Not everyone in Ashridge thought singing to stones and tying themselves to a Thornfell healer was a good idea.
The first open challenge came three days after the near-snap at the north ring.
Lira smelled it before she heard it.
Anger had a scent. Sharp, like metal scraped on stone. It spiked the infirmary’s usual mix of herbs and sweat one crisp afternoon as she was changing a bandage on an elder’s knee.
She turned her head, nostrils flaring.
Bram’s scent hit her simultaneously—pine, smoke, a flare of adrenal heat.
“Stay,” Mara snapped, catching Lira’s arm as she made to move. “This isn’t your fight.”
“Everything’s my fight now,” Lira said.
“Exactly,” Mara retorted. “You don’t have to attend every argument you’re the subject of.”
A shout from outside cut any response off.
“You’re letting Thornfell *in*,” a male voice boomed. “Into our stones. Our wolves. Our beta. How long before we’re just another branch of Cael’s pack?”
Garron’s deeper rumble answered. “Zev, use your brain, it misses you. Thornfell’s not exactly rolling in here with banners.”
Zev.
Lira had seen him around the training yard—dark blond, thick-necked, eyes like storm clouds. Older than Bram by a handful of years. One of the more vocal among the hunters. Not quite elder yet, not quite young. The dangerous in-between.
“He’s been grumbling for days,” Idris muttered, hovering near Lira’s shoulder. “About you. About Bram. About Corin ‘forgetting Ashridge’s pride.’”
“Of course he has,” Mara said dryly. “He liked the old days. When you could just bite whoever you didn’t like without thinking of consequences.”
Lira’s jaw tightened. “Maybe I should go,” she said. “Better to face it. Than hide.”
Mara’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not hiding,” she said. “You’re working. There’s a difference. Besides, Corin can handle Zev.”
Another shout. Closer to a roar this time. “He’s *ours,* Corin. You let a Thornfell witch tie herself to him, you tie *all of us* to their mess.”
Lira flinched at witch. Less than she used to.
More at the crack in the word *ours.*
She moved.
Mara swore, grabbing for her. Missed.
“Lira—”
“I’m done being a shadow,” Lira said, already striding toward the infirmary door. “They’re talking about me. They can do it to my face.”
Bram met her on the threshold, eyes hot.
“Don’t,” he said.
“Too late,” she replied, slipping past.
The courtyard had become a circle.
Wolves in human form ringed the center space, some with arms crossed, some with hands fisted at their sides. Corin stood near the well, shoulders relaxed but hard. Garron was two steps behind him, jaw clenched. Rane sat on an overturned crate, wolf-form, tail flicking.
Zev faced Corin, feet planted, chin lifted.
He was broad, his hair shaggy, his face set in lines of indignation.
“You didn’t call council,” Zev said, jabbing a finger toward Corin. “You just started… tying. Singing. Wiring our land to *her.*”
He jerked his chin at Lira as she emerged.
Every gaze followed.
Heat crawled up her neck. She kept her back straight.
“You want a council, you ask for one,” Corin said coolly. “You don’t roar in my courtyard like a drunk pup.”
“I am not a pup,” Zev snarled. “And I know when we’re being led by the nose. Thornfell scents all over our borders. Their healer in our beds—”
Bram stepped forward so fast the air seemed to move with him.
“Watch it,” he said, voice low.
Zev sneered. “Touched a nerve, did I?” he said. “You think we don’t *smell* her on you, Kade? You think we don’t see the way you orbit her like a moon?”
Bram’s wolf surged. Lira saw it in the way his shoulders tensed, his hands half-curled into claws even in human form.
“Zev,” Garron warned. “Careful.”
“Careful?” Zev laughed. “We’re dancing on a spiderweb because a Thornfell witch said ‘trust me, I’ve broken things before.’ You call that careful?”
Lira moved into the circle.
Every instinct screamed to shrink. To keep her head down as she had in Thornfell’s early days after the surge. To let alphas and seconds and elders talk.
She didn’t.
“Say it to me,” she said.
Zev’s head snapped toward her. “Gladly,” he said. “You think because you lost your wolf, you know anything about ours?”
“Yes,” she said simply.
A ripple went through the circle.
He blinked. “What?”
“I know what it is to have your bond with the land ripped open,” she said. “To feel old magic chew through the place your wolf should be. I know what it is to stand in the middle of that crack and *live.*”
“You call this living?” Zev spat. “You stink of emptiness.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “And ash. And herbs. And now Ashridge. I won’t pretend I’m… whole. I’m not. But I’m the only one here who’s looked that ravine-magic in the eye and not gone feral.”
