Chapter 5

Noa’s POV

“Miss Bennett,” said the man on the porch. “My name is Micah Hale. I’m the Beta of Ironwood. I’m sorry to wake your house.”

He was big, calm and tired, with a kind face and blood on his collar. Two warriors stood behind him on the gravel, silent as fence posts. A black car idled in the drive with its lights on.

I stood in the doorway with flour to my elbows and a golden loaf still steaming behind me.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know.”

“You have blood on your shirt.”

“It isn’t mine.” He glanced past me at the kitchen. At Ruth, who was hugging little Ben and rocking him. At Miriam, who was watching him like a hawk on a fence. His eyebrows twitched. “That smells incredible.”

“It’s bread.”

“I know. That’s what I’m afraid of.” He held out an envelope. “The Ironwood Council requests your presence, Miss Bennett. By the Charter of Fifteen Ninety-Three. They call it safekeeping.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means they want you close.”

Behind me, floorboards creaked. My mother had come down the stairs in her nightgown, with my father and Talia at her heels. She took the envelope out of my hand before I could open it.

“Ironwood,” she breathed. She read for a moment. Her eyes widened. “Forty thousand a year. For the family. For hosting her.”

“Hosting?” I said.

“It’s a stipend.”

“You’re selling me.”

“Don’t be dramatic. It’s an honor. It’s a...” She flapped the paper. “It’s a chance to make up for tonight.”

“Mom.”

“Of course she’ll go,” my mother told Micah, with a bright, false smile. “Noa has always wanted to see Montana.”

I had never once said I wanted to see Montana.

Miriam pressed a cold hand to my elbow. Her voice was a thread. “Go with them,” she said, very low, in my ear. “Not for them. For you. They can’t be stopped, and here you have no one. In a big pack, at least the big wolves can hide you.”

“But he rejected me.”

“Yes. And you’ll learn why.” She pushed a small glass jar into my hands. It was warm, and it sloshed with pale bubbly paste. “Starter. Keep it alive. Feed it every day. It knows you now. It’s where your power sleeps.”

“Miriam...”

“Go, Noa.”

I looked at the jar. I looked at my mother, greedy and glowing. At my father, studying his slippers. At Talia, arms folded, chewing her lip.

Then I looked at Micah. He said nothing. He just waited, hat in his hands, like a man who’d already apologized once and didn’t expect it to help.

“I have terms,” I said.

His eyebrows rose. “Terms?”

“Three.” I held up fingers. “One. I get my own kitchen. Nobody goes in but me. Two. I’m free to leave after one year, with no questions and no charge. Three. My family sees none of that money.”

“Noa!” my mother hissed.

“Not one dollar, Mom. If Ironwood wants to pay somebody, they can pay me.”

Micah took out a small notebook and pencil. He wrote for a moment. Then he tore off the page, signed it, and passed it to me. “The Alpha will honor it. I’ll make sure.”

“The Alpha?”

“He’s agreed to your safety.”

“He’s agreed.”

“Yes.”

I folded the page and tucked it into my apron pocket. It felt heavier than paper had a right to.

~

I said goodbye to Shira over a video call in the back seat, with the phone tilted so the moonlight hit my face. She cried. I told her to stop. She cried harder and made me swear to text every day.

Talia waited on the porch as I climbed into the car.

She looked small. In the yellow porch light, with her hair loose and her arms wrapped around her ribs, she looked eleven years old again, the year I taught her to ride a bike.

“You’re really going?”

“Looks like it.”

“Ironwood’s cold,” she said. “Take a coat.”

I blinked.

“I mean it. It’s cold in Montana. You get sick in the cold.”

I stared at her. She scowled, embarrassed, and stomped back inside. The porch door banged.

I sat there for a long moment with my hand pressed over my mouth.

~

We drove until sunrise.

The road climbed through dark pine and silver rivers and long, empty stretches of highway. I held the starter jar in both hands. It was warm as a living thing. I could feel it pulse against my palms, slow and steady, like the second heartbeat in my chest.

Micah didn’t talk much. When we crossed the Idaho line, he glanced at me in the mirror.

“He didn’t want you hurt,” he said.

“He rejected me in front of two hundred people.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a strange way of not hurting someone.”

“It’s the only way he thought would work.” He paused. “I can’t tell you more. It isn’t mine to say.”

“Is he a good man?”

Micah thought about it for a very long time.

“He’s the best man I know,” he said. “And the most stupid.”

I laughed. It surprised me.

The Ironwood pack house rose out of the morning like a fortress. Gray stone, dark timber, a hundred windows glinting in the pale sun. A courtyard, a fountain, rows of wolves lined up on the gravel, all of them turning to watch the black car pull in.

I stepped out with my jar and my suitcase and my apron still on.

Whispers went through the crowd like wind through wheat.

“That’s her?”

“That’s the one he rejected?”

“She’s, um. Bigger than I expected.”

“Hush.”

A young woman in a gray dress came down the steps. Dark braid, gray eyes, warm smile. “Miss Bennett? I’m Leah Vane. Welcome. I’m so glad you’re here.” She took my hand in both hers. Her fingers were very steady. “Please, call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”

Her eyes held mine a moment too long. As if she were trying to tell me a thing I couldn’t hear.

Then the crowd parted, and he came down the steps.

Asher Stone.

Black shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow. Face like a locked door. There were shadows under his eyes I hadn’t noticed at the lake. He looked thinner. Grayer. He walked slowly, and the courtyard went silent at every step.

He stopped in front of me.

“Miss Bennett.”

“Alpha Stone.”

We stared at each other. Twenty feet of gravel and a hundred wolves and the memory of a thread snapping between us.

“Your rooms are in the east wing,” he said. His voice was even. Not a crack in it. “Your kitchen is on the ground floor, behind the west stairs. No one will enter without your permission. That was your condition.”

“Yes.”

“It’s accepted.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Nobody moved.

“You don’t get to look at me like that,” I said, very softly, so only he could hear.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re sorry.” My voice shook. I steadied it. “You threw me away, Asher. You don’t get to look sorry.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw.

For a moment, his eyes flashed gold. Ari, surging up behind them. The pain in his face was so raw it stole my breath.

“Understood,” he said.

He walked away. I watched him go, and my heart hurt like an old bruise.

~

The east wing had a bed the size of a boat, a window overlooking the river, and a wall that was much too thin.

I didn’t sleep. I fed the starter. I unpacked my three sweaters. I sat on the edge of the bed with the golden moon still burning in my head and listened to the enormous silence of a strange house.

At two in the morning, a crash shook the other side of the wall.

I jumped.

A low, ragged sound followed it. Not a growl. Not a word. The sound a big animal makes when it thinks nobody is listening.

I got up. I crossed the room. I opened my door.

The hallway was dark. A lamp had fallen over near the far end, and by its dying light I saw a body slumped against the wall, one hand pressed to his side, black blood pouring between his fingers.

Asher lifted his head.

His face was gray and wet with sweat. His eyes burned gold in the dark.

“Get out,” he said, through his teeth. “Go back to your room, Noa.”

Gold light spilled up my arms.

I didn’t move.