Claimed In Ruins

Chapter 2

The archive still smelled faintly of smoke from the lower tunnels.

Eryndra sat cross-legged on the floor beside a stack of damaged records with a charcoal pencil tucked behind one ear and three census ledgers open around her. Morning light leaked through the narrow stone windows in pale strips, weak from the mountain fog outside.

Quiet. Finally.

No drums. No shouting.

Just paper, dust, and the steady crackle of the hearth near the eastern shelves.

She pressed wax into the torn spine of an old treaty book and held it there carefully.

The bond hummed anyway.

It always did.

Not loud. Not demanding.

Just there.

A constant second pulse beneath her own.

Eryndra closed her eyes for one brief second.

Theron had survived.

The thought arrived before she could stop it.

Not Alpha Theron.

Not the war leader. Not the man the pack bowed to.

Just Theron.

Tired eyes. Quiet hands. The scar near his mouth from when they were sixteen and stupid enough to race each other through the cliffs during winter storms.

“You’re bleeding,” she had told him afterward.

“So are you.”

“You fell on me.”

“You slowed down first.”

“You pushed me.”

“You survived.”

Then he had laughed. Actual laughter. Rare even then.

Eryndra stared down at the treaty book in her lap.

That laugh still lived somewhere inside her memory untouched.

Dangerous thing to keep.

She adjusted the wax seal harder than necessary.

The bond had appeared slowly. No lightning. No divine revelation. Just years of small unbearable things collecting until there was no honest way left to name them anything else.

The first time she truly understood had been during council training.

Theron had been nineteen. Angry. Exhausted. Newly burdened with leadership after his father died.

One of the elders had called him weak.

Theron hadn’t reacted outwardly. He almost never did.

But Eryndra had felt the hurt c***k through him anyway like something splitting open under ice.

Not heard.

Felt.

She’d gone home afterward and vomited until her throat bled.

Three weeks later she took the Seer-Warden vow.

No claiming. No mating bond fulfilled. No children.

Distance as duty.

The old laws existed for a reason.

Sight mixed badly with bond magic. Every historical record agreed on that much. Emotions bled into visions. Futures twisted themselves around attachment. Entire bloodlines had gone mad trying to separate prophecy from desire.

Eryndra had spent years repeating that truth to herself until it became bone deep.

It still changed nothing.

A floorboard creaked behind her.

“Please tell me you slept at least once.”

Orin’s voice.

Eryndra looked over one shoulder. “Briefly.”

“That answer sounded dishonest before you even finished saying it.”

He carried two cups in one hand and a folded blanket under the other arm. His hair was still damp from morning rain outside.

“You’re dripping on the records,” she said.

“Good morning to you too.”

He crossed the room and handed her one of the cups. Tea. Strong enough that she could smell the bitter herbs immediately.

“You remembered the root bark,” she said.

“You say that like I’ve ever forgotten.”

“That happened twice.”

“Those were difficult times.”

“You burned soup water.”

“In my defense, I was distracted.”

“You were flirting with a blacksmith.”

“She flirted first.”

Eryndra took a careful sip of the tea. “The soup still caught fire.”

Orin grinned and dropped onto the floor across from her. “There’s no need to keep bringing that up after all these years.”

“You nearly poisoned three people.”

“They recovered.”

“The healer threatened to kill you.”

“She says that often.”

A small silence settled comfortably between them.

Orin glanced at the ledgers spread around her. “You started working before sunrise?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“These records won’t repair themselves.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Eryndra traced one finger along a cracked page edge. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Nightmares?”

“No.”

“Visions?”

“No.”

Orin watched her quietly for a second too long.

“You don’t have to answer everything with one word,” he said gently.

“I’m aware.”

“Mm.”

The fire cracked softly behind him.

Outside the archive doors, voices passed in the corridor. Workers rebuilding the western hall. Life continuing.

Orin stretched his legs out carefully. “The pack’s calmer today.”

“They needed the victory.”

“They needed him alive.”

Eryndra looked down at her tea.

Orin’s voice stayed easy when he spoke again. “You too.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

“No one builds songs about Seer-Wardens.”

“That sounds more like a blessing than a complaint.”

“Fair.”

He tilted his head slightly. “You don’t understand how people look at you.”

“I do. Usually with suspicion.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

Eryndra stayed quiet.

Orin leaned back against a shelf. “Half this pack sleeps easier because they think you can see disaster before it reaches us.”

“I can’t see everything.”

“You still try.”

“That’s my role.”

“No,” he said softly. “It’s what you do even when it hurts.”

She hated when he spoke gently like that.

Not because it irritated her.

Because it made it harder to keep distance between herself and everyone else.

The bond stirred again.

Closer this time.

Before she could speak, the archive door opened.

Theron stepped inside carrying silence with him like another weapon.

Orin looked over first. “You look terrible.”

Theron shut the door behind him. “Good morning.”

“That bad, huh?”

“I’ve been insulted by professionals. You’ll need more effort.”

Orin laughed once and stood. “I’m leaving before either of you start pretending this is a normal conversation.”

Neither answered.

“That was confirmation,” Orin said.

He brushed Eryndra’s shoulder lightly as he passed her. Familiar. Warm.

“Drink the tea before it gets cold,” he told her.

Then to Theron: “And if you collapse again, at least try to do it somewhere convenient.”

“I collapsed once.”

“You collapsed off a cliff.”

Theron looked unimpressed. “The cliff collapsed first.”

“That feels irrelevant.”

The door closed behind Orin.

Quiet returned immediately.

