Chapter 4
1056 Words
By morning, the pack house moved like a kicked anthill.
Amara stepped into the main hall and nearly backed out again. Wolves crossed paths in every direction—some carrying folded linens, some hauling boxes from the cold room, some arguing over seating charts spread across the long tables.
Her mother stood in the middle of it all, apron on, hair yanked into a knot, flour on her cheek.
“Amara,” Mara said, spotting her instantly. “Good. Take this.”
A tray of chopped vegetables landed in Amara’s hands before she could argue.
“I have patrol briefing,” Amara protested.
“It’s on your way.” Mara shooed her toward the kitchen. “And don’t step on the pups.”
Heat hit her as she pushed through the swinging door. Ovens on full, steam from pots, meat sizzling. Wolves moved in practiced chaos. The air smelled of roasting meat, herbs, and fresh bread.
“Blackridge eats, we feed,” Mara said, already reaching for another knife. “Go, before I put you to work.”
Amara escaped back into the corridor. Two young she‑wolves were hanging a banner overhead. Tamsin glanced down from the step stool.
“Frost,” she called. “You think the Blackridge males are as pretty as everyone says?”
Her friend giggled. Amara kept walking. “You’ll see soon enough.”
“Not if they glare like their Alpha,” Tamsin muttered. “Apparently he can stare a man into shifting.”
“That’s called dominance, not magic,” Amara said, but they were already back to their whispers.
The war room was cooler, blinds half‑drawn. The territory map lay alone on the big table. Alpha Lysander and Luna Seren stood at one end with Elias and a few senior wolves. Amara slid in along the wall with the other guards.
“—not an inspection,” Seren was saying. “Rowan is here to renew the treaty, not grade us.”
“He evaluates everything,” Elias said quietly.
Lysander lifted his head. “Whatever his habits, we show him a competent, united pack. Assignments.”
He outlined the basics—confirmed route, doubled sentries, no lone shifts tonight. Schedules went hand to hand until one reached Amara. Her name sat beside “west ridge – escort.”
“Amara Frost will take point on the western escort,” Lysander said. “Jace and two others staggered. You keep distance. You do not crowd their vehicles. We are hosts, not challengers.”
“Yes, Alpha,” Amara said.
His gaze rested on her. “Report from last night?”
She felt her father’s attention sharpen.
“Wind carried Blackridge scent over the line,” she said. “Older by then. No sign of crossing. My guess—scouts on their side, getting a look.”
“Your assessment?” Lysander asked.
“Thorough. Controlled. They respected the boundary.”
He nodded. “Good. I don’t want anyone mistaking competence for aggression. They’re neighbors, not rogues.”
He spoke briefly about guest rooms, kitchen shifts, fallback plans if tensions flared. Then, almost as an afterthought:
“You’ll hear talk of Rowan’s upcoming mating,” he said. “A chosen Luna from an eastern ally. It’s not our concern. No questions. No gossip in front of guests. Understood?”
A low murmur of assent.
“When they arrive,” Seren added, “we greet them as equals. No fawning. No picking fights to prove something.”
As the meeting broke, chairs scraped, voices rose. Elias cut through the crowd to her.
“Walk with me,” he said.
They slipped into a quieter corridor, passing windows where lanterns were being strung between trees. Outside, pups chased one another around stacked crates, turning serious preparations into an obstacle course.
“You handled that well,” he said. “Kept it factual.”
“You thought I’d tell everyone their Alpha was sniffing our trees?” she said, dry.
He almost smiled. “I thought you might keep it to yourself. Both would’ve been mistakes.”
They walked a few paces in silence, footsteps echoing off the wood.
“You’ll be the first face he sees on our side,” Elias added. “On that road.”
Amara huffed. “He’ll see the gravel first.”
“You know what I mean.” His tone softened. “You’re good at what you do. Don’t make yourself small because his name is big.”
Reliable. Background. Border. She nodded, because arguing would only make that pinched feeling in her chest worse.
“What do you know about him?” she asked, before she could stop herself. “Besides the stories.”
Elias’s mouth flattened. “Enough to respect his instincts. Enough to remember he puts his pack first, always. That kind of wolf notices everything.”
“Even border rats,” she said.
“Especially them,” he said. “So stand straight tomorrow. You’re part of the picture he sees.”
He squeezed her shoulder once and turned toward the training yard.
Amara stepped outside. The autumn air tasted sharp—clean pine, woodsmoke from the kitchen, the faintest thread of something colder far to the west that she might have imagined.
In the yard, Jace was running drills with a few younger guards, barking orders, making them laugh between sprints. Someone waved her over to help, but she shook her head and kept walking, watching the gravel drive that curved down toward the valley road.
Tomorrow, cars from Blackridge would roll up that drive. Wolves from a different world would step into her hall. An Alpha she’d only ever felt as pressure on the wind would have a face and a voice she’d have to meet without flinching.
She flexed her hands, claws pushing then retreating under her skin.
“You walk,” she told herself quietly. “You watch. You go home.”
For the first time, the word home didn’t feel entirely solid under her feet. Something in the air had already shifted—so slight most wolves wouldn’t feel it.
Her wolf did.
She lifted her gaze to the distant tree line.
“Come on, then,” she murmured to the empty road. “Let’s see what all the stories are about.”
- Writer
