Two weeks later, I rode into Tiernan’s territory under a bruised sky.
Stormwake smelled like everything its name promised: rain-soaked stone, pine sap, wet fur, a faint metallic tang of lightning.
The mountains rose ahead—steep, jagged teeth cutting into the low clouds. Waterfalls ribboned down their sides, white threads against dark rock. The wind whipped at my hair, tugging strands loose from my braid.
Beside me, Tiernan sat his horse like he was part of it, moving with the animal’s rhythm, his eyes scanning the path with a familiarity that made something in my chest ache.
“Welcome,” he said quietly. “To my storm.”
Ashra pressed against my ribs, nose lifted, inhaling deeply. *We like it,* she declared. *It smells like him. And power. And old promises.*
I shivered.
Behind us, a small escort rode—a compromise between Rhys’s need to keep tabs on me and Elyra’s understanding that me arriving with a full contingent of Redwood warriors would be…provocative.
Kellan had stayed behind, grumbling.
Brenna and Eren had not.
They rode at the rear, trading insults and gawking at every new sight.
“These rocks are ridiculous,” Brenna said, her voice carrying on the wind. “Who builds a packhouse up there? What if you roll out of bed? Do you just…tumble down the mountain?”
“Gravity,” Eren agreed sagely. “Very rude.”
Tiernan huffed a laugh.
“The main house is tucked into the mountain face,” he said over his shoulder. “Not perched on a ledge. My ancestors weren’t *that* dramatic.”
“Debatable,” Rian muttered from behind him.
“Rian,” I called. “How many alphas in your line died falling off cliffs?”
“Two,” he said without missing a beat. “But they were drunk at the time. Doesn’t count.”
Brenna cackled.
We followed a narrow path that hugged the mountainside, switch-backing up through stands of dense pines. The air grew colder with each turn. Patches of old snow clung to the shady hollows despite the late spring.
At a bend, the trees parted, and I caught my first full view of Stormwake’s heart.
A huge stone structure jutted from the mountainside like it had grown there—part-tower, part-cave, built directly into the rock. Smoke curled from cleverly hidden chimneys. Torches burned in alcoves, their light catching on carved sigils etched into the stone around the main entrance.
Below, terraces stepped down the slope, each one holding buildings—barracks, workshops, storage sheds—with roofs sloped steep enough to shed the heaviest snow.
Wolves moved along the paths—some in human form, some half-shifted, some fully furred, their pelts flashing gray, black, white among the rocks.
As we approached, a howl rose.
Not a challenge.
A greeting.
Deep.
Layered.
Tiernan’s spine straightened.
Kade surged under his skin.
He threw his head back and answered, his own howl slicing through the wind.
It rolled over me, through me, Ashra rising in response.
I bit back the urge to join.
Stormwake wolves appeared from all directions, some dropping from higher paths with the ease of mountain goats, others emerging from cave mouths. They gathered near the main gate, forming a loose half-circle.
They watched us with open curiosity and a hint of wariness.
A woman stepped forward from the front rank.
She was tall, with iron-gray hair braided down her back and eyes the same storm-gray as Tiernan’s, though softened by crow’s feet and decades of weather. Her build was long and lean, roped with the easy muscle of someone who’d spent her life climbing and fighting.
She wore simple leathers, a stormcloud sigil on her chest.
My breath caught.
“Mother,” Tiernan said, swinging down from his horse.
He crossed the distance in a few long strides and swept her into a hug that lifted her off her feet.
She made an indignant noise. “Tiernan Voss, you ridiculous boy, put me down,” she scolded, though her arms wrapped tightly around him.
He grinned and obeyed.
She cupped his face in both hands, eyes scanning it like she was cataloguing every line and scar.
“You look like you haven’t slept in a month,” she said.
“Accurate,” he said.
She pinched his cheek. “And you brought guests. Good. Maybe they’ll bully you into resting.”
Her gaze shifted past him.
Landed on me.
It was like being pinned by a well-aimed knife.
Not cruel.
Sharp.
Measuring.
She took me in from boots to braid, her eyes lingering on the beads at my wrist, the faint ash-smudge still stubbornly embedded at my hairline, the way Ashra pressed under my skin.
“So,” she said. “This is the one the ravine liked better than you.”
“Mother,” Tiernan groaned.
She smiled.
It transformed her face, warming lines that had seemed stern into something fierce and welcoming.
“I’m Maris,” she said, stepping closer. “Tiernan’s mother. Former Luna. Current pain in his ass.”
Rian snorted. “Very current.”
I slid off my horse, knees a little stiff from the ride.
“Kaia,” I said. “Stormbound nuisance. Current chaos magnet.”
Maris laughed. “Good,” she said. “Stormwake likes nuisances. Come. I want to see what kind of trouble you’ve dragged my son into.”
“A ravine,” Brenna piped up. “An ancient storm goddess. A rebellious elemental with bad eyes. Also, she spilled porridge on a Beta once.”
