MAEVEN CROWE COLLECTS DEBTS

CHAPTER 6

The clearing felt smaller with the door slammed shut.

Not physically.

Spiritually.

Like the forest itself had leaned in.

Sable stood in mud and rain, ribs aching, wrist burning, and tried to convince her lungs to work.

Maeven Crowe watched her with an expression that belonged on a woman offering tea—not on a woman who had just whispered second heartbeat like a curse.

“Say it again,” Sable demanded, voice shaking. “What did you mean?”

Maeven’s smile didn’t fade. “You heard me.”

“I want the truth.”

“You want certainty,” Maeven corrected. “Truth is expensive.”

Sable’s stomach turned. “What’s inside me?”

Maeven’s gaze drifted toward the passenger seat—toward the place Caelan’s presence gathered like cold smoke.

“Might be Caelan,” Maeven said lightly. “Might be what’s left of him. Might be something wearing his grief like a coat.”

Caelan’s voice snapped into Sable’s ear, furious.

Don’t listen to her.

Sable swallowed. “Then tell me what you are.”

Silence.

Then, lower—almost raw: “Not enough.”

The admission hit harder than any threat.

Sable’s throat tightened. “Not enough what?”

Caelan’s presence pressed closer, cold brushing her cheek like a hand that didn’t know how to be gentle.

“Not enough… me,” he said, as if the words tasted wrong.

Maeven hummed, delighted. “Oh, he’s talking tonight.”

Sable whirled on Maeven. “How do I fix this?”

Maeven stepped closer, charms whispering at her wrists. She tilted her head, studying Sable like a puzzle.

“Fix,” she repeated. “What a sweet word. Packs love it. Humans love it. Fix implies you return to before.”

Sable’s jaw clenched. “I want my life back.”

Maeven’s eyes went soft in a way that wasn’t kind. “Your life was over the second the mark chose you.”

Sable’s wrist flared hot, as if offended at being spoken about like an object.

Maeven raised two fingers again, hovering them above the mark without touching this time.

“Widow-bond law is old,” she said. “Older than Nightfell. Older than Redcrest. It was made for one purpose.”

Sable’s voice came out thin. “What purpose?”

Maeven smiled. “To bring an alpha back.”

Sable’s blood iced. “No.”

“Not as he was,” Maeven added, tone almost gentle. “Not clean. Not whole.”

Sable’s breath hitched. “So it’s trying to resurrect him.”

Maeven’s gaze flicked to the passenger seat. “Or it’s using his shape as a doorframe.”

Caelan’s presence vibrated with contained rage.

Sable’s pulse pounded. “How do I know which?”

Maeven’s smile widened. “You pay me.”

Sable barked a humorless laugh. “With what? I don’t have—”

Maeven’s eyes dropped to Sable’s chest—where her ribs rose and fell, where her heartbeat fought to stay steady.

“You have plenty,” Maeven said.

Sable’s throat tightened. “What do you want?”

Maeven stepped close enough that Sable smelled burnt salt and dried herbs and something metallic beneath—like old blood.

“I want your oath,” Maeven murmured. “And I want a piece of what the bond is building.”

Sable’s stomach flipped. “A piece—?”

Maeven lifted a hand and pressed her palm lightly over Sable’s wrist.

The mark surged.

Heat flooded Sable’s arm.

And under it—beneath it—something answered.

Not Caelan.

Something deeper.

Something that made Sable’s own heartbeat stumble and then… double.

For one terrifying second, Sable felt two rhythms inside her.

One hers.

One not.

She gasped, hand flying to her chest.

Maeven’s eyes went pitch black with satisfaction.

“Oh, yes,” Maeven whispered. “There it is.”

Sable’s voice broke. “Get it out of me.”

Maeven’s smile sharpened. “That depends.”

“On what?”

Maeven leaned in, speaking like a woman offering a bargain instead of a curse.

“On whether Caelan Varr is strong enough to hold the door shut,” she said, “or whether he opens it wider when you beg.”

Caelan’s voice turned low, dangerous—right at Sable’s ear.

Don’t beg.

Sable swallowed hard. “Why?”

Because if you let me in—if you truly let me in—I won’t be able to stop.

Sable’s pulse tripped. “Stop what?”

Caelan’s presence wrapped around her wrist again, gentler than a shackle, worse than one.

“Stop choosing you,” he whispered.

Maeven watched Sable’s reaction like it was entertainment, then stepped back and lifted her chin toward the house.

“Come inside,” Maeven said. “We begin with the first payment.”

Sable didn’t move. Her legs felt heavy. Her lungs felt tight.

“What payment?” she demanded.

Maeven’s smile returned—warm, wrong.

“Your name,” she said. “Spoken into the bond. Spoken to the thing that thinks it’s wearing Caelan’s skin.”

Sable’s blood ran cold. “You want me to call it.”

Maeven nodded.

Caelan’s voice went hard as ice.

Don’t.

Sable looked at the closed door. At the hanging keys. At the charms swaying without wind.

Outside the clearing, the forest was quiet—but not safe. Not with Lyra and Garrick both hunting.

Inside the clearing, Maeven waited like a debt collector.

And inside Sable, the second heartbeat pulsed once—slow, pleased.

As if it had been waiting to hear its name.