All Chapters of Claws on Ice: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Harlan's POVMiller's idea of an appropriate bachelor party turned out to be renting the rink for two hours after closing and calling it "athletic bonding," which was either the most on-brand thing he'd ever organized or a transparent excuse to play hockey with his friends one more time before I got, in his words, "domesticated.""To be clear," Miller announced, dropping a bag of gear beside the bench, "this is not a bachelor party. This is athletic bonding. I checked. There's a difference.""What's the difference?""Athletic bonding doesn't require a stripper, and Coach specifically threatened my future on this team if I even considered one." He grinned, entirely unrepentant. "Also I couldn't find one who does house calls to a hockey rink on a Tuesday. Logistics won."Coach showed up briefly too, gruffly claiming he was "just checking the ice conditions" despite the fact that summer maintenance schedules didn't typically require personal inspection at eight in the evening. He stayed

Harlan's POVI sat in the garden long after everyone else had gone to bed, the same bench Trixie and I had claimed as ours weeks ago, trying to write something worth saying tomorrow and mostly just staring at a blank page instead, my wolf restless with the same nervous energy that had been building in me all week. The estate was quiet in the particular way it only got late at night, crickets somewhere beyond the hedges, a single porch light left on for stragglers, an entire household finally settling after a week that had somehow managed to be both the most joyful and the most exhausting of the whole summer. Three attempts already lay crumpled at my feet, each one starting strong and dissolving somewhere in the middle into something that sounded more like a toast than an actual vow, more performance than truth. I'd tried starting with the prophecy, with the gathering, with the whole dramatic arc of the year, and every single version had felt hollow the moment I read it back, too con

Harlan's POVI woke before Trixie the morning after the ceremony, sunlight already climbing through unfamiliar curtains in the small cottage my father had quietly arranged for us on the estate grounds, my wolf settled and quiet in a way it had never quite managed to be before yesterday, and spent a long moment just watching her sleep, still faintly amazed that yesterday had actually happened exactly the way we'd hoped it would. The cottage was small, barely more than two rooms, but it was ours in a way nothing else quite had been yet, chosen and prepared specifically for exactly this transition, a quiet space tucked far enough from the main estate to feel private without being isolated."You're staring," she mumbled, eyes still closed, a smile tugging at her mouth despite the early hour."I'm allowed to stare. You're my wife now. I checked the paperwork.""There's no paperwork. This is a werewolf pack, not a courthouse.""There's metaphorical paperwork. I'm choosing to believe in it.

Harlan's POVWe returned from the mountains to find an entire week's worth of pack business waiting, most of it mundane, some of it considerably less so. Trixie handled the mundane pile with a patience I genuinely admired, working through a stack of correspondence from pack members eager to formally welcome her, invitations to dinners and small gatherings she'd apparently already committed to attending before I'd even finished unpacking the car."You're popular," I told her, watching her sort through what had to be at least twenty separate notes."I'm novel," she corrected. "Give it a few months and half these people will forget I ever left the estate long enough to warrant an invitation.""I doubt that.""We'll see."Declan found me at the estate within an hour of our return, my wolf picking up on the weight of unspoken news before he even opened his mouth, expression carrying the particular heaviness of something that had been sitting unspoken for a few days already."Vale's territo

Harlan's POVThe first practice of the new season arrived faster than I expected, summer's slow, healing rhythm giving way almost overnight to the familiar chaos of school schedules and early morning ice time, and something about lacing up skates again after everything that had happened felt like closing one chapter and opening another simultaneously, my wolf settling into the familiar rhythm of the rink like it had never actually left.The garden had produced its last real harvest the week before, tomato vines finally slowing as the air turned crisper, and Trixie's mother had already started talking about what to plant for the following spring with the same careful optimism she brought to everything these days.Council business had settled into a manageable rhythm too, quarterly review sessions with the Nightprowlers running smoothly enough that my father had started delegating more of the routine correspondence directly to me, a small, steady accumulation of actual responsibility th