Chapter 5 The Claim

 (Arlo)

The scent of blood is still thick in my nose. Not hers, thank the gods. But I’ve been smelling it all night.

And if I think too long about how close she came to dying, my hands still itch to shift. To destroy something. Someone.

They gather again in the courtyard by first light, summoned not by request but command. The Alpha King doesn’t ask. He tells.

Hilda stands beside me. Not quite leaning on me, but close enough that I feel the heat of her.

She insisted on walking, despite the medic’s protests, despite the fact that her shoulder is still half-stitched and her breath shallow.

Stubborn. Damned infuriatingly brave. Fucking perfect in every way.

She hasn’t said much since the hunt. A few quiet words. A challenge, even while half-conscious. But her silence now says more than a speech ever could.

She wants them to see her like this. Standing, unbroken, despite everything they’ve done.

Good. Let them look and see what they’ve lost.

Soren comes out last, flanked by Cerelia and his Beta. His posture is careful. Controlled. But the moment his eyes land on Hilda, the mask slips. For half a breath, he just looks… wrecked.

Cerelia sees it. Her expression doesn’t change, but her fingers curl in the folds of her robe.

I wait until they’re all gathered.

“Hilda is leaving with me,” I tell them.

The words land like stone in water. No gasps. Just a ripple of tension. Shock. A few brows raise. Damon pales. Good. Let the bastard sweat.

“She is my mate,” I continue. “And she is no longer safe among you.”

Soren’s jaw tightens. “That’s not possible. And of course she’s safe here.”

“Careful Alpha Soren. I don’t react well to being called a liar. Hilda. Is. My. Mate. And she was hunted like prey in your forest yesterday.”

“That can’t be-” He falters, then stops. “You can’t just take her away from me.”

Cerelia flinches at his choice of words.

I don’t look away from him. “She is not an object. She’s not something to be passed from Alpha to Alpha like territory. I am not asking. The bond between us is very real and very permanent.”

A pause. Then Hilda speaks, quiet and razor-sharp. “He sees me. That’s more than I can say for any of you.”

Soren’s face goes blank.

I step forward, invoking the formal words, even if I want to growl them instead. “As Alpha King, I claim my right to remove my mate from an unfit pack. If any wish to contest my claim, speak now.”

No one does.

Cerelia dips her head slightly. Not approval. Not welcome. But acceptance.

She’s smart. She knows when a tide has turned. And she must be delighted to have Soren’s first mate out of her house.

Hilda doesn’t wait for permission. Her pace is slow but deliberate as she takes my arm and walks with me out of the courtyard.

She doesn’t look back.

We shift just past the Northern Ridge, her wolf small and still trembling from pain. I keep close. Not too close. Just enough that she feels me there. A steady presence in the dark.

We don’t speak again until we cross into my lands.

It’s past midnight by the time the stone gates rise into view, looming above us like the jaws of some old beast.

My home is a fortress, far more sinister-looking than her previous pack’s holdings. Less ceremonial. Built for protection. Not pageantry.

She looks up at the towers with unreadable eyes.

“Welcome to the Hollow,” I murmur.

“Hollow,” she echoes. “How charming.”

I smirk. “You’ll learn to love it.”

The keep is already lit when we arrive. Percy leans against the outer arch, arms crossed, one brow raised. I ignore him.

Hilda walks under the portcullis like she’s entering enemy ground. Chin up, steps slow but sure. Even wounded, she’s fierce.

I can’t fathom how badly I want her.

I show her to the southern wing myself. Past the main hall, past the Luna’s chambers, which she stiffens at, as expected, and into a set of private rooms I had prepared two days ago, long before I had any right to.

They’re warm. High ceilings. Thick furs. A copper tub already steaming. Bread and broth wait on the tray.

She surveys it all with a calculating stare. “Expecting royalty?”

“Expecting you,” I say.

Her eyes snap to mine.

The bond sings. Gods, it sings. Loud and unbearable. Like it knows it’s being ignored and is preparing to make a scene.

She sways slightly. Exhaustion, or something else. I reach out instinctively. She doesn’t flinch when I brush a hand down her arm.

“I’ll be down the hall,” I say. “Only two doors away. If you need anything.”

She doesn’t answer.

I turn to go.

“Why are you being so kind to me?” she asks suddenly.

I stop. Look over my shoulder. “Because I can’t stop thinking about tearing the throats out of anyone who’s ever hurt you.”

She breathes in. Sharp and shallow.

“That’s not kindness,” she says.

“It’s what I have.”

I leave her then, before I say something worse. Before I give in to the pull between us and do something we’ll both regret.

There’s a letter waiting on my desk.

High Circle summons. Political nonsense. Threats in the East. Rumors of rebellion stirring in the southern reaches.

But all I can think about is the woman down the hall, wrapped in bandages and steel, trying to hate me. Trying to stay upright when the world’s been burning around her.

She’s mine.

And soon enough she’ll realize it.