Chapter 3 The Deal

The fire crackled in the hearth. I sat in the chair Xavia had pointed to, my hands resting on my knees, my nails still digging into my palms. His coat was still wrapped around my shoulders, heavy and warm, and the scent of ozone and wet slate clung to me like a second skin.

My body was exhausted, but my mind was racing. The bond hummed in my chest, a constant reminder that I was sitting in an enemy fortress, drinking from a bottle he had given me.

Xavia stood across from me, his back to the fire. The flames cast shadows across his face, making him look even more unreadable. He had been watching me since we walked in—not staring exactly, but studying, like I was a wound he was trying to diagnose.

"You're shaking," he said.

I looked at my hands. They were trembling against my thighs. I pressed them flat and forced them still.

"I'm fine."

"You're not." He walked to the desk and pulled open a drawer, taking out a small glass bottle filled with dark liquid. "Drink this."

I stared at it. "What is it?"

"Wolfsbane and honey. It'll steady your nerves."

"You keep wolfsbane in your desk?"

"I keep a lot of things in my desk." He set it in front of me. "Drink, or don't. I don't care either way."

I picked it up. It was warm through the glass. I uncorked it and took a sip—bitter, then sweet. The trembling in my hands eased almost immediately.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

He nodded. He did not sit. He leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossed, studying me like I was a map he was trying to read. The firelight caught the scars on his arms—old ones, faded, but I could see the pattern. They were not from fighting. They were from something else.

I pulled his coat tighter around my shoulders without thinking.

He noticed. His eyes flicked down to the coat, then back to my face.

"You're still wearing that," he said.

I looked down. I had forgotten it was his. "Oh. I can give it back—"

"Keep it."

The words came out flat, almost dismissive, but I caught something underneath them. Something softer. I did not know what to do with that.

"Your father," he said. "What's his name?"

I tensed. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because I need to know what I'm dealing with. You have family—people who care about you. That makes you vulnerable."

"I'm not vulnerable."

He raised an eyebrow. "You're sitting in an enemy fortress, drinking wolfsbane from a bottle I handed you. You're either brave or stupid."

"Maybe both."

A flicker of something crossed his face—not quite a smile, but close. It softened the hard lines of his face for just a moment.

"Your father," he said again. "Name?"

"Thomas. Thomas Fritz."

"He's a healer?"

"Was. The head herbalist of the Iron-Claw Collective. Before I got exiled, and they took everything from him."

Xavia tilted his head. "They took his position?"

"They took our home, our status, everything." I swallowed. The words tasted like ash. "I wasn't just rejected. I was erased."

"By Ezekiel?"

"By his council. But he didn't stop them."

Xavia was quiet for a moment. The fire popped. The bond hummed. Then he said, "He's weak."

"He's not weak. He's careful. He always does what he thinks is right for the pack."

"And what about what's right for you?"

I did not answer. I could not answer. Because I did not know what was right for me anymore. I had spent twenty-two years being useful, being invisible, being what everyone else needed. I had never asked myself what I wanted.

Xavia pushed off from the desk and walked toward me. He stopped a few feet away, close enough that I could smell ozone and wet slate even through his coat. The bond pulsed, and I hated how natural it felt.

"You're angry," he said. "Not just sad. Angry."

"Of course I'm angry."

"Then use it."

I looked up at him. "Use it for what?"

"For whatever you want." He crouched down in front of me so we were eye level. His amber eyes caught the firelight, and I could see flecks of gold in them. "You have a bond with me now—a second bond. That makes you rare. Valuable."

"To you."

"To anyone who knows what it means." He paused, his voice dropping quieter, almost intimate. "You're not just a healer's daughter. You're something more. You just don't know it yet."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true." He stood up and walked back to the desk. He did not look at me when he spoke next. "The deal I offered you—information for protection—it still stands. But I'm offering you more."

"More?"

"A place. Not just a room in my fortress, but a real place. I'll give you access to my archives, my healers, my resources. You want to understand what you are? I'll help you find the answers."

I stared at him. My chest felt tight. "Why? You don't even know me."

