Chapter 2: The Wolf's House

Savannah Whitlock.

Silence in a room filled with people is never really silent.

It's pressure. Warm and heavy around the edges. It's a hundred thoughts that haven't found the words to say yet, stuffed into the air until it feels like breathing for hot air. The fire behind me crackled like it had it's own opinions, and my heartbeat was doing a phenomenal job of being way louder than it needed to be. 

I stood as still as I could anyways, because I wasn't stupid. 

Two men were stationed behind me like living walls. Arms crossed. Bodies angled just enough that the message was clear: Don't run. Don't do anything unpredictable.

As if I was the unpredicatable one. 

Then there was the man that just walked in and made the entire room change. 

I gazed at his face. It twitched with every whisper, but I could tell that one word hurt him the worst.

Blasphemy. 

He lifted one hand and every little whisper snuffed itself out. The room quieted so fast it felt like someone was tying a knot and cinched it tight. 

"Enough..." He said simply.

One word. Calm. Sharp. Final.

Whatever had been building in the corners of the entryu room died instantly. People stilled like they have been pressed into place. The air changed, not quieter exactly... but ordered.

He nodded toward the massive front doors, thick wood with iron hardware. The kind of doors built to withstand storms and hold secrets.

"If you do not like the choice that I have made," he said as evenly as he could, "the door is right there."

A beat of stunned silence.

"You are free to leave at any point, I won't stop you." he continued, "No chains. No threats. No begging. But anyone who walks out tonight proves exactly what is wrong with the old ways."

His gaze swept across the room like a blade.

"You prove you can't dignify change."

Movement rippled through the crowd. Not loud, more shifting. A woman gasped. Thats what sparked the voices to start to murmur again. Until a man with a scar across his right eye stepped forward. Then the voices sputtered out.

"BULLSHIT!" He spat the curse loud and ugly. His hands flung toward the man with the dark eyes in defiance, "You've lost yer damn mind, Asher. What? Have you gone soft? Or just desperate enought that you'll take anythin' that breathes?"

The name slid into my head like it belonged there.

Asher.

I didn't know why, but I liked it instantly. I was sharp and warm at the same time, like an aged whiskey. Likke embers that hadn't decided if they were going to burn you, or keep you alive. It fit him. It fit the way he stood like the room had been built around his spine. 

The insult hit the room like someone had thrown a bottle. 

For half a second, I though that the floor might crack under the combined heat coming from Asher and the tension.

But he didn't move.

He didn't even raise his voice.

He simply looked at the scarred man in a way that said 'You're not worth my time.' The man's bravado survived exactly two seconds under that stare.

He then scoffed, like he wanted the have the last word and make it sting, and turned fast. Too fast and stomped toward the doors. Another two peeled off behind him, likely his sons, then a few more. They didn't look back but from their shoulders I could tell that they were relieved that someone else started it.

The doors banged open and cold ari knifed into the warmth, carrying snow and the sharp scent of pine, not to mention the snap of winter. The storm outside was white and hungry, visible for a blink before it was swallowed by the bodies rushing out.

A few moments later, the doors slammed shut and warmth surged back in like the house was trying to pretend it hadn't just seen a fracture happen in real time.

Asher didn't watch the door, though.

He watched the room.

"Let them go." he said, his voice carrying without him needing to raise it, "If they want to run back to the past with their tails between their legs, they can do it outside my walls and outside of my territory." His gaze swept over the faces that remained, "If anyone else feels brave enough to leave when its a blizzard outside while it is warm in here, now is your chance."

Not a soul moved.

A woman near the wall shifted, jaw clenching, and took a half step, then stopped. Another man half turned toward the exit, his shoulders tense, then exhaled like he was swallowing something bitter and stayed put.

"As I thought..." Asher said softer now, almost unimpressed, "Back to your duties. Or your beds whichever you would prefer. Either way, this conversation is over."

Something loosened in the room and people began to drift, slower than before. Their eyes still cut to me like the couldn't help themselves.

Then I felt another pair of eyes on me, like a spotlight landing on my skin. I turned slightly and noticed that Asher's attention came back to me.

I did what I always have done when I was in an uncomfortable situation.

I got a little mouthy.

"So, what's the plan here?" I asked, lifting my chin, aiming for bold even though my knees felt suspiciously interested in collapsing in on themselves, "Do you make me sign a waiver? Or if there, like... a 'you have wandered into the wrong forest' fine I should be aware of?"

A few of the people leaving the room froze and slowly turned back, their eyes wide like they had just seen a ghost. Someone cleared their throat softly behind me. 

Asher didn't bark. Didn't snap.

He just looked at me, though a flicker of something flashed across his face.

