C-6

“You shouldn't be carrying that heavy basin, Elowen,” Lucan Blackmoor says, his voice thick with gentle concern as he steps onto the damp stone path of the Frostfang Refuge.

I keep my hands steady on the wooden edges, adjusting the weight of the freshly picked berries against my plush hip. “I might be human, Lucan, but I am certainly not broken.”

He smiles, the dark fur collar of his cloak shifting over his massive shoulders as he reaches out to take the wooden container from me anyway. “The pack elders would have my head if I let the niece of Lord Dorian Wolfhart break a sweat on midsummer eve.”

I do not bother arguing. Being a bloodless woman in the Moonfang Province means every male wolf assumes I am crafted from fragile glass. They do not understand that surviving four years in these frozen northern mountains takes a different kind of iron.

Briar trots out from behind the blossom bushes, her small boots thudding against the dirt. She holds up a glowing blue rune candle, her dark eyes shining with pure excitement. “Look, Uncle Lucan! The temple priest gave me a midsummer wish light!”

Lucan drops to one knee in the dirt, his sharp wolf senses softening entirely as he looks at my daughter. “Did you make a wish for the festival, little one?”

“I wished for mommy to always have sweet dreams,” Briar chirps, tilting her head up at me. “Mommy, do you have someone you want to meet in your sleep tonight?”

I crouch down, pulling her linen cloak tighter around her throat to block the biting alpine draft. “I do not need to wish for that, my sweet girl. I see everyone I love right here in the waking world.”

Lucan watches us, his amber eyes darkening with a heavy, unspoken affection that makes a quiet knot form in my stomach. He has been a steadfast friend since I fled the Royal Alpha Quarter, but my heart is a dead, frozen thing. It offers no spark to any male, no matter how kind.

Sullen dark clouds roll over the jagged mountain crags along the horizon, carrying a sharp, freezing gust that makes the evergreen pines howl.

Lucan immediately unfastens his heavy bear-fur mantle and drapes it over my shoulders. “Your body carries no inner warmth, Elowen. Do not let the mountain frost seep into your lungs.”

“Thank you, Lucan, but you do not need to fuss over me,” I say softly, stepping back just enough to let the mantle rest loosely without drawing it tight.

He notices the subtle distance, a faint flicker of disappointment passing over his harsh features before he smooths it away with a practiced smile. “Let us get the children inside before the storm breaks.”

He walks ahead, lifting his young nephew Michael onto his broad shoulders while Briar holds his large, calloused hand. I follow behind them, my eyes fixed on the gray cobblestones of the yard.

When we reach the wooden gate of my cottage, I turn to take Briar’s hand. “Thank you for walking us back, Lucan. You should head back to the Ironfang Guild before the snow hits the lower pass.”

He hesitates on the porch, his hand resting on the iron latch. “I could stay and help you stoke the hearth fires for the night.”

“Osric already brought a fresh load of timber this morning,” I reply with a polite, unwavering smile. “Get Michael home safely.”

He nods slowly, recognizing the firm boundary I have maintained for four long years. “Goodnight, Elowen.”

I carry a sleeping Briar through the front door, the heavy oak shutting out the howling northern wind. As I lay her down on her soft feather mattress, the communication rune on my wrist lights up with a violent, pulsing crimson flare.

I tap the stone, and Caelan Thorncroft’s low, dark voice vibrates straight into my palm, heavy with a possessive, dangerous heat.

“Is it too abrupt for me to show up now, my sweet human?”

My breath catches in my throat. I swing open the thick wooden shutters of the front window and scan the foggy yard.

Standing beneath the flickering blue glow of the street lantern is a towering, massive silhouette. He is not wearing his silver battlefield armor, but a tailored, pitch-black tunic that stretches over his absurdly broad chest and lethal shoulders. Parked in the shadow of the pine trees is his heavy obsidian carriage, the Thorncroft Alpha crest gleaming in the dark.

His stormy gray eyes find mine through the mist, reserved yet terrifyingly intense.

It has been four long years since I packed my bags and abandoned his grand estate in the Alpha Dominion District. He has grown even more imposing, exuding an effortless, predatory authority that demands every wolf in the province drop to their knees. Yet here he stands in my muddy yard, isolated and quiet.

“I need you to help me carry Briar’s winter chest inside,” I say into the rune, my voice remarkably steady despite the chaotic hammering of my heart. “The latch is frozen shut.”

A low, resonant rumble of laughter echoes through the receiver before the connection drops.

A heartbeat later, heavy leather boots crunch against the gravel. The front door opens, and Caelan steps into my entry hall, bringing the scent of crushed winter pine, ozone, and dark silver wolf blood with him. In his massive, scarred hand, he holds a bouquet of rare, frost-blooming night roses.