"I don't need to know you to know what you're worth."

His words hit me like a slap. I stood up, the chair scraping against the stone floor. His coat fell from my shoulders, pooling at my feet.

"I'm not a transaction."

"I never said you were."

"You just said I was worth something."

"To me," he said, turning to face me. His eyes were steady, unblinking. "Not to my pack. Not to my council. To me."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words died in my throat. There was something in his voice that I did not expect—honesty. It was disarming. I sat back down, my knees weak.

I reached for his coat, but he was faster. He picked it up and draped it over my shoulders himself. His fingers brushed my neck, light and brief, and I felt the touch all the way down my spine.

"I don't trust you," I said.

"Good. Trust is earned, not given."

"And what do I have to do to earn your trust?"

He smiled, sharp and knowing. "Show me you're not just a victim. Show me you can fight."

I clenched my fists. "I'm a healer. I don't fight."

"Then learn."

I stared at him. He stared back. The bond pulsed between us, warm and steady, and I hated how much it made me feel—how it made me feel safe.

"What happens to my father?" I asked. "If I stay here, what happens to him?"

"Nothing," Xavia said. "I'll have him brought here safely. He'll be protected."

"You can do that?"

"I'm an Alpha. I can do a lot of things."

I should have said no. I should have walked out of that fortress and found my own way. I should have run into the woods and let the cold take me.

But I thought about my father, alone and afraid in the Iron-Claw Collective. I thought about Ezekiel, standing in the pack hall, letting his council erase me like I was nothing. I thought about the bond in my chest, and how it felt more real than anything I had ever felt in my life.

And I thought about the way Xavia's hands had felt on my shoulders, the way his eyes had softened for just a moment, the way his coat still smelled like him.

"Fine," I said. "I accept."

Xavia studied me for a long moment. The firelight danced across his face. Then he said, "Good. Because there's something you need to know."

"What?"

"The second bond—it's not just rare. It's impossible."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it shouldn't exist. The moon gives one wolf one mate. That's the way it's always been."

"But I feel it. I feel both."

"I know." He stepped closer, his voice low, almost a whisper. "That's why you're dangerous. That's why Ezekiel was afraid—not because you're weak, but because you're something he couldn't control."

I stood there, my heart pounding and the weight of his words settling over me like a blanket. I was cold, I was terrified, and somewhere deep in my chest, I was alive.

"I'm not dangerous," I whispered.

He smiled. "Not yet."

The door swung open. A tall man with graying hair and sharp eyes stood in the doorway. He looked at me, then at Xavia. His presence filled the room like a storm.

"Alpha," he said. "We need to talk."

Xavia didn't move. "Later, Callum."

"It's about the Iron-Claw Collective. They're mobilizing."

I felt the air shift. Xavia's eyes flicked toward me, then back to Callum.

"We'll talk after I'm done," he said.

Callum's gaze settled on me, his expression unreadable. "She's the one."

It was not a question.

"Yes," Xavia said. "She is."

Callum looked at me for a long moment. Then he nodded. "I'll prepare the rooms."

He left. The door closed behind him.

I looked at Xavia. "He doesn't like me."

"He doesn't trust you yet. Neither do I." He stepped around the desk. "But trust isn't given. It's earned. Show me you're worth it."

I swallowed, my throat dry. "I will."

"I know." He paused. "Because if you don't, I'll have you removed. Permanently."

I did not flinch. "I understand."

"Good." He gestured toward the door. "Follow Callum. He'll show you to your room. Rest. Tomorrow, we start your training."

I walked toward the door. I reached for the handle, then stopped.

"Xavia," I said.

"Yes?"

"Why me? Out of all the wolves in the world, why me?"

He did not answer right away. The fire crackled. The bond hummed. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost vulnerable.

"Because the moon doesn't make mistakes. And I've been waiting a long time for something I didn't even know I was missing."

I opened the door and walked out.

And then I saw it.

A figure standing in the shadows at the end of the hallway. Watching me.

I knew those eyes.

Ezekiel.