Chapter 11 – Ties That Chafe
1113 Words
Ironveil’s guest quarters were nothing like Tidewatch’s immaculate dorms.
For one, the walls were wood, not glass and steel. They creaked when the wind shoved at them. The narrow window over the bed framed a slice of dark forest and a wedge of moon, not a perfectly curated ocean view.
For another, the mattress was lumpy.
It was weirdly comforting.
I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the low murmur of the pack outside: footsteps, doors closing, the occasional bark of laughter. Beneath it all, the steady hush of the trees.
My body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry. Every joint ached with a deep, used‑up fatigue. My head throbbed in time with my heartbeat.
Korr’s panic still echoed under my skin. So did the strange tug of all those other emotions I’d brushed without meaning to—Nyxen’s fear, Varik’s wary calculation, Riven’s sharp focus.
I should have been asleep.
Instead, my phone buzzed where I’d dropped it on the small table.
I groaned and rolled over, stretching to grab it.
One new message.
From Jared.
Jared: You got there safe?
For a second I just stared at the words, the faint flicker of concern in them. Out of habit, I checked the time. Late. Later than he’d normally risk texting anything that could be called personal.
Me: Yes. No cliffs, no more car accidents.
Me: Your brand is safe.
Three dots appeared. Vanished. Appeared again.
Jared: Luna—
Jared: Lunara.
Jared: I know you’re angry about the way the gala went. About the article.
Jared: I wanted to call. Aldric is watching comms like a hawk.
My jaw clenched.
Me: I’m not angry. I’m just not surprised.
Me: How’s the “heroic patrol” this morning?
Jared: Don’t.
Jared: This is bigger than us. You know that. Every step Aldric takes with Ironveil is under a microscope.
Jared: If they see too much spotlight on a half‑wolf medic, it complicates things.
I closed my eyes, feeling the old, familiar pressure of Tidewatch logic trying to fold me back into its neat shapes.
Me: Ironveil seems to be handling the concept of my existence just fine.
Me: Their wolves actually say my name.
A longer pause this time.
Jared: I’m glad you’re safe.
Jared: Just remember where you’re from, okay?
It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t even overtly manipulative. It was worse: a plea from the boy I’d once thought I’d spend my life with, trying to keep me tethered to a place that had never really held me.
Me: I know exactly where I’m from.
Me: That’s why I’m here.
I hit send before I could soften it.
The dots didn’t reappear.
I set the phone face‑down.
The silence that followed felt…cleaner.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
My muscles tensed. For a heartbeat, adrenaline surged—too many nights of being summoned for emergencies. “Yeah?” I called.
The door cracked open. Talren stuck his head in, hair even more disheveled than earlier, a mug in one hand, a notebook in the other.
“I come bearing tea and extremely invasive questions,” he said cheerfully. “Mostly the first. For now.”
I exhaled. “If your tea is anything like your bedside manner, I’m terrified.”
“It’s chamomile with a hint of wild mint,” he said, stepping inside and nudging the door shut with his foot. “Our Lunas swear by it. The two that survived long enough to develop preferences, anyway.”
“That’s not reassuring,” I said, but I took the mug. The steam smelled…nice. Warm. Like something a real pack mom would brew, not a clinical powder you stirred into boiling water.
Talren flopped into the chair, flipping his notebook open.
“No experiments tonight,” I said, raising a hand. “Riven said slow. I said slow. My neurons say please, gods, slow.”
“We’ll go slower than a toddler on ice,” he agreed. “I just wanted to check on the aftermath. Headache? Nausea? Emotional whiplash? Sudden urge to adopt entire pack?”
I considered. “Yes. Yes. Yes. And that last one predates your Alpha.”
He grinned, scribbling something. “Good. Consistency is key.”
The tea burned pleasantly down my throat, untangling some of the knots in my chest.
“What you did on the field,” he said after a moment, tone shifting, “that wasn’t just projection. You didn’t push calm into him. You amplified his ability to find his own.”
“That sounds very poetic for ‘I yelled at a boy and accidentally mind‑hugged half your warriors,’” I said.
His eyes sparkled. “Words matter. If you think of yourself as a dam, you’ll break. If you think of yourself as a…conductor, it changes how you set your boundaries.”
“Conductor.” I rolled the word around in my mouth. “I’m not running a symphony, Talren. I’m trying not to fry my brain.”
“Exactly why we start small,” he said. “Narrow circles. Voluntary subjects. No more full‑field accidents until you can choose who hears you.”
“That’s a lot of trust,” I said quietly.
“Riven doesn’t give it lightly,” Talren replied. “Nor do I. Don’t make us regret it, Wildcrest.”
He said it lightly, but the weight was there.
I finished the tea, feeling my eyelids droop heavy.
“One more question,” he said, pen poised.
I groaned. “Fine.”
“When you told Korr to look at you,” Talren said, “what did you want to happen? Not what you thought would. What you wanted.”
I thought of the way Korr’s terror had punched through me, of the sharp sting of recognizably familiar fear.
“I wanted him to stop feeling alone,” I said slowly. “Just for a second.”
Talren’s smile was small and satisfied. “Excellent. We can work with that.”
He took the empty mug, stood, and headed for the door.
“Sleep, Half‑Wolf,” he said over his shoulder. “Tomorrow, we see how far your ‘not‑a‑wolf’ can reach on purpose.”
When he was gone, I lay back down, the room spinning a little less violently.
Outside, Ironveil breathed.
Inside, my bound wolf—whatever she was—shifted in her sleep, closer to the surface than she’d been in years.
I wasn’t sure if that terrified me more than it thrilled me.
Probably both.
- Writer