He sets the dark crimson flowers on the wooden table, his harsh, beautiful lips curving into a dangerous smirk. “Happy midsummer, Elowen.”

I stare at the rare blossoms, my cheeks warming despite myself. I knew the High Alpha of the Thorncroft Alpha Dominion would track me down eventually, but I never expected him to stand in my humble frontier cottage offering flowers like a suitor.

“She is already asleep in her room,” I whisper, ducking my head to avoid the burning intensity of his gray gaze.

Caelan unbuckles his heavy leather weapon belt, tossing it casually onto the wooden bench. He glides past me into Briar’s small bedchamber without a sound. When he emerges a few minutes later, his crisp black collar is unbuttoned at his throat, exposing the thick, scarred muscle of his collarbone, looking impossibly broad against my small domestic hallway.

“Do you mind if I stay the night in your den?” he rasps, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes track the curve of my waist.

I keep my expression blank, stepping over to the linen chest to pull out a thick wool blanket and a fresh feather pillow. I hand them to him without a word.

He accepts the bedding, his hot, rough fingers deliberately brushing against mine, sending a jolt of pure electricity straight up my arm. He knows the layout of this cottage as if he built it himself, turning toward the small guest quarters down the hall.

Osric Fenwick did not accompany him tonight. The High Alpha did not travel to the Moonfang Province on official tribunal business; he crossed three mountain ranges solely for me.

Over the next three days, his terrifying, dominant presence alters the quiet rhythm of my life. He scares off Lucan’s frequent visits without firing a single warning shot—merely leaning against my porch post with his arms crossed over his massive chest whenever the warrior approaches.

Every morning, Caelan walks Briar down to the Moonfang Academy Grounds, lifting her onto his broad shoulders while the local pack elders gape in absolute horror at the sight of their fearsome ruler playing the doting father. He helps me chop firewood in the backyard, his bare muscles flexing beneath the cold sun, and he even stance himself over the wooden wash basin to scrub our heavy winter linens by hand.

On Thursday afternoon, I travel down to the Silvermoon Grand Healing Temple to deliver fresh medicinal herbs from our garden.

Isolde Moonvale is still working in the apothecary wing, though her former arrogance has been completely stripped away. Since her father, High Magistrate Rowan Ashbourne, was thrown into the deep dungeons for dark magic corruption, she moves through the stone corridors like a silent ghost.

As I load the ceramic jars onto the shelf, Isolde approaches me, her arms crossed tight over her robes.

“Going back to the Frostfang Refuge so quickly, Elowen?” she asks, her voice devoid of its old venom, leaving only a hollow bitterness. “You do not need to run from me anymore. My father is in chains, and I am no threat to your position.”

I adjust a jar of dried wolfsbane, keeping my tone light and even. “I am not running from anyone, Isolde. I simply have a home to maintain.”

“We might as well sit down and share a bowl of broth in the courtyard,” she continues, her pale eyes narrowing slightly. “The whole healing council stares at us whenever we cross paths. I am tired of the awkward silence. Let us at least pretend we do not despise each other.”

I turn to face her, amused by her sudden desire for civility. “You are surprisingly direct today.”

She shrugs her narrow shoulders. “When your family line is stripped of its titles and cast into the mud, you learn to adapt. I just want to survive my shift without the pack guards watching my every move.”

“Fine,” I agree calmly.

We walk down to the stone courtyard near the Alpha Dominion District, ordering simple vegetable stews from a local vendor. The atmosphere in the capital is bustling, packed with high-born wolves and visiting diplomats from the Greystone Pack and Ravenspire Dominion.

Isolde leans across the small marble table, her dark eyes locking onto mine with sharp curiosity. “Since you are the true blood niece of Lord Dorian Wolfhart, why do you keep your bond with Caelan hidden in the shadows?”

I pause, my spoon hovering over my bowl. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you never check the official communication scrolls from the Silvermoon Capital?” she sneers softly. “The High Alpha of the Thorncroft Alpha Dominion is the most sought-after male in the seven territories. Every high-born female in the royal quarter is vying for his favor.”

I take a slow sip of my tea, feeling the heat settle in my throat. “Whatever Caelan does in his private den is no concern of mine.”

Isolde lets out a sharp, mocking laugh. “You act so indifferent, Elowen! But everyone knows that famous wolf-shifter actress, Lyanna Thornfield, accompanied him to the Grand Tribunal banquet last moon. The Moonweaver Guild spent three weeks designing her velvet dress! Yet here you are, living like an ordinary clerk in the mountains while other females parade on his arm.”

