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19: The ridge
publish date:
2026-11-03 18:28:29
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Reborn at the Last Howl 23: Warm Rooms Underground
CRYSSARA I decide to throw myself into work so I stop thinking about Maren's last words.*She did not die the way they told you.* The sentence sits in my head like a stone. I shove it down and head for the cellars.My mother's pipe plans lie spread across the table, lines and numbers drawn in her careful hand. I trace them with my finger. Warm spring water can be sent beneath the cellar floors—heat without fire, rooms that stay above freezing even when the world outside turns to ice.Granny Tilda finds me there before the sun fully rises."What are you doing with those pipes, girl?" she demands, arms crossed, her voice already sharp enough to cut."Turning the deep rooms into growing rooms," I say, refusing to flinch under her glare. "We plant under the stone."She studies the plans, jaw tight, suspicion etched into every line of her face, as though I'd proposed something treasonous rather than practical. Finally, she nods once, grudging—the gesture of someone conceding a point she
Reborn at the Last Howl 22: She Did Not Die the Way They Told You
CRYSSARA I push the kitchen door open.Lantern light sits low on the stone walls. The air smells of leftover stew and cold water. Maren stands in the center of the room—calm, old, her hard stare fixed and unblinking. She grips the small pup's hand like she owns the right to it, her knuckles pale with the force of her hold. Three steps away, Lyanna has gone rigid, her face drained of color, one hand clamped white-knuckled on the table's edge, the other pressed flat against her stomach as if to hold something in.No one speaks.Only the slow drip from a pipe breaks the silence, that and the pup's quick, shallow breaths, and beneath it all, the faint creak of Lyanna's grip tightening on the wood.Maren's gaze locks onto mine, and something flickers there—satisfaction, maybe, at having caught me off guard. Her voice stays level, quiet—the same voice that once taught Lyanna how to wrap a wound, now edged with something colder, something that scrapes."I came to bring Lyanna home."I stop
Reborn at the Last Howl 21: Maren's Debt
LYANNA I stand in the kitchen that night.The scout's words still ring in my head, louder with each passing minute. *Someone who works in the kitchen.* Seraphina heard it from here. The accusation claws at my chest, and I can't tear it free.My hands shake as I put away the clean cloths. A spare bandage sits in every pocket I own—habit, drilled into me by Healer Maren. "Always be ready. The moment you hesitate is the moment someone dies," she used to say, her voice sharp as a blade, and I obeyed without question, the way I always did.Healer Maren took me in after the orphanage. She fed me when no one else would. She taught me medicine—how to set a bone, how to break a fever—and in return, she bought my silence one debt payment at a time. Month after month, the chain tightens around me, link by invisible link. I can almost feel it now, cold against my wrist, biting deeper than it ever has.She asked me to send reports about Cryssara, claiming it was for the pack's safety, though even
Reborn at the Last Howl 20: Wolves in Ashfang colour
CRYSSARA "Who sent them?"Caelus folds the map"We find out tonight."We climb the ridge at dusk. Snow falls thin and quiet. Our breath shows white. The trees stand black against the last light.Caelus points to a low hollow, his voice clipped with urgency."Here. Simple trap. Rope under the snow. When they step, it holds the ankle."I help set it, my hands steady despite the biting cold. We wait in the trees, breaths shallow, nerves stretched to breaking. No one speaks.Two shapes move along the ridge path. Ashfang colors mark their coats. One stands tall, broad-shouldered. The other looks smaller, barely older than a pup.They step into the hollow. The rope snaps tight. Both crash down hard, snow exploding around them.We move fast. Caelus slams the taller one against the ground, pinning him with a knee to the chest, teeth bared like he's one word away from tearing out a throat. I grab the younger one by the collar and yank him upright, my grip rougher than it needs to be.The tall
Reborn at the Last Howl 19: The ridge
CRYSSARA Dorian's eyes lock on mine, and he starts toward me, purpose hardening every stride into a threat. The trading post falls silent. Vaelor leans back in his chair, watching with open interest. Caelus presses closer to my shoulder, every muscle coiled and ready. Dorian stops inches from me, his breath hot against my face, fury radiating off him like heat from a forge. "Where is all this money coming from?" His voice cuts like ice, each word a blade testing for weakness. I hold his gaze, refusing to flinch, my tone level despite the hammering in my chest. "From a mother I never knew." I let the silence stretch a beat before adding, "You never asked, and you never cared to." Seraphina's fingers dig into his arm, desperate, her nails whitening against his sleeve. "Dorian. Not here. Please." He ignores her completely, shrugging her off without even a glance, his eyes burning into mine, something feral surfacing beneath the fury. "You think you can buy salt and stores and
Reborn at the Last Howl 18: The Alpha who sells salt
CRYSSARA I realize Dorian knows something too.Ashfang has bought out every salt seller in the valley. He is not only after the land, he is strangling our supplies, tightening his grip barrel by barrel until we have no choice but to kneel.Caelus and I leave at first light. The trading post sits at the edge of the valley road, smoke curling from its chimney like a warning written in the sky.Inside, Vaelor Frostbane lounges with his boots propped on the table, utterly at ease, as though he owns the very air we breathe. Silver-black hair. Cold blue-grey eyes that miss nothing. Proud. Blunt. An independent Alpha who believes strength alone decides everything—and who clearly relishes watching others scramble to prove him wrong.Barrels of salt line the wall behind him. The last ones left in the valley, and he knows it. He wears that knowledge like armor, and he wields it like a blade pressed to our throats.I speak first, letting no hesitation creep into my voice, though my pulse hammer
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