5: Rules Of The Den

The room Torin leads her to is beautiful, but it feels like a museum. The bed is huge, covered in heavy furs, and the windows look out over the dark, endless trees of the Iron-Wood.

"Here we are," Torin says, setting her suitcase down. He seems much more relaxed than Alaric. "The Alpha’s—I mean, Alaric’s—private wing. You’re safe here. Nobody comes up here without his permission."

Juniper sets her cat carrier on the bed and lets her cat, Miso, out. Miso immediately hisses at the air and hides under the bed.

"Even the cat knows this place is weird," Juniper mutters. She turns to Torin. "Why does everyone here act like they’re in a cult? And why did that woman, Vesper, say I was a 'snack'?"

Torin rubs the back of his neck, looking guilty. "We’re just... protective of our land. We don't get many city folk out here. As for Vesper, she’s just got a mean streak. Don't let her get under your skin."

"I want to see the greenhouse," Juniper says firmly. "Alaric said I could work."

Torin leads her downstairs and through a glass-covered walkway. The estate’s greenhouse is massive—ten times the size of hers. It’s filled with rare plants she has only read about in books. For a moment, Juniper forgets she’s being held captive for her "safety."

"Wow," she breathes, reaching out to touch a shimmering blue fern.

"It's impressive, isn't it?"

She spins around. Alaric is standing in the doorway. He has changed into a dark sweater, and he looks slightly less like a warrior and more like a man. But the intensity in his eyes hasn't changed.

"Torin, leave us," Alaric commands.

Torin nods quickly and vanishes. Juniper bristles. "You really like giving orders, don't you?"

"It’s my job to make sure things run smoothly," Alaric says, walking toward her. He stops just a few feet away. "Do you have everything you need?"

"I need to know the rules, Alaric. I'm not a prisoner."

Alaric leans against a wooden workbench. "There are only three rules, Juniper. First, do not leave the estate walls without me. Second, do not go into the basement. And third..."

He pauses, his gaze dropping to her neck where her pulse is jumping.

"Third?" she prompts.

"If you hear howling at night," he says softly, "close your curtains and stay in your room. No matter what you hear. No matter how curious you get."

"Because of the 'dogs'?" Juniper asks, her voice mocking. "The ones that save me and then disappear?"

Alaric’s expression hardens. "Because the woods at night are not for humans. Promise me, Juniper."

"Fine. No moonlit walks. Anything else?"

"One more thing," Alaric says. He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His touch is like a lightning bolt. Juniper freezes, her heart hammering against her ribs. "There is a dinner tonight. The heads of my... organization... want to meet the woman I’ve brought into my home."

"A dinner? I don't have a dress for a fancy dinner!"

"It’s already in your room," Alaric says. He leans in closer, his scent of rain and wood filling her senses. "Just be yourself, Juniper. But don't let them intimidate you. They respect strength."

The dinner is a nightmare.

Juniper sits at a long oak table in a dining hall that looks like something out of a medieval castle. She is wearing a simple forest-green dress that Alaric provided. Across from her sits Vesper and three older men with grey hair and cold, hard eyes. They are the Council.

Alaric sits at the head of the table, looking like a king.

"She smells of lavender and dirt," one of the old men sneers. "Tell us, Alaric, why is a common gardener sitting at the high table of the Iron-Wood?"

"She is my guest," Alaric says, his voice a low warning.

"She is a liability," Vesper interrupts, her eyes fixed on Juniper. "The Shadow-Fang pack already knows she’s here. They saw the fight at her cottage. Bringing a human here is like hanging a sign that says 'Weakness' on our front gate."

Juniper has had enough. She puts her fork down with a loud clatter.

"I am sitting right here," Juniper says, her voice steady. "I have a name. It’s Juniper. And if you’re so worried about 'weakness,' maybe you should spend less time talking and more time fixing your fences."

The table goes silent. Torin, sitting at the end, coughs to hide a laugh. Vesper looks like she’s about to leap across the table.

The oldest man, Elder Vance, narrows his eyes. "You have a sharp tongue, girl. But in our world, tongues are cut out for less."

"Enough!" Alaric’s voice booms, vibrating the water in Juniper’s glass. He stands up, his eyes glowing a faint, dangerous gold. "Juniper is under my protection. Anyone who speaks against her, speaks against me. Is that understood?"

The Council members lower their heads. Even Vesper looks away, though she is fuming.

"Dinner is over," Alaric snaps.

He walks around the table and grabs Juniper’s hand, pulling her out of the room before she can say another word. He doesn't stop until they are back in the quiet hallway of his private wing.

He turns her around to face him, his hands still on her arms. He looks energized, almost happy. "You stood up to Vance."

"He was being a jerk," Juniper huffs, trying to catch her breath. "Who do they think they are?"

"They are tradition," Alaric says. He looks down at her, a strange look of pride in his eyes. "And you just broke a hundred years of it by talking back. You’re braver than you look, Little Wildflower."

For a moment, the tension between them shifts. It’s no longer about danger or rules. It’s about the way Alaric is looking at her lips. He leans down, his breath warm against her skin.

Suddenly, a long, mournful howl echoes from outside the window. Then another. And another.

Alaric pulls back instantly, his body going rigid. His eyes turn dark.

"Go to your room, Juniper," he says, his voice sounding strained, almost like he’s in pain. "Lock the door."

"Alaric? What’s wrong?"

"Now!" he growls.

Juniper doesn't wait. She runs to her room and slams the door, turning the key. She leans against the wood, her heart racing.

Outside, the howling grows louder. It sounds like a hundred wolves are gathered right outside the walls.

She walks to the window and pulls the curtain back just an inch. Below, in the courtyard, she sees shadows moving. Huge, dark shapes running toward the woods.

And at the front of the pack is a massive black wolf.

He stops for a second and looks up at her window. Even from this far away, she recognizes those amber eyes.

"No," she whispers, her hand flying to her mouth. "It can't be."

The black wolf lets out a powerful howl that shakes the very glass of her window, then vanishes into the trees.

Juniper sinks to the floor. Her "bodyguard," the man who bought her tea, and the monster in the woods—they are all the same.

She isn't at a retreat. She’s in a den of wolves.