Chapter 11 – Paper Shields
1218 Words
By morning, the blood has been hosed off the concrete.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think I’d dreamed the whole thing. The back hallway smells like bleach and damp drywall. The dent in the metal door is the only visible proof anything tried to shove its way in.
Well, that and the way my hands still shake when I reach for the coffee mug.
“Sit,” Immy orders, plunking a fresh cup down in front of me in the office. “Drink. Eat this before you fall over and I have to explain to the EMTs why their favorite nurse face‑planted on a ledger.”
The “this” is a muffin the size of my fist. I eye it like it might bite.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Just a little—”
“Sleep‑deprived, adrenaline‑poisoned, and knocked up?” She snorts. “Join the club. Vale Ridge chapter.”
I huff a laugh despite myself and take a bite. Blueberries and sugar explode across my tongue. The baby gives an approving wriggle.
Over Immy’s shoulder, the security monitor hums. The feeds cycle: front lot, back alley, an innocently empty slice of forest. No hooded figures. No wolves. No blood.
“How bad was it?” she asks, quieter now. “Outside.”
“Bad enough,” I say. Images flash behind my eyes: gray eyes gone flat with hate, silver around a throat, Kaelan’s wolf over him like a shadow with teeth. “They caught one. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”
“Both.” Immy wraps her hands around her own cup. “One less nightmare wandering around. One more sitting in a cell telling everyone who’ll listen that we have something worth taking.”
My skin crawls. “They always knew we were here, though, right? This town. The pack. Me just…makes the menu more interesting.”
She gives me a look. “You are not an entrée.”
“Tell that to last night’s visitor,” I mutter.
Before she can answer, the office door opens without knocking.
Kaelan fills the frame, dry this time, in a dark T‑shirt and jeans that look unfairly good for someone who probably slept three hours on a concrete bench.
Behind him: Sera, arms folded, expression somewhere between “I told you so” and “I will murder anyone who looks at my alpha wrong.” Eira lingers in the hall, gaze flicking over walls and corners like she’s checking for cracks.
My pulse jumps. The baby rolls, recognizing something my brain hasn’t had coffee enough to label yet.
“Wow,” Immy says, hopping off the edge of the desk. “Full parade. Do I need popcorn or a lawyer?”
“Neither,” Kaelan says. His eyes find mine. “We need a conversation.”
Immy looks between us, then clears her throat. “Right. I’m gonna go…refill the sugar dispensers at the diner. Loudly. Across town.”
She squeezes my shoulder on the way out, murmuring, “Text if they start doing the scary alpha stare thing for more than five minutes.”
Too late.
Once the door clicks shut, the office feels suddenly smaller. Kaelan steps inside, Sera and Eira flanking him like dark wings. I set my mug down before my fingers can betray just how rattled I am.
“If this is an intervention about my caffeine intake,” I say, because habit, “your timing is bad.”
“It’s not,” Eira says. Her voice is oddly gentle. “It’s about wards.”
“And paperwork,” Sera adds, wrinkling her nose like the word tastes sour. “Council paperwork.”
I blink. “That’s…an interesting combination.”
Kaelan leans his hands on the desk, close enough I can see the faint, half‑healed scrape along his knuckles.
“Last night proved what we already suspected,” he says. “The rogue wasn’t just wandering. He came here, to your back door, because he could smell something he wanted.”
“Me,” I say, throat dry. “Us.”
His jaw flexes. “Yes.”
Cold sweeps through me, followed by a spark of anger so sharp it almost feels good.
“So what?” I demand. “You going to tell me again to keep my doors locked and not walk in the rain? Because I think we’re past door locks.”
“That’s where wards come in,” Eira says, stepping closer. “What’s on this building now is old, thin, patched too many times. It kept out shadows and whispers. It did not keep out something determined.”
“I felt it stretch,” I admit. “When he was at the door. Like…rubber.”
Eira nods. “Fear thins it. Secrets poke holes. We need to re‑weave protection. Properly. With your consent.”
“Consent,” I echo. The word lands heavy. “You mean magic. On me. On him.”
“On the building,” she corrects. “On the thresholds. On the line between your body and theirs.”
Sera rolls her eyes. “She means yes. Magic. On you. To keep creeps like him from sniffing you out across half the state.”
I swallow. My gaze flicks involuntarily to my stomach.
“Side effects?” I ask. “On the baby?”
“We’ll tailor it to him,” Eira says. “To what he already is. Nothing that cages. Only shields.”
“And the paperwork?” I look at Sera.
She grimaces. “Council wants formal notice that the rogue targeted ‘a potential heir.’ They also want to know what we’re doing to secure said heir.”
“Heir,” I repeat flatly. “You know he’s currently the size of, like, a melon and can’t sit up yet, right?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Sera shrugs. “He’s blood. He’s yours. He’s ours. That makes him a piece on their board, whether we like it or not.”
I rub a hand over my face.
“Let me see if I’ve got this,” I say. “Last night proved we’re on some psycho’s menu. The Council noticed. Your answer is: more wolves on my lawn, magical alarm systems, and officially telling your political shark club that my unborn kid exists.”
Silence. No one argues.
The baby gives a slow, deliberate kick into my palm. Like he’s casting his vote.
I exhale, long and shaky.
“Okay,” I say. “We do it. Wards, patrols, forms. Whatever it takes.” I lift my chin, meet Kaelan’s eyes. “But one thing goes on that paperwork that wasn’t there before.”
“What?” he asks.
“That he’s not just your heir,” I say. “He’s my son. And any plan they make that forgets that?”
I let the unspoken threat hang.
Sera grins, savage and delighted. “Told you she’s more wolf than some of ours.”
Eira’s lips curve, approving.
Kaelan’s gaze warms, something fierce and steady there that makes my lungs forget how to work for a second.
“Agreed,” he says. “We’ll make sure they remember.”
- Writer
