Chapter 3: Accepting the Pact
1627 Words
Of all the stupid, impossible ultimatums she’d survived, this one took the cake.
Thalia paced the cramped holding room—her prison, for now—counting the cracks in the pine floor and the seconds until someone returned. Her heart thudded, a drumbeat of nerves and fury.
Pretend to be a wolf’s mate. In front of an entire pack. With a man whose jaw could cut glass and who’d probably kill me for sneezing wrong. Sure. Why not?
She scowled at the runes stitched into the blanket. Some were familiar, old protection spells from before the split between witches and wolves. Others were less comforting—wards against magic, meant to dampen her gifts, even if she could access them.
Not that I have much to show for it. A flicker here, a headache there. So much for the vaunted “witch’s power.”
She touched her wrist, half-expecting to find the scars she’d earned in her old life.
Nothing but smooth skin.
It’s not my body. It’s not my life. Not anymore.
A memory flashed—running through the woods, the world painted silver and blue, breath coming in ragged gasps. Shouts behind her. Wolves baying. And then—pain. A sharp, shattering cold. A man’s voice, low and hungry: “No one escapes us, witch.”
She’d fought, teeth and nails and a scrap of magic burning through her veins, until she was dragged down. Claws, laughter, the dizzying sense of falling.
Then nothing.
Thalia forced the memory away, breathing shallow, refusing to let the tremor in her hands show.
She focused on her new reality instead.
Think, Thalia. You’re not that scared girl anymore. You’re in the Silverpine pack’s den now, and you’re not dead—yet. Use it.
She’d heard of Silverpine, even in her old life—one of the strongest packs north of the Old Forest, led by alphas who prided themselves on honor and ruthlessness in equal measure. Rowan, their heir, was the stuff of whispered legend: a boy who’d survived a witch’s fire, a man who’d united the northern packs under one bloody banner.
Now he wanted her—needed her, apparently—to keep that grip on power.
That’s leverage. Maybe not much, but it’s more than a corpse has.
The door creaked, and she whipped around, blanket wrapped tight. Rowan filled the doorway, his eyes cool, unreadable.
“Decided?” he asked.
Thalia straightened, feigning nonchalance. “I suppose ‘death by angry mob’ isn’t my color. So yes. I’ll do it. I’ll play your little game. But I want terms.”
He arched an eyebrow, as if amused. “You’re in no position for demands.”
She met his gaze, letting her voice go flat. “Humor me. I want a private room, real food—not just scraps. No one lays a hand on me unless I give permission. And when this is over, you let me walk.”
A beat of silence. Rowan studied her, something calculating in his gaze.
“Fine,” he said finally. “But cross me, and you’ll wish you’d picked the mob.”
Thalia mustered a crooked smile. “Charming as ever, alpha.”
He didn’t return the smile, just nodded once. “The council meets at moonrise. You’ll stand by my side. Convince them we’re true mates, or you die. Simple.”
Simple for him, maybe. For me, it’s a suicide mission.
She forced a slow breath.
If I mess this up, I’m dead. If I show any sign of magic, I’m dead faster. And if they figure out who I really am—
She let her thoughts trail off.
No. One thing at a time. Hide the magic. Play the role. Survive.
But beneath the surface, her resolve hardened like steel.
Let them think I’m tamed. I’ll help Rowan keep his throne and his precious Silverpine pack—for now. But when I’m strong enough, when my magic returns, I’ll make them pay. Every single wolf who hunted me, every coward on that council, every so-called alpha who thinks they own me. I am not theirs. Not this time.
Rowan stepped back, gesturing her forward. “Follow me. Time to meet your new family.”
Thalia tucked the blanket tighter, summoning her best smirk. “I hope they’re friendlier than the welcoming committee.”
He didn’t bother to answer, just turned on his heel and strode out into the chill.
Thalia hesitated on the threshold. The air beyond the door was colder, sharp with the scent of pine and smoke. She followed, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the world outside.
The cabin sat on the edge of a clearing surrounded by a dense, ancient forest. Moonlight silvered everything—thick-trunked pines, slick stones, the thatched rooftops of other wooden lodges clustered together like wary animals.