Maris’s brows rose. “Already a legend,” she said. “You can stay.”
She turned to Brenna. “And you are?”
“Brenna,” Brenna said, unabashed. “Omega. Best friend. Threat to testicles everywhere.”
Maris barked a laugh. “We definitely need you,” she said.
Eren stepped forward, a little stiff. “Eren,” he said. “Gamma trainee. Pack-level worrier.”
“We have many of those,” Maris said. “Welcome.”
She glanced at Tiernan. “You brought your own support pack,” she said quietly.
He shrugged, but his eyes softened. “They came whether I wanted them to or not,” he said.
“Good,” she said. “You need people who ignore your stubborn ideas about doing everything alone.”
Her gaze flicked to me again.
“There are rooms prepared,” she said. “Tiernan insisted you not be quartered with the general warriors. Something about privacy and safety and his Beta’s temper.”
Rian muttered, “And yours.”
Maris ignored him.
“You’ll stay in the guest wing near the old stones,” she went on. “Not the *old* old stones,” she added quickly, seeing me flinch. “Just the carved ones that pretend to be doors. They’re very dramatic. You’ll like them.”
“Your pack has a very casual relationship with terrifying magic,” Brenna whispered.
“Pot, meet kettle,” I whispered back.
We dismounted.
Stablehands led the horses away.
As we followed Maris up the main path, wolves parted, sniffing curiously.
Whispers floated.
“…Stormwake’s alpha’s mate…”
“…ravine-sealer…”
“…Redwood girl…”
“…elemental…”
The label press was familiar.
The scents were not.
Stormwake wolves smelled of wet stone and wind and smoke, with undertones of herbs I didn’t recognize. Their auras were lighter than Redwood’s—less oppressive, more…edged. Like they were used to balancing on literal cliffs.
Inside, the main hall was smaller than Redwood’s but taller, its ceiling disappearing into shadow. Massive wooden beams arched overhead, carved with storm motifs—clouds, rain, lightning bolts. The floor was flagstone, worn smooth.
A fire roared in a central hearth, heat seeping into my chilled bones.
Maris led us to a side corridor and paused outside a heavy wooden door.
“This will be yours,” she said to me. “For as long as you stay. If you need more blankets, yell. If you need less noise, yell louder. These stone walls carry sound.”
“Thank you,” I said.
She held my gaze. “Stormwake owes you,” she said quietly. “For holding our anchor from the other side. For keeping my son’s idiocy from getting him swallowed by your ravine.”
“I was the idiot,” I muttered.
“You all were,” she said. “That’s how legends happen. Don’t let it go to your head.”
Her eyes softened. “Rest,” she added. “The mountains don’t run away. We can show you their teeth tomorrow.”
She squeezed my shoulder—brief, surprisingly gentle—then moved off to bully Tiernan and Rian into food and council reports.
Brenna burst into my room the second the door shut behind us.
It was smaller than my training-wing room at Redwood, but cozier. A narrow bed tucked under a low window. A chest. A small shelf lined with smooth river stones and carved wooden figures. A thick fur rug on the stone floor.
The window looked out over the ravine—not a *magical* ravine, just Stormwake’s valley, green and deep, threaded with a glinting river.
“It’s like a postcard,” Brenna breathed. “If postcards smelled like damp wool and testosterone.”
I dropped my pack and sat heavily on the bed, the travel fatigue catching up.
Ashra purred, pleased. *We like this den.*
“You’re vibrating,” Brenna observed, flopping down beside me.
“It’s a lot,” I admitted. “New smells. New wolves. His mother. Old stones. Expectations.”
“And you haven’t even met his father yet,” she said.
My stomach lurched. “His father is…down in the mountain, right? With the stormstones?”
“According to gossip, yes,” she said. “Muttering to lightning. Very dramatic.”
“I’m not ready for that,” I said.
“No one is,” she said. “But you don’t have to see him yet. Tiernan promised. He said he wouldn’t shove you into that mess until you were good and ready to yell at the Goddess *and* old alphas simultaneously.”
“That’ll be a day,” I muttered.
She bumped my shoulder. “He brought you home,” she said. “Not to show you off. To…share. That’s…big.”
“I know,” I said softly.
You didn’t bring a girl like me—a half-feral elemental from a rival pack—to your mountain lightly.
You definitely didn’t put her in a room near your sacred stones unless you trusted her.
Or were very, very stupid.
Tiernan was not stupid.
Most of the time.
We rested that afternoon.
By evening, Maris insisted we attend the main meal.
It was similar to Redwood’s feasts, but smaller, more intimate. The tables were rough-hewn, filled with wolves who clearly all knew each other’s names.
Tiernan sat at the head, Maris at his right, an empty chair to his left that made my stomach twist.
He gestured for me to take it.
I did.
Stormwake eyes watched.
Not hostile.
Curious.