“It’s killed *our* wolves,” Zev shot back. “You weren’t here when Bram came back with half his patrol burned. You didn’t see—”
“Yes, I did,” she cut in. “I saw it in Thornfell. I saw it take six wolves and leave five husks. I saw it crack stones that had stood for centuries. I saw pups go empty-eyed because their alphas made choices like you want Corin to make now—pride over prudence. Silence over asking for help.”
A murmur rose.
Zev’s face flushed. “You know nothing about my choices,” he snarled.
“I know enough,” she said. “You’d rather die Ashridge than live… with anyone’s help.”
“Yes,” he snapped. “I would.”
“That’s your right,” she said. “You want to walk into the ravine and offer yourself as a snack, do it. Alone. But don’t drag your pack with you because you can’t stand sharing a fight.”
He took a step toward her. “You talk big for someone hiding behind our stones,” he said.
“I’m standing in your courtyard, facing your anger,” she said quietly. “That’s not hiding.”
He bared his teeth. “You think we don’t see you… working your little spell on Bram?” he said. “You think we don’t notice the way he’s… softer with you? How he listens more to your hum than to the howl of his own pack?”
Bram snarled. “Zev—”
“Shut *up,*” Zev snapped at him. “You used to lead us with teeth. Now you sit in the infirmary holding her hand like a lovesick pup.”
The circle held its breath.
Lira fought not to flinch.
Bram’s wolf lunged.
Lira stepped in front of him.
He grabbed her shoulders, yanking her back automatically. “Lira—”
“Don’t,” she hissed. “You hit him, you prove his point.”
“He insulted you,” Bram snarled.
“No,” she said. “He insulted *you.*”
Corin’s eyes had gone very cold. “Zev,” he said, voice deceptively soft. “You want to challenge my decisions, you do it in council. Not in front of the whole pack.”
Zev laughed bitterly. “Council’s full of elders who remember when you were a pup,” he said. “They’ll back you because they raised you. Someone has to say what they’re thinking anyway.”
“And what’s that?” Corin asked.
“That tying ourselves to Thornfell is a mistake,” Zev said. “That feeding our land through their broken witch is a mistake. That trusting a beta who’s half-feral and half-besotted is a mistake.”
Bram’s hands tightened on Lira’s shoulders. Hard.
She didn’t mind.
Her wolf—if she’d had one—would have been bristling.
Her emptiness hummed instead.
“It’s not the first time we’ve allied with another pack,” Garron said sharply. “Or have you forgotten the western treaty?”
“That was before the surge,” Zev snapped. “Before magic started crawling into our skin. This is *different.*”
“Yes,” Lira said. “It is. Which is why doing the same thing you’ve always done will get you killed.”
He whirled on her again. “You think you’re the answer,” he said.
“No,” she said calmly. “I think I’m a tool. One of many. You have your claws. Your nose. Your knowledge of this land. I have… an emptiness that can drink what would drown you. Why not use *both*?”
“Because tools break,” he said. “And when you break, what happens to the web you’ve strung through our stones? Does it snap and cut us? Does it drag us down with you?”
Fair question.
She swallowed. “Maybe,” she said. “Maybe not. Maybe by then, we’ve retied enough that the web can hold without me. Maybe not.” She met his eyes. “I’m not going to stand here and pretend there’s no risk. There *is.* To me. To you. To all of us. But doing *nothing* is also a risk. So is pretending this is just Ashridge’s problem. Or Thornfell’s. Or mine.”
He scoffed. “The old ways—”
“The old ways got us here,” she snapped, anger finally flaring. “Your old alpha and mine playing tug-of-war with borders and blood. Ignoring the land’s hum. Using stones as props in their pride. You want to honor the *spirit* of the old ways? Fine. Run with your pack. Hunt with respect. Sing to the moon. But stop worshiping the *stupidity* that cracked the ground under us.”
Murmurs rose. Some approving. Some not.
Zev’s face was thunder. “You’re not pack,” he said. “You don’t get to tell us what to honor.”
“I’m the one standing in your web letting it burn through me so you don’t have to,” she said, voice low. “That buys me a *little* say.”
He opened his mouth.
Bram spoke first.
“She’s mine,” he said.
The words dropped like a stone into a still pond.
Everything rippled.
Zev’s eyes went wide. “Yours,” he repeated, incredulous. “Listen to yourself. You just—”
“Not like that,” Bram cut him off quickly, though his scent flared with something Lira recognized all too well. “Not… mate. Not—” He grimaced. “Not yet.”
Her heart did a strange, desperate leap.
He went on before she could process that.
“She’s *my healer,*” he said. “My… responsibility. As beta. I brought her into my patrol’s routes. I tied her to our stones. I asked her to reach for my wolf. You got a problem with what she’s doing, you come at me.”
Zev snorted. “Gladly,” he said. “You think I won’t fight you?”
