CHAPTER 7: The Weight of Silver

POV: Freya

Three weeks of walls and wood grain. They moved me out of the healing center and into a private room right inside Zevren's pack house. The hallways here practically vibrated with whispers.

Whispers like; why is the Alpha keeping a piece of Shadowbrook trash? What is she doing here? I used to care about stuff like that. Now, I just shut my ears to it. I had bigger problems to worry about.

Like the fact that I could actually walk now, even if my side gave a nasty pull every time I took a corner too fast. Or the other fact. The one that was starting to show. My belly was just beginning to curve, a tiny secret hidden right under the loose shirts Zevren started leaving for me.

He never said a word about it and I hadn't told him either, but I wasn't stupid. Hester definitely put it in her reports, and Zevren wasn't the type to miss a detail like that.

He had me out in the garden by dawn for training.

We started with meditation, which sounded easy until I actually sat cross legged on the cold ground trying to follow his breathing patterns. My mind just wouldn't shut up. Then came the physical drills. A lot of stretching, holding weird balances, and moving in ways that looked like some slow dance but left my muscles completely shaking after two minutes. I was still weak…way weaker than I wanted to admit.

But Zevren didn't snap at me, he just adjusted the drills, finding whatever my body could actually handle, all while those eyes of his watched my every move.

We were in the middle of a balance drill when I tried to push through the burning in my thighs. Bad idea. My knees just turned to water, and my legs gave out under me.

Before I could face-plant into the dirt, Zevren caught me. His arm whipped around my waist, pulling me up tight against him. My back was pressed right to his chest.

He held me for a second longer than he needed to, his arm like an iron bar against my ribs before he slowly let his grip loosen. I stumbled back a step, trying to find my footing on the grass, my face burning.

He didn't look away, his eyes dropped to my side, right where the loose shirt had hitched up, exposing the ugly puckered skin of the wound.

“The scar,” Zevren said, “Who gave it to you, Freya?”

I touched the fabric over my ribs, the skin underneath throbbing like it remembered the blade. “I don't know his name. It all happened so fast.”

“Tell me what you remember. Every detail.”

I swallowed the dry lump in my throat, looking out over the garden rows so I didn't have to look at him. “He had gray hair and massive shoulders. And his eyes, they looked like flint. Just completely blank and gray. I remember the sound of the steel when he drew it. And then the cold water closing over my head after he pushed me in.”

Zevren’s jaw tightened, the easy, patient look he usually wore vanished, his expression turning completely dark, like a storm rolling in over the trees.

“Gray hair. Flint eyes,” Zevren repeated, the words coming out low, almost to himself. “That sounds exactly like someone from the Shadowbrook elder guard. A faction completely loyal to Selene’s family, those men don't think. They just carry out orders without asking questions.”

He stopped talking and didn't say Kaelen's name. He didn't have to.

My mind just stopped, freezing up before it started looping the same awful realization over and over. Selene’s people. The elder guard. But who holds the leash? Who actually signs the execution orders in Shadowbrook? Kaelen. It always came back to him. He probably sat at that big clean desk of his, nodded his head, and let Selene’s hounds do the messy work.

“They were thorough,” I muttered, my voice sounding hollow.

“Freya...”

“It doesn't matter,” I interrupted, cutting him off before he could offer whatever pity he had lined up. Kaelen gave the order, Selene’s people made it happen, and honestly? The difference between the two didn't mean a damn thing to me anymore. They both wanted me gone.

“We should get back to the drills,” I said, forcing my eyes back to his, even though my hands were still shaking inside my pockets.

×××

Nerissa brought up a tray of roasted meat and root vegetables that evening, but instead of dropping it off and scurrying out like she used to, she sat down on the edge of the extra chair with her own small bowl. Over the last three weeks, the quiet girl had started to thaw, spilling little pieces of how things worked around here.

“The hierarchy is brutal,” Nerissa said, picking at her food. “If you're weak, you get pushed to the fringes. That's just how Blackthorn always was. Until Zevren.”

I chewed slowly, watching her face light up a bit. “What did he do?”

“He took power five years ago. It was messy, but he changed everything. He gave the lower ranks a purpose and brought hope back to a pack that was failing.”

“A lot of people are still scared of him, though,” Nerissa mumbled, her voice dropping back into that whisper. She looked at her lap. “And some of them... they don't really trust why he's spending so much time with you.”

I paused, my fork halfway to my mouth. “Why? What are they saying?”

“They think he's collecting you.” Nerissa’s face instantly turned bright red, her eyes widening like she’d just leaked a state secret. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Forget I said that.”

“Collecting me?” I leaned forward, the word feeling weird in my chest. “Kike a prize? Like a weapon? Nerissa, what does that mean?”

She shook her head fast, her curls flying around her face as she scrambled to her feet with her empty bowl. “It's nothing. I have to go. The kitchens will be closing.”

She practically ran out the door, leaving me alone with a half eaten dinner and a brain that wouldn't stop spinning.

By midnight, the walls of the room felt like they were actively closing in on me. I couldn't just lie there and let my thoughts eat me alive. I needed to move and get out of my own skin.

I stood up in the center of the dark room, closed my eyes, and reached for my wolf.

The shift hit me like a blow to the chest. It was agonizingly slow, my bones cracking and reshaping at a snail's pace, my side burning like the stitches were ripping all over again. I had to bury my face in the blankets so I wouldn't scream. But finally, the fur broke through.

When I padded over to the long mirror by the wardrobe, I froze. This wasn't the wolf I used to see… I was much bigger. My fur had gone from a dusty gray to a dark, near black shade, and when I blinked, my eyes didn't show my usual hazel. They were glowing with that sharp, eerie silver light from my dreams.

I slipped out the window and into the garden, my paws hitting the grass without a sound. I just needed to run. I tore through the rows of midnight blooms, the wind hitting my face, my lungs expanding until the restlessness started to fade out of my blood.

But then I caught a scent.

I slid to a halt to see Zevren standing at the edge of the stone path. He was still in his human form, his arms crossed over his chest, just watching me move.

He just gave this slow, single nod of his head.

It wasn't a greeting. It felt like I’d just passed some twisted test I didn't even know I was taking, and a cold shiver ran right down my spine.

Before I could even try to push myself up, something thick and woolly was draped over my shoulders. A blanket.

Zevren knelt down in the grass beside me. He didn't move away after putting the blanket on; instead, his hand lingered right against my collarbone. His palm was incredibly warm, the heat of it cutting straight through the heavy fabric and sinking into my skin.

“Your wolf is beautiful, Freya,” he said, “She's been waiting a very long time to breathe.”

I forced my head up, looking straight into his green eyes. My chest was heaving, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Right then, looking at him, I felt this weird, sudden shift deep inside me. It wasn't the mate bond. That thing was still a dead, hollow ache in my chest.

This was completely different. It felt like gratitude, but laced with something else like danger. The two things were so twisted together I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

He was helping me…the only one who didn't want me dead.

I knew I should move. I knew I should pull back, get to my feet, and put some distance between us. But I didn't. I just stayed right there in the dirt, letting his hand keep me warm.