His hair was black and slightly messy. Like he didn't really care what people thoought of it. A rugged beard framed his jaw, a bit darker near his chin. and those eyes... Dark brown, so deep they nearly looked black in the firelight. They stayed on my face for a second too long, like he was taking inventory.

Heat rushed into my cheeks. I felt the blush before I could stop it.

And it was absolutely mortifying.

"I...um." I said, clearing my throat, trying to shove some sense of bravado back into place, "I'm sorry. That came out... alot more sassier than I intended."

His mouth twitched. Not really a smile but it was close enought to make my stomach flip flop in a way that I refused to acknowledge.

"You're coping," he said, voice steady, "I've seen worse."

Before I could come up with a suitably smart reply, a man stepped beside me, solid, quiet, and close enought that I could feel the warmth of him through my coat. He angled his body subtly between me and the room. 

His gazed flicked to the closed doors, then back to me. He dropped his face low to an almost amused tone. 

"Dont you worry about Scar-face and his lackies." The man murmured, "He talks big. But if you noticed, he was the first to get to the door. Not much of a threat when his feet are already halway out of the pack house. Not to mention dragging his sons and the other simpletons behind him."

I laughed, quick, surprised, all because the deadpan delivery caught me off guard.

Though my brain snagged hard on two words.

'Pack house.' 

It took all of my self control to not blurt out 'What do you mean pack house?' because I mean what else could it mean? But the question felt dangerous in this room, surrounded by men and women that I didn't know nor what they were capable of. It felt like if I asked it, I would be pulling a thread that might unravel whatever fragile safety that I had left.

So I swallowed it.

Forced the curiosity down into the same place I'd stuffed the terror all night. Instead, I let the teasing return, though smaller this time. Safer. 

"So... lots of bark." I asked, keeping my voice light.

The blonde man's mouth tilted. "Not nearly enough bite, little one." He laughed and turned to Asher, "I like this one, Asher. You chose well." 

Asher's attention remained on me, though I saw the side eye he gave the blonde man when he called me 'little one'. He smiled and then straightened his back.

"Rowan..."

"Ahhhh so that is his name..."

"Please refrain from calling her any nicknames. She hasn't chose if she wants to stay or not." Asher's voice held a tone of commitment.

Rowan, straightened, clasped his hands behind his back and nodded once. Then returned to where he was standing.

He smiled down at me, though his eyes said something else. Its like they were waiting for me to stop deflecting and start asking what I really wanted to know.

"You..." he started, his tone shifting. It was more calm, softer at the edges, "Probably have a boat load of questions don't you?" 

I recovered enough to lift my chin, trying to reclaim some sort of dignity.

"A boat load? Sir, Its more like a shipping container. Maybe an entire fleet." I said then giggled. 

That flicker crossed his face again, amuesment, relief, something, and it was gone almost instantly.

"I would love to answer them. But not here."

His eyes cut to the watchers pretending not to watch, at the guards that stood a little to rigid, at the way the house seemed to have leaned in.

"If you'd like, I could take you to my study. It's a bit more private." he scowled, "Where you won't be treated like you some sort of entertainment..."

My throat tightened. 

Alone with him sounded terrifying. 

But staying here, in this room, standing in the middle of a circle drawn to keep me trapped, felt scarier than that.

I opened my mouth, hoping my mind didn't force me to say something bratty again, but that is what I did what I was nervous...

But Asher's eyes held mine, and the heat came back to my cheeks so quickly it made my ears feel extremely warm.

"Okay..." I said, quieter, "Somewhere private." I softened my tone without thinking. 

He nodded once, like what I said was more than enough. 

Then he did someting surprising.

With a small courtesy that felt strangely normal in a house that was anything but, he angled toward me as if we we meeting as friends instead of surviving an angry mob.

"Savannah Whitlock." he said, voice formal. Calm.

"I like the way he says my name..." I thought before I could stop it.

"I didn't introduce myself properly."

He extended his hand. Not a challenge. Not a trap.

Just... polite.

"My name is Asher," he said. "Asher DravenHart."

I looked down and stared at his hand like it might grow fangs and bite me.

Then without hesitation, I put my fingers into his palm.

His skin was warm, way too warm to be human, and a brief spark shit up my arm, sharp as static before lightning struck. His grip closed around my fingers, intensely careful like her knew exactly how strong he was.

"Follow me then." He said as he tugged my arm lightly, "To my study."

My legs, now becoming legs again, followed without protest. All the way down the carpeted rug, throught the threshold and into the hallway. 

All I could think about was the fact that my life just split. Before. And after. 

That and how his name tasted like aged whiskey and smoke when it settled into my mind.

END OF CHAPTER TWO