Theron remained near the entrance for a moment, one hand resting against the wood like he was gathering energy before moving again.

Eryndra spoke first.

“You shouldn’t be walking around yet.”

“I needed the eastern territory reports.”

“They’re on the third shelf.”

He nodded once and crossed the room.

Even injured, he moved carefully. Carefully, almost like a cat or an assassin. A cat assassin. No wasted motion.

Eryndra watched him reach for the records.

Watched the slight stiffness in his left arm.

Watched the exhaustion he thought nobody could see.

“You tore the healing stitches,” she said.

Theron glanced down at his side briefly. “Probably.”

“That’s not a real answer.”

“It’s the one you're getting from me.”

“You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve heard.”

The bond tightened painfully when he moved closer to her table with the reports in hand.

Eryndra focused on her ledger instead.

Mistake.

Because now she could feel him standing there without looking.

Close enough that the air around them had shifted with the intensity that burned when they came close.

“You repaired these yourself?” he asked quietly.

“The archivists are overwhelmed.”

“You worked all night.”

“I worked part of the night.”

“That isn’t better.”

“No one asked you.”

A pause.

Then, softer: “You look tired.”

Eryndra let out one short breath that almost became a laugh. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Theron’s mouth shifted faintly at one corner.

It disappeared fast.

He set the territory reports down on the table beside her instead of taking them immediately.

“You were right,” he said.

“About what?”

“The council.”

Eryndra finally looked up at him fully.

“The elders already sent complaints?”

“Three formal objections.”

“That’s fast.”

“They were prepared.”

“Will they challenge your position?”

“Not openly.”

“The same answer I gave Maelis.”

“You’re usually right.”

The words sat between them longer than they should have.

Eryndra looked away first.

Again.

“I shouldn’t have let you do it,” she said quietly.

Theron went still.

“The forbidden magic.”

“You didn’t let me.”

“I saw what you intended before the fight began.”

“And?”

“And I could’ve stopped you.”

“You would’ve exposed us both.”

The truth landed hard because he said it so plainly.

Us both.

Not him.

Not the alpha.

Them.

Eryndra set the pencil down carefully. “You could’ve died.”

“So could Garrick.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“It was during the fight.”

Frustration slipped through before she could smooth it away. “You don’t get to throw yourself into destruction every time the pack needs something from you.”

Theron’s eyes held hers steadily. “What would you have preferred?”

“You know that’s not what I—”

“No. Answer.”

The room felt smaller.

Eryndra hated that he could still do this to her without raising his voice.

“I would’ve preferred you alive,” she said.

Silence.

Theron looked down at the records on the table instead of at her.

When he spoke again, his voice had lowered.

“I am alive.”

Barely.

She didn’t say it.

The bond carried enough already.

Too much sometimes.

Fear. Exhaustion. Want. Grief he buried so deep most people mistook it for steadiness.

Years of it pressing quietly against her own ribs because neither of them would sever the thread and neither of them would claim it either.

Theron rested one hand against the table edge. Close enough now that she could see the small healing cuts across his knuckles.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said.

“I’ve been working.”

“So you're not denying it”

“You sound like Maelis.”

“That sounds exhausting for you.”

“It usually is.”

A softer silence followed.

Not peaceful.

Just familiar.

Theron’s gaze shifted briefly toward the windows where fog pressed against the glass. “I remember when this archive still had a roof.”

Eryndra blinked once. “You fell through it.”

“You pushed me.”

“You stole my notes.”

“You chased me with a knife.”

“It was a letter opener.”

“It was still metal.”

“You deserved it.”

A quiet almost-smile touched his face again.

Gods.

That was the problem.

Not the bond.

Not the magic.

Him.

The man beneath the title.

The rare moments when he stopped carrying the entire pack long enough to sound like himself again.

Eryndra looked down at the records because she couldn’t keep looking at him safely.

“You should rest,” she said.

“You already said that.”

“I meant it both times.”

Theron nodded once.

But he still didn’t move.

The bond pressed warm and aching beneath her skin.

Unclaimed. Unresolved. Alive.

“I never asked if you wanted this,” he said quietly.

Eryndra’s fingers tightened around the edge of the ledger.

“Theron—”

“No. I know what the vow costs. I know why you took it.”

“Then don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Make this harder.”

His expression shifted slightly at that. Small enough most people would’ve missed it.

Eryndra didn’t.

“You think I’m trying to?” he asked.

“No,” she admitted softly. “That’s the problem too.”

The archive stayed silent except for the fire.

Then footsteps approached again outside the door.

The tension snapped apart cleanly before either of them could say something irreversible.

Orin stepped back inside carrying another stack of records against his chest.

“There you are,” he said to Theron. “The council’s looking for you.”

Theron straightened immediately. Alpha again in the space of a breath.

“Of course they are.”

Orin glanced between them once. Not intrusive. Just observant.

“You both look exhausted,” he said.

“So we’ve been told,” Eryndra replied.

“I’m serious.”

“So are we.”

Orin set the records onto the nearest table and looked at Eryndra carefully. “You carry too much by yourself.”

She opened her mouth automatically.

Stopped.

Because she was tired.

Because for once she didn’t have the energy to pretend the weight wasn’t there.

Orin’s expression softened slightly. “You know you don’t always have to be the strong one, right?”

Eryndra stared at him for a second.

Then she looked down into the cooling tea in her hands and said quietly, “I don’t actually know how not to be.”

No one answered immediately.

The fire crackled softly.

And standing there between Theron’s silence and Orin’s warmth, Eryndra found herself grateful for both in entirely different ways.