(Calla's POV)The air was thinner here, pine-smelling and cold. Each time I trekked these hills to the cottage of the old seer, it was another world.Freya marched alongside me in her characteristically calm way, but I could feel the inquiry humming under her skin. We had both been through so much, and yet here we were again, seeking answers.Asher's gentle laughter arose in my memory, the way he'd been racing Rowan around the courtyard that day. He had been okay, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright, but a mother remembers what she witnesses. That fever.The frailty. How his tiny hands had clung to me. Even now, months later, the recollection could leave me breathless.I shifted the basket in my arms, loaded with offerings the seer would never refuse: a bouquet of Freya's garden herbs, honey from the bees of our pack, a small silver coin Asher had insisted on including "for good luck."Freya glanced over at me. "You're not saying much.""I'm thinking," I said softly."About him?" she
(Calla's POV)Night had descended over the packhouse, an unbroken scent of home. The hallways echoed with the fragrance of woodsmoke and soap from afternoon cleaning together with residual remnants of the dinner meal.Everyone else had left hours earlier, Rowan on a late watch, his ring of footsteps down the hall muffled in silence. Freya and Knox had retreated to their rooms, their muffled muttering echoing far away behind closed doors.The first time in what felt like an eternity, there was only Asher and I.His small hand tugged on mine as we sneaked quietly into his room, his bare feet producing barely any sound on the wooden floors. "Mama," he whispered, stern serious eyes in half-darkness of hall. "Sleep with me tonight?""Of course," I answered, tugging harder on his fingers. "I was hoping you would."The bedroom lamps glowed softly, casting yellow pools of light onto wolf- and star-painted walls. His bed was a pile of blankets and a hillside of snuggly toys, one of them positi
(Calla's POV)The scent of freshly baked bread had wafted down the corridor ahead of us when we walked into the dining hall. It was warm and yeasty and encompassed me like a mantle.After all those months of iron and ash and blood, even the clatter of plates against a table felt like magic.I stayed in the doorway, letting the moment seep in. The enormous oak table had been cleaned until it glowed. Candelight pool-ed at its center, throwing shadows across platters of roasted vegetables, stew-bowls, a loaf of warm black bread fresh from the oven. Someone, Freya, I guess, had placed sprigs of rosemary and wildflowers among the dishes. It wasn't elegant, but it was home.Home. I had savored the word on my lips and near-cried.The dining room itself had breathed happiness. Shadows had danced upon the walls, softer than they'd danced in months. No bitter fluorescent lights, no metal countertops, wood and stone and the gentle flicker of flame.Windows had been flung open to let the evening
(Rowan's POV)For one heartbeat after Drax's words, the world spun. My fist curled toward the knife at my side. The wolf in me snarled, muscles coiled to attack.After everything, Lena's deception, Cyrus's falsehood, Calla's near-death, the one thing I could not manage without was another adversary on my doorstep demanding "payment."But the hunter didn't flinch at my glare. He just stood up from the doorway, arms loose at his sides, eyes fixed. His smile had disappeared into something expressionless.It wasn't the grin on a man who was going to blackmail us. It was something. tired. Worn. Like stone worn smooth by too many storms.I stepped between Calla and whatever danger threatened her, automatically. She stayed seated on the bed, Asher over her side as if she'd disappear again.Freya was standing back just behind me, quiet as a ghost, her hand relaxed on the hilt of her sword."What do you think you're owed?" My voice was low and rough, the Alpha command threading through every w
(Calla’s POV)The first thing I felt was the light. For a second, I wanted to assume it was another fever dream. The space I’ve been stuck in for the past days, that was dry and muffled. But all of a sudden, I began to feel warmth. A real warmth against my skin.Not the cold heat I was feeling before but a human’s warmth. I felt two sets of arms.It was Rowan and Asher. They were hugging me from both sides.Their mixed cedar and smoke and milk sevenths filled me up. And it was the first real thing I’d felt in what felt like forever.I opened my eyes.Rowan’s face was above mine, his eyes raw and shining. “Calla,” he breathed, as though saying my name might make me vanish again.“Rowan?” My voice came out cracked, but it was mine.He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. He bent, pressing his forehead to mine, then pulled me close. Asher squealed a happy sound and wrapped his arms around my neck.“You’re back,” Rowan whispered.“I… I think so,” I murmured, closing my eyes
(Rowan's POV)I'd thought the worst was past us when the hunter came to our door with Lena. Her wrists were tied, her eyes blazing dark like a fox caught in the trap.From the moment she crossed the threshold into our house, the whole house changed. The air was thicker, heavier, as if Calla's displeasure had been in waiting for its maker to turn the key.We had put her in the rear study, windows shut, thick drapes closed. Not even sentries at the door could keep me in my chair. My son slept in a heap of covers beside the fire.The only unbroken beat in the room was the gentle snore that came from him. Asher would shudder and scream periodically; I'd embrace him, brush his hair, and repeatedly tell him, "Papa's here. Mama will be back right away." Words that I prayed were not a lie.The farewell smile of the hunter lingered. He materialized at dusk like a ghost in a bad dream, Lena following along behind him under his arm in the dumpy style of a merchant dumping goods.No apology made