Chapter 62 — Signs and Masks
1285 Words
Morgan arrived at Andrew’s estate shortly before midday.
The storm from the previous night had washed the forest clean. The air smelled fresh, sharp with pine and wet earth. Sunlight broke through the clouds in pale shafts, lighting the stone path leading toward the grand house.
Two guards opened the gates as soon as they saw him.
Behind Morgan walked the healer he had taken from Damien’s pack—a quiet, middle-aged she-wolf named Mira. She carried a leather satchel filled with herbs and glass vials that clinked softly with each step.
Morgan didn’t slow as they crossed the courtyard.
Andrew’s servants scattered quickly out of their way.
Inside the house the halls were quiet. Too quiet. Andrew had already moved most of his household deeper into the estate after Morgan arrived with soldiers. Too many secrets lived in these walls now for ordinary servants to wander freely.
Morgan turned toward the corridor that led to Eleanora’s rooms.
“Inside,” he said to the healer.
Mira hesitated only briefly before entering.
Eleanora sat on the edge of the bed when they stepped inside. She wore a pale dress and looked composed, though the faint tension in her shoulders betrayed her discomfort.
Her eyes moved from Morgan to the healer.
“Morgan… what is this?”
“A precaution,” he said calmly.
Her lips tightened.
“I told you I simply felt unwell.”
“Yes,” Morgan replied without emotion. “And I would like to confirm that.”
He stepped aside to allow the healer closer.
Mira bowed her head respectfully.
“My Lady, if you would allow me.”
Eleanora forced a small smile, though her gaze flickered briefly toward Morgan.
He was already turning toward the door.
“I’ll wait outside,” he said.
Then he left.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Morgan leaned against the wall beside the door and motioned to one of the guards standing nearby.
“Jackson.”
His Beta approached quietly.
“You asked for me.”
Morgan nodded toward the corridor.
“Stay here.”
Jackson crossed his arms as he positioned himself near the door.
Inside the room faint sounds could already be heard—Mira opening her satchel, glass vials tapping against one another, quiet questions asked in the calm voice of a healer.
Morgan ignored them.
Instead he looked at Jackson.
“Did you find them?”
Jackson nodded slightly.
“The wild wolves.”
Morgan’s eyes sharpened.
“Yes?”
“They agreed.”
“That quickly?”
Jackson shrugged.
“They asked only for gold.”
Morgan gave a quiet, satisfied nod.
Of course they did.
Wild wolves rarely cared about politics or loyalty. Gold and freedom were the only currencies they respected.
“Good.”
Jackson lowered his voice.
“They want to know when.”
Morgan’s gaze drifted toward the window at the end of the corridor, where sunlight spilled across the floor.
“Before the wedding.”
Jackson frowned slightly.
“You’re certain?”
Morgan nodded.
“I want the deer here before the ceremony.”
He pushed himself away from the wall, pacing slowly across the corridor.
“A sign,” he continued.
Jackson tilted his head.
“A sign?”
“Yes.”
Morgan stopped near the window.
“When the white deer appears on our lands, the pack will see it as a blessing.”
Jackson’s expression shifted as he began to understand.
“You want them to believe it came for you.”
Morgan smiled faintly.
“For us,” he corrected.
“For me and Eleanora.”
The Beta leaned against the wall thoughtfully.
“And if the deer walks onto the central square during the gathering…”
Morgan’s smile widened.
“Then the entire pack will witness it.”
A sacred animal.
Appearing during the celebration of the Alpha’s heir.
It would be a story told for generations.
Jackson exhaled slowly.
“That would be impressive.”
Morgan glanced at him.
“Impressive is not the goal.”
“What is?”
“Authority.”
Jackson nodded slowly.
“Most hunters would simply kill it and drag the body into the square.”
Morgan’s expression hardened immediately.
“No.”
Jackson lifted his hands slightly.
“I know.”
“Do you?” Morgan asked coldly.
Killing a white deer was not merely taboo.
It was sacrilege.
Old laws older than any pack forbade it.
To kill one intentionally would bring a curse—not just on the hunter, but on the entire territory.
Even wolves who laughed at superstition refused to risk it.
Jackson nodded quickly.
“I know. That’s why I said it’s easier.”
Morgan turned back toward the door.
“I want it alive.”
“And if they fail?”
Morgan’s voice dropped.
“Then they do not get paid.”
Jackson accepted that answer with a slight nod.
At that moment the door behind them opened.
Both wolves turned.
Mira stepped out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.
Morgan studied her face.
“Well?”
The healer adjusted the strap of her satchel.
“There is no illness.”
Morgan’s brow lifted slightly.
“No illness?”
“No fever, no infection, no internal imbalance.”
Jackson glanced toward the door.
“And the smell?”
Mira shook her head.
“I detected none.”
Morgan’s gaze sharpened.
“None?”
“None.”
The healer hesitated briefly before adding,
“My guess is that whatever scent was present before came from something temporary. Possibly an upset stomach. Certain foods can create very unpleasant odors.”
Morgan stared at her.
“And now?”
“Now it’s gone.”
She gave a polite nod.
“There is nothing wrong with her.”
Morgan considered that for a moment.
Then he nodded.
“Very well.”
Jackson gestured to the guards waiting nearby.
“Escort the healer back to the pack.”
Two soldiers immediately stepped forward.
Mira bowed slightly to Morgan before allowing the guards to lead her away down the corridor.
Morgan watched them disappear around the corner.
Then the door opened again.
Eleanora stepped out.
She looked perfectly composed again, her earlier tension gone. A warm smile curved across her lips as she approached Morgan.
“I told you,” she said softly.
“There was nothing wrong.”
Morgan looked at her for a moment.
Then his expression shifted into something lighter.
“I prefer certainty.”
She slipped her arm through his.
“I think it’s very sweet that you worried about me.”
Morgan snorted quietly.
“Sweet?”
“Yes.”
Her fingers brushed his chest lightly.
“A future Alpha protecting his Luna.”
Morgan chuckled.
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
Her smile widened.
Jackson politely looked away toward the end of the corridor.
Eleanora leaned closer to Morgan.
“You truly didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”
Morgan’s hand slid around her waist.
“Perhaps.”
Then he smacked her lightly on the backside.
Eleanora gasped softly in surprise, though the playful smile never left her lips.
Morgan turned his head toward Jackson.
“Guard the door.”
Jackson didn’t even blink.
“Yes, Alpha.”
Morgan opened the door and pulled Eleanora back inside the room with him.
The door shut behind them.
Jackson remained in the corridor, leaning casually against the wall as if he were nothing more than another bored soldier standing watch.
But his eyes remained alert.
And his ears remained open.
Because in houses like Andrew’s—
Even closed doors had a habit of revealing secrets.
- Writer