“I think you want to,” Bram said. “I also think this isn’t about her. Or me. It’s about you being scared.”
A ripple. Sharper this time.
Zev’s hackles rose. “I don’t scare,” he snarled.
“Everyone does,” Bram said quietly. “Different things. I’m scared the ravine will eat more of us while I sit on my hands. Lira’s scared she’ll burn out and take our web with her. Corin’s scared he’ll make the wrong call and end up like his father. You’re scared Ashridge will stop being *only* Ashridge and become… part of something bigger.”
Zev’s jaw clenched. “We don’t need anyone else,” he said.
“You do now,” Rane spoke up from her crate, for the first time. Her wolf-voice carried with elder weight. “The land has changed. The hum is different. You can’t pretend our claim is a wall. It’s… thread. Woven with others.”
“We were strong alone,” Zev insisted. “We—”
“You were lucky alone,” Rane corrected. “Luck runs out. You watched it burn on the pyres last month.”
He flinched.
Corin stepped forward then, into the small space between Zev and Lira and Bram. His presence hit like a cold wave.
“You want a formal challenge,” he said softly, “you say the words, Zev. You challenge my right to lead. My decisions. My *wolves.*”
Silence prickled.
Zev’s jaw worked. His gaze flicked around the circle, taking in faces. Some loyal. Some uncertain. Some angry at him. Some at Corin. Some at the world.
His eyes lingered on Bram’s scar. On Lira’s collar. On Tansy, watching near the infirmary door, hand white-knuckled on the frame.
He took a slow breath.
“No,” he said finally. “Not… yet.”
Corin’s eyes narrowed. “Then what is this?” he asked. “A tantrum?”
“Fear,” Rane said again. “Say it. It has less teeth when you name it.”
Zev glared at her. Then, reluctantly, at Lira. At Bram. At Corin.
“I don’t trust her,” he said, jerking his chin at Lira. “I don’t trust Thornfell. I don’t trust magic. I don’t trust… any of this fucking rope.” He gestured vaguely at the boundary stones beyond the village.
“Good,” Lira said softly.
He blinked. “What?”
“Good,” she repeated. “You shouldn’t. Blind trust is what got us cracked in the first place. I don’t trust any of this either. I’m… terrified. Every day. Of what I’m doing. Of what I might set off. Of what I might not catch in time. But fear isn’t a plan. It’s a… fuel. You either burn with it or you use it to light a better path.”
He laughed once, harsh. “You talk pretty,” he said. “For someone with no wolf.”
“Words are what I have,” she said. “And an emptiness that eats things. And a beta with more bite than sense.” Her mouth twitched. “Take it up with him.”
Zev’s gaze slid to Bram again.
Bram lifted his chin. “I love this pack,” he said simply. “I’m not giving it to Thornfell. I’m not giving it to the ravine. I sure as hell am not giving it to your fear. You don’t have to like how we’re fighting. But get in the circle or get out of the way.”
Raw silence.
Zev looked at him for a long moment.
Then he spat on the ground.
“Fine,” he said. “I won’t challenge. Not now. You tie your ropes. Sing your songs. Dance with your witch.” His eyes flicked over Lira with pointed disdain. “But if you start smelling like Thornfell more than Ashridge, I come back. And I won’t be alone.”
He turned on his heel and stalked off, the crowd parting for him.
The circle remained tense.
Rane sighed. “He’s not wrong about one thing,” she said. “This will change us. Even if we win.”
Corin nodded slowly. “I know,” he said.
“Do you?” she asked.
He met her gaze. “I do,” he said. “I just don’t see another way.”
“Then we walk it,” she said. “Together. Or we fall separately.”
The crowd began to break apart, murmurs rising again.
Idris appeared at Lira’s elbow like a nervous bird. “You… okay?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “But I will be.”
He exhaled. “You really like that line,” he muttered.
“It keeps being true,” she replied.
Bram’s hand found her lower back. “Come on,” he said. “Mara’s going to pretend she doesn’t want to scold you, but she does.”
Mara snorted from the infirmary door. “You opened your mouth in front of the whole pack,” she said. “Of course I want to scold you.”
Lira rolled her eyes. “I just told the truth.”
“Exactly,” Mara said. “Dangerous habit.”
As they walked back toward the infirmary, Bram leaned down, his lips near Lira’s ear.
“She’s mine,” he murmured, echoing his earlier words. But this time, softer. For her alone. “In more ways than they realize.”
Heat ripped through her.
“Careful,” she whispered back. “You say things like that, I might believe them.”
“Good,” he said. “Believe them.”
She didn’t look at him.
But her emptiness hummed with something that wasn’t just old magic.
It felt suspiciously like *hope.*
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