Alora quiets as soon as the bottle’s in her mouth, little fists kneading the air. I let myself meet Fiona’s gaze for the first time since the lottery, bracing for the question, but she just sips her coffee and lets the silence stretch. It’s so unexpected I almost thank her out loud.
She finally speaks, voice pitched low and even. “Everyone’s talking about the lottery,” she says, like I’m not supposed to notice the way her eyes flick from my face to the baby and back again. “Everyone’s got theories. I told Thomas I’d be more surprised if the magic didn’t pair you two.” She blows on her coffee, then meets my eyes. “You okay?”
I snort. “Am I supposed to be?” I’m aiming for dry humor, but the words are brittle, too sharp at the edges.
Fiona’s mouth twitches. “It’s not my place, but…” she shrugs, “I didn’t love the lottery either. Others have felt that same, and I think that’s why Nick and Luna changed the rules. Nobody wants to wake up shackled to a nightmare, not even for the good of the pack.” She glances at Alora and softens. “But sometimes the magic gets it right.”
I look down at Alora, who’s going cross-eyed trying to focus on her bottle, then up at Fiona, who’s watching mecarefully. “Even if it did, what’s the point? He’s…” I can’t bring myself to say it out loud. Cheslem. The taste of the word is always bitter.
Fiona doesn’t miss a beat. “He’s not his old pack, Dina.”
I bristle, ready to launch into my rehearsed monologue about blood and loyalty and the long, ugly memories. But when I look at Fiona, I realize I’m not angry at her. I’m angry at how much I want to believe her.
“People think trauma makes you stronger. It doesn’t. It just makes you tired. But if you’re lucky, you find the right pack, and the tiredness isn’t so heavy.” She sets her cup down. “You belong here, Dina. Even if you never want to see Caleb again, you still belong. And if you do want to see him, that’s okay, too.”
The words hit harder than I want to admit, and she clearly knows what she’s talking about when she talks about trauma. I’ve spent so long trying to survive that I’ve forgotten how to do anything else, and I’m not sure I would recognize safety if it slapped me in the face.
I take a sip of my coffee and remember when my father said that a soldier needs to know when the war is over. Holding Alora, sitting in this cafe, the memory of Caleb last night all converges in my mind, and I’m left wondering if I even recognize the war anymore.
Chapter 11 - Caleb
There’s a particular way the stench of defeat lingers in the forest after a failed attack, and right now, it’s all over the east border, woven into the last of the snow, the bark on the trees, and the broken spell markers I’m supposed to help repair. Day two of border detail and I’m already so sick of the stench that I want to rip the skin from my face. Even the other wolves can’t stand it; Fern’s mate, Connor, has been trailing me with a grim silence that says he’d rather be anywhere else, but he’s not about to leave me alone on a day like this.
The perimeter is worse than we first thought, and it’s taken longer to repair than we anticipated yesterday. Every quarter mile, the magical wards are fouled, the posts slashed or snapped, surveillance destroyed, and runes obscured. The running theory is that a few of the old Cheslem holdouts are trying to ghost in and out, not to start a war, not yet, but to remind us that the peace we’re enjoying is still a fragile situation. It’s not the kind of threat that makes the pack jumpy, but it’s enough to keep us out here, lacing the woods with new sigils and fixing cameras; chasing out tails over their bullshit.
I’m supposed to be checking the posts, but what I’m really doing is thinking about Alora. I can’t help it. Every time we stop, I picture her in the house with Dina, her little face turned up, waiting for me to come back. The thought burrows under my skin, a tick I can’t shake. The responsibility is a stark contrast to the memories this Cheslem mess is stirring. She deserves so much more than the impact of my history haunting her or stalking her home alone these borders.
I’ll be damned if that evil will take any more.
Connor notices; he’s always been a watcher, not a talker, and right now he’s letting me lead, as if all this is some kind of penance I need to sweat out. Maybe it is.
We walk the line for an hour, maybe more, before we come to a stretch where the dirty old snow is churned up with fresh tracks. The hair on my arms stands up, and my wolf rises so close to the surface that the world instantly tilts, every noise and movement sharpened. Connor hangs back, scanning the underbrush. The tracks run straight for a hundred yards, then vanish at a spike of ground where the wards are completely trashed.
I sigh, kneeling and tracing the ruined sigil with my finger. The magic’s not just gone; it’s corrupted, the way vinegar ruins milk. I know who did this. I can smell it even under the rot and chemical stink. It’s Cheslem, but not one of the old guard. This is someone younger, angry, still living on stories about the pack’s glory days. I grind my teeth and start mending the post while Connor deals with the surveillance. I suspect it’s pointless because they might just come back and do it again, but it makes me feel better.
“You want to talk about it?” Connor says, finally, voice low.
I don’t, but I know he’ll keep hovering if I don’t say something. “It’s just the same shit, over and over,” I say. “They’re never going to let it go. Doesn’t matter how much time passes, or who’s in charge, or who gets left behind. They’ll always come back.”
Connor pauses what he’s doing, sighs. “You’re not wrong. But sometimes I think it’s less about chasing ghosts and more that some people need to keep them alive because they don’t know what else to do. If it wasn’t this, it would be somethingelse.” He gives me a look, the kind that says he knows exactly which ghosts keep me up at night, but he’s not going to say it out loud.
I grunt, not sure I want to get into feelings on the clock. “Yeah, well. If they want to come back, let them try.”
He doesn’t smile, but the air gets easier. Connor’s not big on pep talks, but he still somehow knows how to make a point.
We finish the repair, and I’m about to move to the next marker when the sound of a truck engine cuts through the forest. Connor’s head snaps up, alert. The engine is careful, slow, and is pack, not threat. A minute later, a black crew cab rolls up over the ruts, spitting mud. Bryan’s driving, Thomas riding shotgun; both have the look of men who’d rather be anywhere but here, but are resigned to the job.
Thomas hops out first, boots crunching ice. “We’re here to relieve you,” he says, scanning the area before his eyes land on me. “Nick said you’ve been at it since sunup. Go home and get some rest.”
I almost want to argue, but I see Connor’s eyes flicker with a hint of warning. It’s not a suggestion; it’s an order. Bryan’s already checking the log on his phone, and Thomas is at the back of the truck, grabbing a fresh box of surveillance gear.
“Go,” Connor says, softer than before. “I’m sure Alora wants to see her old man.”
I nod, realizing I’m actually grateful for the out. Connor and I gather our equipment and head back to the trucks. I wave him off and start the drive back, up the ridge and down the old logging trail, the window down to let the cold blast my face. I don’t want to bring the Cheslem stink home to Alora, but it’s on my skin, in my hair, and the more I try to ignore it, the more I feel it winding its way inside me.
By the time I clear the last stand of pines and reach the main road, my mind has looped back to Dina. To that night, fuck, it’s only been two nights, but it feels too long ago. It probably shouldn’t have happened. We both knew it, but we let it happen anyway. I keep replaying it, over and over, trying to figure out the moment when it all went from argument to inevitability. It wasn’t just the chemistry; it was like the universe finally called our bluff, and we both caved. My wolf is still clawing at the inside of my skull, wanting more.
I’ve never felt so calm after sex before. Not once, not ever. There’s always been an emptiness; it just wasn’t a big deal to me, and I never felt any kind of connection beyond scratching an itch. But with Dina, all I felt was this weird, silent certainty. I wasn’t sure about the magic at the lottery, but in that moment, I could have sworn it got us right. But then reality hit like a sledgehammer, and I had to acknowledge who we really are. Nothing has changed, not really. And she made her feelings pretty clear.