Rian raised his goblet in my direction. “To Kaia,” he said. “Who kept us from having to add ‘Devoured By Canyon’ to our pack’s list of creative alpha deaths.”
Laughter rolled around the table.
My cheeks burned.
“To Kaia,” voices echoed.
“To Kaia,” Maris said, voice warm. “Who has better instincts than most alphas I’ve met.”
Tiernan’s lips twitched.
We ate—thick stew, dark bread, smoked fish. The talk flowed around me—territory patrols, trade deals, gossip about a neighboring pack’s Alpha eloping with a healer.
After a while, the constant hum of new voices faded into background noise.
Tiernan leaned in. “How are you?” he murmured.
“Overwhelmed,” I said. “But not…unhappy.”
He smiled. “Good,” he said.
“Your mother is terrifying,” I added.
He laughed. “She is. You get used to it.”
“I don’t want to get used to terrifying,” I said. “I want a nice, boring life.”
“We’re well past that,” he said dryly.
“Unfortunately,” I agreed.
His eyes glinted.
“As soon as we’re done, I’ll take you to see the stones,” he said.
My pulse kicked.
“Tonight?” I asked.
“Not the deep ones,” he said quickly. “Just the outer ring. The ones you felt from Redwood. I want you to meet them properly.”
“Meet…your rocks,” Brenna muttered from my other side. “So romantic.”
Tiernan’s ears went pink.
I smothered a smile.
After the meal, as wolves drifted off to duties and dens, Tiernan led me through a narrow, descending corridor carved into the mountain.
The air grew cooler.
Damp.
The faint scent of ozone intensified.
Ashra pressed forward, ears pricked.
We emerged into a cavern.
It was…beautiful.
Smooth stone walls rose high, glistening faintly with moisture. Stalactites hung like teeth from the ceiling. In the center of the space, a circle of standing stones jutted from the floor—taller than the ones at Redwood, shot through with streaks of silver and faint, buried light.
The air hummed.
Not like the ravine.
More contained.
Disciplined.
Tiernan stepped into the circle, barefoot, movements reverent.
His aura eased, settling into a comfortable groove here.
He belonged.
He turned, holding out a hand.
I hesitated at the threshold.
Then stepped over.
The hum…shifted.
Welcoming.
Curious.
Stormwake’s stones recognized…something in me.
Maybe Kade.
Maybe Ashra.
Maybe just the echo of what we’d done with their cousin ravine.
I placed my palm lightly on the nearest stone.
A faint tingle raced up my arm.
Images flashed—mountain storms, lightning forking across black sky, wolves howling on ridges, old rituals carved into rock.
Ashra sighed, pressing her muzzle against the stone in our shared mindspace.
*Old kin,* she murmured. *Not as loud as the ravine. Stern. Watching.*
“These are the anchor stones,” Tiernan said softly. “What my father almost cracked open for a false mate. What my great-grandfather bled on to bind our storms. What our wolves cycle around when we swear oaths.”
“They’re…beautiful,” I said, tracing the streaks of light.
“Temperamental,” he corrected. “But yes.”
He stepped closer, until we were standing a breath apart, both touching the same stone.
“The night my father broke,” he said quietly, “I was fifteen. I watched him stand where you’re standing, his eyes gone white, his wolf howling. The stones answered. The mountain shook. I thought…we were going to die.”
He swallowed.
“My mother threw herself between him and the circle,” he went on. “Half the pack howled. The Goddess listened. Barely. The old Ashra laughed then too. I heard her. In the thunder.”
I listened.
Ashra listened.
“My life has been…shaped…by that night,” he said. “By trying to clean up after the mess old gods and foolish alphas made. By training wolves to stand in storms without losing themselves. Meeting you…” He huffed a breath. “It feels like the Goddess handed me a second chance to get it right.”
Pressure built behind my ribs.
“I don’t want to be your redemption arc,” I said hoarsely. “Your proof you’re not your father.”
“You’re not,” he said quickly. “I don’t see you as…that. You’re not a symbol. You’re…Kaia. With your own scars. Your own storms. I just—” He broke off, searching for words. “I want the boy who watched those stones nearly eat his pack to stand here with someone who can look at them and not flinch. Who can tell old Ashra ‘no’ and live. Who can choose. Freely. Not because of chains. But because she wants to.”
The last words hung between us.
I looked up at him.
At his storm-gray eyes.
At the vulnerability he wasn’t even trying to hide.
“I’m not ready,” I whispered.
He nodded slowly. “I know,” he said. “I’m not asking you to be. I’m just…showing you the ground. So when you’re ready to step, you know where you’re putting your feet.”
We stood there a long time, side by side, hands on the stone, hearts beating too fast.
The old Ashra’s presence curled at the edges of my awareness, watching.
But she didn’t speak.
The stones hummed quietly.
For once, the storm felt…contained.
Not because someone had caged it.
Because we were learning how to *hold* it.
Together.
---