A cold prickle of irritation touches my skin, but I force my face to remain utterly calm.

“If you enjoy pack gossip so much, Isolde, you should apply for a post at the Moon Covenant Hall,” I say, rising to my feet and smoothing the skirt of my linen tunic. “My life is exactly where I want it to be.”

She snaps her head up, her face twisting with frustration. “You look down on me because my family fell! But you are just as insecure, Elowen. You hate that Caelan protects Isolde Ashbourne’s lingering pack claims, and you hate that Lyanna stands beside him at capital galas! You hide in the northern mountains because you know a bloodless human can never truly hold the throne of the High Alpha!”

Her words are meant to sting, to drag me down into the mud of low-born jealousy.

I look down at her, my voice dropping into a quiet, icy register that echoes off the stone wall. “A woman who measures her worth by the male on her arm will always remain a prisoner to his shadow. I do not care who Caelan dances with in the capital, Isolde. Because when I close my door, I answer to no one.”

I turn on my heel and walk away, leaving her sitting alone in the courtyard.

When I return to the cottage late that evening, the scent of roasted meat and mountain spices wafts through the open door. Briar is sitting on the rug near the hearth, giggling as she paints small wooden wolf figurines with blue dye.

“Mommy!” she squeals, jumping up to wrap her small arms around my knees. “Lord Caelan made roasted boar ribs for dinner! And he let me eat three sweet berries!”

I smile, smoothing her dark curls. “Where is he?”

She points toward the washhouse in the backyard. “He said your silk midsummer wraps cannot be cleaned by the mechanical ironfang rollers, so he is scrubbing them in the wooden tub!”

My jaw nearly drops to the floor.

I march straight out to the backyard. Standing beside the steaming wooden tub, hunched over a brass scrub board, is the terrifying ruler of the Thorncroft Alpha Dominion. He has shed his dark tunic, wearing only a pair of soft linen trousers that hang low on his hips, his massive, scarred back rippling with flexed muscle as he scrubs my delicate undergarments in the soapy water.

The image is so completely absurd—a lethal High Alpha washing a human woman’s intimate clothing—that my face burns with a sudden, furious blush.

Caelan glances over his shoulder, his gray eyes flashing with a wicked, possessive amusement as he sees my reddened cheeks. “You are back early, Elowen. Go inside and rest your feet. Briar saved you a slice of sweet melon.”

“Give me those,” I snap softly, stepping forward to snatch the dripping fabric from his massive hands. “You are the High Alpha! You cannot be doing the laundry in a open yard where the pack guards can see you!”

He does not let go of the fabric. Instead, he uses his grip on the silk to pull me forward, his broad, hot chest bumping directly against my soft front.

“I do not give a damn about the pack guards, Elowen,” Caelan rumbles, his deep voice vibrating against my collarbone as he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I care about taking care of my female.”

“I am not your female,” I whisper, my breath catching as his hot, rough hand strays from the tub to cup the lush, full curve of my hip, his thumb pressing possessively into my flesh through my wet apron.

“You can lie to the whole Moonfang Province, Elowen,” he snarls softly against my skin, his eyes darkening with a sudden, wild wolf heat. “But your pulse is hammering against my palm right now.”

Before I can push him away, heavy footsteps echo from the front path. Caelan releases my hip with a low, dissatisfied growl, turning his predatory gaze toward the gate.

Lucan Blackmoor walks into the yard, holding a heavy iron pot filled with freshly caught sea lobsters. His young nephew, Michael, trails closely behind him.

Lucan freezes when he sees Caelan standing bare-chested in my washhouse, his amber wolf eyes flaring with instant, aggressive territorial tension.

“High Alpha Thorncroft,” Lucan says smoothly, forcing his voice to remain respectful despite the tight clenching of his jaw. “I did not realize you were still occupying the guest quarters.”

Caelan wipes his wet hands on a linen towel, stepping out of the washhouse to stand beside me, his sheer physical size effortlessly dwarfing the local warrior.

“I am staying as long as my female requires my presence, Blackmoor,” Caelan lies without blinking, his tone dripping with lethal, dominant warning.

Lucan’s eyes flicker to me, a silent question burning in his gaze. I open my mouth to correct Caelan’s outrageous claim, but Lucan steps forward and sets the heavy iron pot on the wooden bench, keeping his focus on Briar.

“I bought these lobsters from the river fishermen down at the Silver Tide Haven,” Lucan says softly, offering me a polite nod. “Michael is allergic to shell-beasts, but I know how much Briar loves them. Keep them for her midsummer meal tomorrow.”

The silence in the yard grows suffocatingly thick, heavy with the unyielding clash of two powerful males marking their ground around a human woman who belongs to neither.