SALT ON INJURY

Tyra's POV

"Do we really have to do this?" I muttered, gripping the polished banister as I stared down at the dining hall from the top of the stairs.

The long oak table stretched almost the full length of the room, glittering with silverware and crystal, and nearly every seat was already filled. Laughter and the clink of cutlery floated up to me, warm and easy, the sound of people who belonged exactly where they were sitting.

I did not.

"Yes, we do," my mother replied gently but firmly, smoothing a wrinkle from the shoulder of my blouse. "The pack expects normalcy, sweetheart, and we cannot let them sense that anything is amiss. This ceremony is too sensitive."

"Normalcy," I repeated dryly, letting out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, right."

She squeezed my shoulder once, gave me a look that clearly said behave, then swept down the stairs to greet the elders arriving in the foyer.

I stayed where I was a moment longer, my fingers tightening on the wood.

I had given myself the talk in the mirror this morning, twice. After my mother left with her tea, after I had watched them on that training field for far longer than any self-respecting woman should, I had splashed cold water on my face and made myself a promise.

Nothing was going to affect me today.

Not the pack, not the whispers, and certainly not them. I was going to walk in there, eat my breakfast like a civilized adult, nod at the right people, and leave. Last night was a glitch, a biological misfire I would analyze later, when I could think about it without my stomach twisting into knots.

I was Dr. Tyra Valerius. I had stood in front of panels of the most brilliant minds in the world and defended my research without blinking.

I could survive a plate of eggs.

I drew in a steadying breath, squared my shoulders, and walked down the stairs.

The moment I stepped into the dining hall, the conversation fizzled out.

It didn't stop all at once. It died in a ripple that spread outward from the doorway, table by table, until the only sound left was the soft scrape of a jug as an omega froze mid-pour. Every eye in the room slid toward me, full of curiosity and judgment, along with a few smiles so polite they were almost insulting.

My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat, but I kept my chin up and walked toward the far end of the table, where the top families of the pack sat.

It didn't take long for the whispers to start.

Wolves always forgot that people like me had ears, so their idea of whispering was talking a little lower than usual. But thanks to whatever was left of the Valerius blood in my veins, my hearing was sharper than any normal human's.

I heard every single word.

"The wolfless one."

"…the defect…"

"The prodigal stepdaughter is back."

"What is she even doing here?"

I had been gone ten years; I had built an entire life on the other side of the world, and it took them less than thirty seconds to make me feel fifteen again.

I tightened my grip on my purse until the strap bit into my palm and kept walking.

Then I saw them, and my steps faltered.

They were already seated, and they looked nothing like the two men who had been trying to tear each other apart in the living room last night. Their hair was still damp from training, and their crisp shirts did absolutely nothing to hide the shoulders I had spent far too long staring at through my window. There wasn't a single mark on either of them, even though I had listened to furniture breaking beneath my room half the night.

I had forgotten how unfair werewolf healing was.

Something low in my stomach pulled tight, and I hated it immediately.

Before I could reach my seat, Osric was already on his feet, sunshine in human form as always, pulling my chair back for me with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"Morning," he said softly, his voice warm and laced with something that sounded a lot like yearning.

The sound of it went straight through me. Last night, that same voice had been raw and broken, begging me not to reject him.

I swallowed hard and gave him a stiff nod as I sat down. "Morning, Osric," I replied quietly, keeping my eyes on the napkin I was unfolding with far more concentration than any napkin deserved. "But please, don't call attention to me. Just act normal."

Alaric sat directly across from me, his posture perfect, his expression carved out of stone.

When our eyes met, he looked away so fast it was like I had burned him.

My chest squeezed painfully.

What had I even expected? A decade of looking through me like I was a smudge on a window, and I thought one night would change that? I bit the inside of my cheek and blamed the sting in my eyes on the morning light.

Nothing is going to affect you, I reminded myself firmly.

The silence in our corner of the table pressed down on all three of us until Osric let out a soft chuckle.

"Well," he drawled, reaching for the coffee pot. "This isn't awkward at all."

When neither of us answered, he tried again, completely undeterred. "So, big day," he said cheerfully, filling my cup before I could stop him. "Father's meeting the northern delegates. Alaric is going to terrify them into signing another alliance. Aren't you, brother?"

"They need stability, and we can provide it," Alaric replied evenly, cutting into his steak without looking up. "They need us more than we need them."

Osric rolled his eyes. "Translation," he said, leaning toward me like he was letting me in on a secret, "he's going to glare at them until they beg for mercy."

A small snort escaped me before I could stop it.

It was the first real sound I had made since I walked in, and I pressed my lips together as if they had betrayed me.

Osric's grin widened, bright and boyish and so pleased with himself that something in my chest went soft against my will.

But the warmth died the moment I felt it.

Alaric's gaze had snapped up and locked on me.

It was sharp, unreadable, and so heavy that I felt it like a palm pressed flat against my skin. My breath stuttered. The cup in my hand suddenly felt too hot to hold, and I shifted in my seat as a slow, treacherous warmth crept up the back of my neck.

Why was he looking at me like I had done something he couldn't decide whether to punish or forgive?

I set the cup down carefully and pretended to be very interested in the butter.

One of the omegas set a steaming dish of scrambled eggs in the middle of the table, and the smell of fresh bread drifted toward me from the basket beside it.

I reached for it at the exact moment Alaric did.

Our fingers brushed.

It was nothing, just the barest graze of his knuckles against mine for a fraction of a second. But heat shot up my arm like I had touched a live wire, so fast and so sudden that it stole the air from my lungs. It raced through my veins, spread across my chest, then sank lower, pooling heavy and molten between my thighs.

My pussy clenched around nothing, right there at the breakfast table in front of half the pack.

I jerked my hand back so violently that it knocked into my place setting, sending my fork and knife skidding off the table and clattering onto the stone floor.

The sound echoed through the hall like a gunshot.

Heads snapped toward us. I felt the weight of every stare land on me, felt the heat flood my cheeks, but the moment those eyes slid to Alaric, whatever they found on his face made them drop to their plates instantly.

I didn't dare look at him. If I looked at him right now, I was terrified of what my face would give away.

Osric was already out of his chair, crouching beside mine to gather the fallen cutlery, his brows drawn together. "You okay?" he asked quietly, setting a fresh fork and knife beside my plate.

He was so close that his scent wrapped around me, pine and sun-warmed skin, and my traitorous heart picked up speed all over again.

"I'm fine," I lied quickly, my voice coming out thinner than I wanted.

I picked up my tea and took a sip just to give my hands something to do, but the cup trembled against my lips, and I knew they both saw it.

"You should eat," Alaric said quietly, his voice low and rough in a way I had never heard from him before. "You didn't come down for dinner last night."

Something hot and ugly flared in my chest.

After ten years of silence and being treated like a stain he couldn't scrub out of his perfect family, now he wanted to monitor my eating habits?

"I said I'm fine," I bit out, setting the cup down a little too hard.