The Silverpine pack’s territory. She’d heard stories in her old life—wolves who kept outsiders at bay with tooth and spell, and who settled their own scores without mercy.
A faint mist hung in the trees, blurring the line between forest and village. Shadows moved within it—shaggy forms slipping between the houses, others standing sentry with crossed arms and narrowed eyes.
As Rowan led her out into the night, Thalia pulled the scratchy blanket tighter around her shoulders, chin high. The clearing was wider than she’d expected—ringed by enormous, ancient pine trees so tall they nearly blocked out the moon. The ground was packed earth, strewn with stones and patches of rough grass, gleaming damp in the cold air.
Clustered around the clearing were several sturdy timber cabins, their windows glowing with candlelight. Smoke curled from stone chimneys, the scent of burning cedar and pine sap sharp in the breeze. Beyond the lodges, shadows moved—figures slipping between trees, the faint growl of a hunting dog, laughter echoing from somewhere deeper in the woods.
She shivered, not just from cold.
This is Silverpine. I heard stories growing up—packs that kept to their own, suspicious of outsiders, legends of their wild hunts and old alliances. Witches never lasted long in places like this. But maybe I can.
As they passed through the clearing, faces emerged from doorways and behind frosted windows. Wolves, but in their human skins: women in homespun cloaks, children darting barefoot across the mud, a few young men leaning against the fence posts, arms folded. Most simply watched, curiosity plain in their eyes.
No one here knows what I am. As far as they see, I’m just some girl Rowan dragged in from the forest. That’s good. If they knew the truth—if anyone did—I’d be dead before sunrise.
A little boy stared wide-eyed, clinging to his mother’s skirt.
“Who’s that, mama?” he whispered, not quite softly enough.
His mother glanced at Thalia, suspicion tightening her mouth. “Don’t stare, Milo. Not our business.”
Still, murmurs rippled as Thalia passed.
“Where’s she from?”
“Did the alpha find her out on patrol?”
“She looks half-starved—what happened to her?”
Thalia let her lips curve in a half-smile, letting their questions wash over her.
Let them guess. The less they know, the safer I am.
They crossed a small bridge over a creek, the water dark and swift, its banks overgrown with nettles and wild mint. Farther along, lanterns hung from a string between trees, illuminating the well-trodden path to the central lodge.
The pack’s heart.
If I’m to survive, I have to convince them I belong. Even if it’s a lie.
Ahead, the largest building stood like a fortress—double doors carved with old runes, smoke-stained stone steps worn by generations. Rowan paused at the threshold, his presence clearing a path through a small knot of wolves gathered near the entrance.
A woman with striking gray braids eyed Thalia up and down, curiosity open on her face. “This her, Rowan? The stranger you brought back?”
A young man snorted. “She doesn’t look like much. Where’d you find her—lost in the woods?”
Rowan’s reply was cool, authoritative: “She’s under my protection. That’s all anyone needs to know.”
The crowd fell silent, and Thalia felt the weight of their stares—judging, measuring, but not yet condemning.
Play along. Stay small. Give them nothing.
Inside, the lodge was a cocoon of warmth: rough beams strung with herbs and animal bones, long tables set for a meal, the scent of stew and woodsmoke. She caught flashes of gold from coins and bone-carved charms nailed over the doorways—protection, luck, tradition.
Rowan guided her toward a side hallway, voice low: “Not everyone here trusts outsiders. Most don’t know you’re… different. It’s safer that way—for now.”
She nodded, the reality settling over her.
Hide my magic. Hide everything. Just survive until I can escape or strike back.
He stopped in front of a heavy wooden door. “Wait here. The council will call us when they’re ready. Don’t talk to anyone you don’t trust.”
Thalia glanced at the shadows, her snarky mask slipping for a heartbeat. “How will I know who that is?”
Rowan’s gaze was unreadable. “Trust your instincts. Or trust no one.”
He left her there, alone but watched, the whole pack buzzing with questions she couldn’t afford to answer.
Thalia drew a shaky breath and looked around: the pulse of Silverpine all around her, the burn of her old life in the back of her mind.
One lie at a time. I’ve come back from the dead for a reason. I just have to survive long enough to remember what it was.
- Writer
