Now he had asked me, straight to my face, to give that cloak to Ravenna.
My fingers curled inward, nails sharpening against my palms with a pressure that bordered on breaking skin. Somewhere deep in my chest, my wolf let out a low, wounded keen, then went silent, retreating into a hollow place I couldn't reach.
I looked at Fenris's expression, so utterly matter-of-fact, as though he were asking me to pass the salt, and slowly nodded.
"Fine. I'll have someone deliver it tomorrow."
Fenris held my gaze for a long moment. His dark eyes searched mine, perhaps looking for the crack, the flinch, the plea he expected. He found nothing. Then he pushed the door open and walked out.
From the hallway came the soft murmur of his voice, gentle and soothing, a low rumble meant to calm a distressed she-wolf. Comforting Ravenna. Then the click of the neighboring room's door shutting behind them.
I turned and walked to the desk. Pulled open the drawer. Took out a small leather-bound calendar marked with lunar phases.
I picked up a red marker and drew a heavy X over today's date.
Two more days until Alaric came for me.
I peeled off the wine-stained gown and stepped into the bathing chamber.
Warm water streamed over my body, washing away the lingering scent of juniper and iron that clung to everything in this den, his scent, threaded into every surface, every fabric, every corner of the life I had built around him.
I stared at the pale face in the mirror. My eyes were flat. No gold flickered in them. My wolf had gone so quiet she might have been sleeping, or dying.
Fenris Blackthorn, seven years ago you pulled me from that rogue wolf attack and gave me a second life.
For seven years, I took silver blades for you. I handled the things you couldn't let see the light of day, the blood feuds, the secret negotiations, the bodies that needed to disappear before dawn. I managed the Blackthorn Pack household so you never had to worry about anything beyond your next conquest.
We stopped owing each other a long time ago.
The next morning.
I followed Fenris's instructions and had the attendant deliver the Starweave Ceremonial Cloak to Ravenna's room.
Ravenna made a point of having her door left wide open.
As I passed through the hallway, the scent hit me first: synthetic sweetness layered over something sharp and chemical, nothing like the warm amber and wild orchid that the cloak had once carried when it had been mine. I saw her standing in front of the mirror, twirling in the cloak that clearly didn't fit her. The enchanted fabric bunched at the shoulders and pulled across the back where it was never meant to stretch, the moonthread weave losing its shimmer against skin that didn't match its maker's intent.
She picked up a pair of shears and, without a second's hesitation, cut away the most intricate panel of crystal-beaded starweave from the hem. The severed threads flickered once, a faint pulse of dying light, and went dark.
"This design is so dated. It'll look better shorter." Ravenna pouted at the attendant standing beside her.
The attendant stole a cautious glance toward me in the doorway, her nostrils flaring as she caught the scent of my barely contained stillness. She said nothing.
I didn't stop. I walked straight to the kitchen.
Fenris had drunk heavily the night before. He had a serious stomach condition, his wolf-spirit rejection sickness flaring whenever he pushed his body too hard, and after every night of heavy drinking, he needed a bowl of specially prepared herbal healing broth infused with moonpetal and boneset root.
For seven years, I had been the one to brew it for him by hand. Standing over the fire, grinding the herbs, timing the simmer by instinct until the mixture turned the exact shade of pale gold that meant it was ready.
I stood at the stove, watching the liquid roll and simmer inside the clay pot. Steam curled upward, carrying the sharp-sweet scent of moonpetal. My wolf stirred faintly at the familiar ritual, then settled again. Even she knew.
This was the last time I would ever make this for him.
I ladled the broth into a thermal flask, set it on a tray, and carried it toward Fenris's study.
The study door was slightly ajar. Inside, I could hear Fenris talking with his Beta and childhood packmate, Caspian Ironmane.
I was about to raise my hand and knock when Caspian's voice carried through the gap, clear as day.
"Fenris, don't you think you went too far this time? You took back the Luna's Moonstone Circlet, gave away the Bloodrose Pendant, and now you've handed the Starweave Cloak to Ravenna." A pause, heavy with the weight of a Beta who knew he was treading close to the line. "Seraphina followed you for seven years. She took a silver blade to the chest for you. She would have laid down her life without hesitation. Are you really trying to push her out of the den?"
My hand froze in the air. I stood perfectly still. My wolf lifted her head, ears pricked forward, every sense sharpened to a razor's edge.
Fenris's voice came next, cold and detached. The voice of an Alpha who had never once questioned whether the world would bend to his will.
"Where would she go? She's an orphan who can't even remember her own past. Her wolf is barely functional. Besides the Blackthorn Pack, she has no one. No bloodline. No territory. Nothing."
A beat of silence. Then he continued, and each word landed like a stone dropped into still water.
"I've spoiled her too much these seven years. Her temper's gotten out of control. Ravenna just returned to the den. Seraphina needs to learn her place in the hierarchy."
"I'm going to strip that pride right off her bones. Make her understand who the true Alpha of this pack is. Once she accepts her rank and falls in line, I'll keep a room for her here. She'll be fed and sheltered. She should be grateful."
Caspian sighed. I could picture him running a hand through his hair, jaw tight, the way he always looked when Fenris said something that made his own wolf bristle with unease.
"You keep humiliating her like this, aren't you afraid she'll actually give up on you?"
Fenris let out a laugh, quiet and dripping with contempt. His Alpha aura pulsed faintly through the crack in the door, a wave of dominance so casual it was almost lazy, the confidence of a predator who had never been challenged.
"Give up? The greatest skill Sera Blackthorn has ever possessed is clinging to me like a vine. She can't survive without me."
The tray tilted slightly in my hands.
A few drops of scalding broth splashed over the rim and landed on the back of my hand. The skin swelled red instantly, the burn bright and angry against pale flesh.
I didn't feel a thing.
My wolf didn't flinch. She lay curled in the deepest part of me, utterly still, her amber eyes open and watching. Not wounded. Not raging. Just quiet, with the terrible calm of a creature that had finally stopped hoping.
I looked at that carved wooden door, still slightly ajar, the faint scent of juniper and iron drifting through the gap. The scent that had once meant safety. That had once meant home.
I set the tray down on the console table outside, turned, and walked away without a sound.
