was quiet and compliant, the dependable Thornwick daughter who followed rules and met expectations and never demanded anything inconvenient. That girl died somewhere between the bar and the cabin. Between the first night I spent in Patrick’s arms and the moment I decided I would burn down the entire world to keep him safe.
“Your mother,” she begins, “will be devastated to find out what you’ve chosen.”
“I didn’t choose this marriage,” I admit, lowering my voice but not my resolve. “But I’m choosing to honor it. Patrick has sacrificed more than you’ll ever know to protect me, and he’s willing to sacrifice even more to help this alliance destroy Thornridge from the inside out. If Llewelyn can’t accept that the universe chose my mate for me, if you or my parents can’t see past your own prejudice long enough to recognize what’sstanding right in front of you, then maybe our pack hasn’t learned a single damn thing from Sera’s example.”
The words settle in the room like a declaration of war.
I don’t take them back.
Chapter 18 - Patrick
For the first time in sixteen years, I’m fighting alongside wolves who aren’t trying to kill me.
The training grounds behind Oren’s packhouse sprawl across several acres of packed dirt and worn grass. A dozen wolves circle the sparring ring where I’m currently trying not to get my head taken off by Aidan Grayhide. The gray-haired alpha moves like smoke, full of grace and devastating power, and I’m struggling to keep up with his unorthodox style.
Thornridge trained me to fight with brute force and overwhelming aggression. These wolves fight differently. They work together, cover each other’s weaknesses, and communicate through subtle signals I’m only beginning to understand. Every time I think I’ve figured out Aidan’s pattern, he changes it, adapting to my movements like water flowing around stone.
Aidan feints left, and I take the bait like an idiot. His fist connects with my ribs hard enough to steal my breath, and I stumble back with a grunt.
“You’re still telegraphing,” he comments. The man isn’t even winded. “Your shoulder drops before every right hook.”
“Noted.” I spit blood onto the dirt and raise my fists again. “Again.”
We’ve been at this for four days now. Ever since the council accepted my intelligence and authorized a strike against one of Thornridge’s supply caches, I’ve spent every waking hour either training or providing tactical information to the pack leaders.
The latest mission was a success. Thanks to my intel, Grayhide found twelve crates of weapons and ammunition andswiped them. Three Thornridge scouts have been captured and interrogated. A significant blow to Bastian’s operation, all because I told them exactly where to look.
The raid itself was surgical. I drew them maps of the cache location, marked the guard rotations, and identified the weak points in their perimeter. When the strike team returned with wagons full of confiscated supplies and three prisoners in chains, something changed in the way the younger warriors looked at me. I wouldn’t call it trust, not yet. More like curiosity. Recognition that maybe I’m not completely useless, after all.
Some of them have started nodding at me in the hallways now. A few have even initiated conversations that don’t involve thinly veiled threats or accusations. Yesterday, a young Grayhide wolf named Trenton asked me about Thornridge fighting techniques over dinner. He actually seemed interested rather than just mining for intelligence, and we ended up talking for almost an hour about the differences between pack combat styles.
The pack leaders remain more cautious, which I understand. Oren watches me with those cold blue eyes whenever we’re in the same room, measuring and assessing every word I say. Dorian hasn’t spoken to me since the council meeting, except to bark orders during the supply cache raid. Matriarch Lydia refuses to acknowledge my existence at all, which is probably for the best, given how her last conversation with Caelan ended.
But here, on the training grounds, I can almost forget that I’m an enemy combatant on probation. Here, I’m just another wolf trying to prove his worth through sweat and blood and bruised knuckles. Here, my past doesn’t matter as much as my ability to take a hit and get back up again.
Aidan comes at me again, and this time, I’m ready. I dodge his opening strike and counter with an elbow to his solar plexus that actually lands. He grunts and grins, and for a moment, I see approval in his eyes.
“Better,” he admits. “You’re learning.”
“I’m a fast learner.”
“You’d have to be, surviving Thornridge as long as you did.” He drops his fighting stance and rolls his shoulders. “Take five. Wyn wants a turn with you next.”
I grab a water bottle from the bench at the edge of the ring and drain half of it in one long swig. My muscles are screaming, and my ribs throb where Aidan’s fist connected, but beneath the pain, there’s something I haven’t felt in years.
Purpose.
The wolves watching from the sidelines disperse as Aidan exits the ring, some heading toward other training equipment while others break into smaller sparring groups. I use the momentary lull to catch my breath and stretch out my aching shoulders. Thornridge training was brutal, but it focused on individual dominance rather than endurance. These allied wolves could fight all day and still have energy for more.
Wyn Lemay approaches the ring with a predatory stalk that reminds me why Bastian hates him so much. The dark-haired wolf moves like he was born fighting, keeping every step economical. He’s leaner than Aidan but no less dangerous, and the look he gives me says he’s not planning to pull his punches.
“Heard you did good work on the supply cache raid,” he comments as he ducks under the ropes.
“I gave directions. Your wolves did the actual fighting.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. Good intelligence is worth more than a dozen warriors swinging blind.” He settles into a fighting stance that looks nothing like Aidan’s. “Let’s see what Thornridge taught you.”
