PROOF
646 Words
Morning came too fast.
Or maybe I didn’t sleep. Hard to tell when your chest feels like someone’s got a string tied to it and Zevran’s on the other end, breathing.
He was already gone when I woke up on his couch. No note. No guard. Just cold tea on the table and the smell of cedar that wouldn’t leave my clothes.
Real subtle, Alpha. Real subtle.
The whole keep knew before I hit the main hall. I could tell. Wolves don’t whisper. They stare. Then look away when you catch them.
“Her.”
“That’s the one.”
“She touched him. In the Sunken Hall.”
I kept my eyes forward. Counted my steps. One, two, three. Don’t react. Don’t show teeth. Don’t—
“Veyra.”
Mara. Of course. She was waiting at the top of the steps with three other elders. No circle this time. No pit. Just the courtyard and fifty wolves pretending they weren’t watching.
Her scars looked worse in daylight. Or maybe I just noticed them more now that I knew what they meant.
“The pack wants proof,” she said. No greeting. No “good morning”. “Proof the bond won’t turn you feral by nightfall.”
Zevran stepped out from the archway behind her. He hadn’t slept either, if the shadow under his eyes meant anything. His shirt was wrinkled. Alpha of Valecrest Keep, looking like he’d been dragged through a fight.
He didn’t look at me. That was worse than if he had.
“Test her,” one elder called from the crowd. A younger guy, maybe. His voice cracked on the word. “Same way as last night.”
Mara nodded. Slow. Like she’d already decided I’d fail. “Release your scent,” she told me. “Hold it. If you can hold it with us close, you stay. If not—”
She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.
I swallowed. My mouth was dry. The thing between me and Zevran tugged, lazy and warm, like it knew what was coming and was already settling in.
I could feel him now, even without looking. Annoyance. Worry. That tight, coiled thing he got when he was pissed but trying not to show it.
Great. So we were doing this telepathy thing now.
“Go on,” Mara said.
I exhaled. And let it out.
Heat rolled off me in waves. Not the burn from before. This was controlled. Barely. It tasted like copper and panic and—god, was that desperation? Mine or his?
The younger wolf in the crowd flinched. Another took a step back.
But no one buckled. No one snarled.
Ten seconds. Twenty. My palms started sweating. The pull in my chest went from warm to sharp, like Zevran was yanking on the string just to see if I’d snap.
I didn’t.
I locked my jaw, dug my nails into my palms—old trick, still works—and held it.
The courtyard went quiet. Even the wind shut up.
Mara stared at me for a long second. Then at Zevran. Then back at me.
“She’s holding,” she said finally. Voice flat. Disappointed, maybe. “For now.”
Murmurs. Not agreement. Not yet. Just… waiting.
Zevran finally looked at me. And his expression did something weird to my stomach. Not relief. Not pride. Something heavier.
“Enough,” he said. One word. But it cut through everything.
He walked down the steps. Stopped two feet from me. Close enough that I could smell him over my own mess. Close enough that the pull in my chest went from a tug to a knot.
“Good,” he said. Low. Just for me.
Then louder, for them: “She stays.”
The word landed like a verdict.
And somewhere under my skin, the string pulled tighter.
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- Writer
