The Veil Below

Chapter 6 - The Pack

We moved upward through the house in silence. As we went, I caught glimpses of spaces I hadn’t seen before—arched alcoves, tall shelves carved directly into stone, passages that curved away before I could see where they led.

I really hadn’t seen much of this place at all.

We stopped before a tall, arched doorway. Runes traced the stone around it, glowing softly. I didn’t need anyone to tell me what they were—I felt the magic humming beneath my skin.

Alaric rested his hand briefly against the stone beside the door and the runes responded, then he pushed it open.

Cool air spilled over me.

I stepped forward—and stopped.

A library opened around me in pale stone and warm light. Arches layered into one another, shelves of books rising into the curves of the walls, their spines battered and worn. Greenery spilled gently from carved ledges, vines and leaves softening the stone, as though the forest had found its way inside.

It was quieter here, a stillness I couldn’t explain.

At the centre of the room sat a crescent-shaped sofa, plush with cushions, a low table scattered with books left open and marked, waiting for their owner’s return.

Alaric guided me forward.

And then I saw the balcony.

The view stole the breath from my lungs.

A forest fell away in long, dark waves, the trees packed close and deep, their canopies stitched together like a living sea. Between them, scattered lights glimmered—warm and welcoming. Houses.

Half-hidden amongst roots and stone, their shapes barely breaking the forest line. There were more of them than I could count, stretching farther than my eyes could follow. A path of Aethyra’s faintly reflective stone wound through the trees, disappearing and reappearing as the forest parted and closed again.

This was the pack.

An entire community, woven so seamlessly into the land that Aethyra itself seemed to look past it. From the city, I would never have known they were there. From here, they were impossible to miss.

My gaze drifted back, taking in the stone railing of the balcony, the depth of the arches, the way the house didn’t sit on the land so much as rise from it. I understood then that everything I’d seen so far—the halls, the kitchen, the room I slept in—had only been the surface.

This wasn’t just a home.

It was a palace, carved directly into the earth revealing itself only to those invited far enough inside.

And Alaric stood at its heart, watching me carefully, as if he knew the exact moment I realised there was no part of his life—or his world—that was small.

“How?” I asked quietly.

“Our home,” he said, “and the forests that surround it, are protected by wards. Very old ones. Very powerful.” His gaze returned to the trees below. “They’ve been here longer than living memory.”

“Why are you trusting me with this?” I asked.

The question hung between us and Alaric didn’t answer immediately. He rested his forearms on the stone railing, gaze fixed on the forest below, as if weighing something he couldn’t afford to get wrong.

“Because you didn’t demand it,” he said at last.

I frowned slightly. “That’s it.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. He turned then, fully, leaning back against the balcony wall. Up close, with the pack spread out behind him like a living secret, there was no mistaking the weight of the responsibility he carried.

“You could have panicked,” he continued. “You could have run. Or tried to use what you felt—what you did—in the city.” His eyes held mine steadily. “You didn’t.”

“I didn’t know how,” I admitted.

“No,” he said quietly. “You chose not to.”

That unsettled me more than anything else he’d said today.

“And?” I pressed.

“And because,” he added, voice lower now, “whatever you are becoming, it’s already touching this place. I’d rather you understand it than fear it.”

I looked back out at the forest—the lights, the hidden paths, the lives moving quietly beneath the trees.

“That’s quite the risk,” I said.

“Yes,” he agreed without hesitation. “It is.”

He didn’t soften it. Didn’t dress it up.

“And you’re still doing it,” I said.

His gaze searched my face again, something unreadable passing through it.

“I don’t take many risks,” he said. “When I do, it’s because I believe in the outcome.”

I nodded, letting the silence return.

Alaric’s POV

Night settled differently inside the house. Aethyra never truly slept—but there was a subtle shift as the city eased into a slower rhythm. The orbs dimmed as I moved through the upper corridor, their glow softening without instruction. I unbuttoned my shirt as I walked, rolling tension from my shoulders.

I had just returned from the forest. The pack was settled. Tomorrow, I would bring Lux to meet them—introduce her properly, allow the household to return to its usual state. My brother had not been pleased about being dismissed for the night, but I ignored his complaints with practiced ease. It wasn’t up for discussion.

I paused outside my bedroom door.

Lux was asleep in my room.

The decision had been instinctive. I told myself it was because my chambers were the most secure space in the house—older wards, deeper ones, layered protections carved into the stone itself. Built for a king who could not afford surprise.

And still, that hadn’t been the reason.

The truth was simpler. I needed her nearby. Needed her close enough that I could feel the house settle around her, the wards recognise her presence and hold.

I would take the room beside mine. Close enough to sense movement, to hear if her breathing changed or her dreams turned restless. Not guarding the door like a sentry—I refused to name it that—but aware.

I stood there longer than necessary, listening.

Nothing.

Just the faint awareness of her existence beyond the door.

It settled into me with unsettling ease, like something long denied finally slipping into place.

I would not allow myself to imagine her asleep in my bed.

I turned away and entered the adjoining room, closing the door softly behind me.

Her laughter found me anyway.

The rooftop rose unbidden—music drifting through warm night air, city lights catching in glass and skin. Lux laughing with her friends, unguarded. The way she leaned into them, how her smile reached her eyes without reservation. I had watched from across the bar, not as a protector or ruler, but as a man momentarily stripped of duty.

I wanted to hear that laugh again.

To be the reason for it.

The thought was dangerous.

It sharpened as the memory shifted—shadows moving wrong, her voice catching as the tendrils reached for her. The fury that had surged through me then had not been measured. Not strategic. I hadn’t stopped to think of witnesses or consequence.

I had simply ended the threat.

The loss of control lingered now, heavy and unwelcome. It frightened me—not because of what it revealed about my power, but because of what it revealed about her place in my instincts.

The pack would have understood. My brother would have recognised the signs immediately.

Which was precisely why neither of them had been allowed to stay.

I sat on the edge of the bed and dragged a hand through my hair, jaw tightening.

Lux hadn’t run.

Hadn’t panicked. Hadn’t recoiled when I told her what I was.

More than that—she’d listened.

I’d given her more truth in a single evening than most outsiders were ever trusted with in a lifetime. The pack. The Houses. The balance of power that kept Aethyra from tearing itself apart. Any one of those revelations could have sent her spiralling.

She’d taken it in stride. Asked the right questions. Held her ground.

Impressed didn’t begin to cover it.

Relief settled through me before I could stop it—and that scared me more than her questions ever could.

Because she still didn’t know everything.

And when she did—when she learned I wasn’t just a Good Samaritan, not just a powerful werewolf—she might still choose to leave.

I wouldn’t stop her.

But I would be lying if I pretended the thought didn’t hollow something out in my chest.