Her

Kael hadn’t planned to stay long. The Spring Hearth Gathering had always been a lighthearted affair, a day when ranks blurred and wolves forgot the burdens of command. But this year, something in the air drew him in, a pull that had nothing to do with duty.

He had been in his study, going through the endless reports that cluttered his desk, when the laughter reached him from the kitchen courtyard. For a long time, such sounds had grated against him, reminding him of all that could so easily be lost. But now, it made him pause.

A scent drifted through the air: flour, honey, and something faintly wild. Not the wild of the woods or blood, but gentler, like rain on warm skin.

Without thinking, he followed it.

The great hall had been transformed. Long wooden tables stretched in every direction, covered with bowls, doughs, jugs of milk, and wild herbs. The space pulsed with noise and  wolves moving, laughing, singing off-key. And there, among them, stood Korra.

Her sleeves were rolled up, flour streaking her cheeks and the curve of her jaw. Her hair, half-tied and half-loose, caught the sunlight that streamed through the high windows. She was frowning in concentration as she tried to knead dough, her movements clumsy and stiff, yet there was something painfully alive about her, something that hadn’t been there before.

He stopped in the doorway. For a moment, he could only look.

He remembered the first time he had seen her, she could barely walk unaided, soaked from rain, her eyes haunted and hollow. And now, that same woman stood among his pack, sleeves dusted with flour, shoulders trembling as she laughed at something Mara said. The sound startled him; he had never heard her laugh before. It was soft, breathy, uncertain like a new flame catching light.

Something in his chest tightened.

He shouldn’t stay. He was Alpha heir his presence changed things. Wolves straightened, and laughter faded. But still, he stayed at the edge of the room, unseen for a while, letting himself watch.

When Mara noticed him, her eyes widened slightly, then narrowed in silent amusement. She nudged Korra and whispered something. He saw Korra stiffen, her hands stilling mid-motion. Then, as if she sensed his gaze, she turned.

For a heartbeat, their eyes met. Her breath hitched and so did his.

He saw it all in that instant, the flicker of fear, the wary curiosity, the faint tremor of something unnamed. And underneath, a fragile courage that made his wolf stir.

His control slipped for a second. The animal part of him wanted to move, to close the distance, to scent her skin and find the truth of what called to him so fiercely. But he forced himself to stand still, his fists curling tight.

She looked away first. He exhaled, slow and measured, reminding himself that this  whatever this was  needed patience. Wolves who had been hurt learned to trust only through time, through gentleness.

He waited until the noise of the room began to rise again, then moved closer, pretending to inspect the tables. It gave him an excuse to pass near her.

“Too much pressure,” he said quietly, stopping beside her.

She froze, head lifting in surprise. “I— what?”

“The dough,” he said, eyes flicking to her hands. “You are pressing it too hard. You will tear the gluten.”

“The… gluten?” she repeated, blinking.

His lips twitched into a thin smile. “Let it breathe.”

She stared at the lump of dough like it had personally betrayed her. “I didn’t realize bread could breathe.”

“Everything living learns to,” he murmured, and before he could think better of it, he reached forward. Their hands brushed as he adjusted her grip, gently, guiding her fingers. Her pulse leaped under his touch. His wolf rumbled low, dangerously close to surfacing.

He withdrew his hand before he could forget himself. “Like that.”

She nodded quickly her eyes darting away as her cheeks flushed bright red. Kael stepped back, putting space between them, space he suddenly hated.

He watched her for another breath, then moved on, pretending to inspect other tables. But his attention kept returning to her, the way she tilted her head when she listened to Mara, how she smiled faintly when someone told a joke, how the tension in her shoulders slowly eased.

For the first time since the war, since the rogues and blood and endless duty, Kael felt the world slow.

By afternoon, the tables were filled with loaves and pastries. The hall glowed golden with firelight, the smell of honey and bread filling the air. Laughter bounced off the walls.

Kael stood at the edge, watching her again. She was no longer the ghost that had stumbled into his territory months ago. Her skin had color now, her movements less afraid. There was light in her eyes.

When she smiled, really smiled, it undid him a little. His wolf pressed harder, restless beneath his skin, its instincts ancient and possessive. He clenched his jaw, keeping it leashed. She didn’t need that kind of hunger now, she needed safety.

And still… when she laughed, something in him answered.

Mara handed Korra a slice of bread, and Kael couldn’t stop watching the small, innocent joy that crossed her face as she tasted it. It was such a simple thing, bread, warmth and laughter, but to someone who had lived only in fear, it was everything.

He found himself smiling before he realized it. She deserved more than this half-life of hiding and flinching. He had given her shelter, yes-but she needed belonging, purpose and an education. He thought suddenly of the pack school, she could learn and build something for herself.

He would see to it, without drawing attention.

When she glanced up and caught him looking, he didn’t look away. For a moment, the noise of the hall dimmed, the rest of the world falling silent.

Mara noticed, and left them alone under some pretense.

Kael approached her table slowly. She sat straight, wary but not afraid, that was new and he liked it.

“May I?” he asked, nodding toward the seat beside her.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Of course.”

He sat, folding his arms on the table. “That’s yours?” He gestured toward her uneven loaf.

“Yes.” Her lips twitched. “It’s… my first time.”

“I could tell.”

Her brow furrowed, and he almost laughed. “It smells good,” he added quickly.

“That's your version of praise?”

He met her gaze, warmth ghosting through his chest. “You will learn to take it.”

She smiled, small but real. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me stay.”

He went still. There was no artifice in her tone, only quiet sincerity.

“You deserve it,” he said softly.

Something flickered in her eyes from disbelief, hope, grief, all tangled together. He had to look away before the ache in his chest deepened.

**************

The celebration stretched long past moonrise. They danced under lantern light, their laughter echoing through the courtyard. Kael stayed just long enough to keep appearances, then slipped away, drawn by a presence he couldn’t ignore.

He found her outside, sitting on the garden wall, wrapped in the cloak he had once left for her in the stables. Her breath rose in soft clouds, her gaze lifted to the moon.

For a long while, he said nothing. The sight of her like that peaceful and  unguarded  was enough. The moonlight traced her cheekbones, glimmered in her hair. She looked both fragile and untouchable.

“You left early,” he said at last.

She startled slightly but didn’t turn. “I needed air.”

He stepped closer, the gravel crunching softly beneath his boots. “It’s easy to forget to breathe in there, the noise is out of this world.”

She smiled faintly. “You don’t seem the type to join in.”

“I’m not,” he admitted. “But sometimes they need to see that I can.”

“And tonight?”

He looked up at the stars. “Tonight felt different.”

The silence between them stretched, gentle, full of things unsaid.

“You don’t have to fear them,” he said finally. “They have long memories, yes, but they are not all cruel.”

“I don’t fear them,” she whispered. “I just don’t know how to belong.”

He turned toward her then, something tightening behind his ribs. “You already do. They just haven’t caught up to it yet.”

Her breath hitched. She looked down quickly, blinking away the glimmer in her eyes. He wanted to reach out, to touch her hand, but didn’t. Some distances were sacred.

“I should go,” she murmured and stood.

He nodded. “Good night, Korra.”

She hesitated. “Good night… Alpha.”

When she was gone, Kael stood alone in the quiet, his breath misting in the cold air. The moonlight caught on the flour still smudged on his sleeve where she had brushed against him. He looked down at it, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“She’s healing,” he murmured to himself.

And somewhere deep within, his wolf stirred.