Bram had never been good at waiting.
He’d been the pup who ran ahead of the adults on hunts, the young wolf who pushed farther on patrol, the beta who volunteered for the roughest routes. Standing still felt like inviting danger to catch up.
Now, standing still might be the thing that saved them.
“We’re not tying any more near-ravine rings until Jorren’s watchful,” Corin said one evening over a simple dinner at the long table in the main hall. “We have enough humming pockets. For now.”
Rane grunted approval, tearing into a hunk of bread. “Stones need to… settle,” she said. “Too much tugging, they crack.”
Bram stabbed a piece of stew meat a little harder than necessary. “And while we… settle,” he said thickly, “what does the ravine do? Knit itself tighter? Look for other lines to crawl along?”
“Yes,” Lira said softly from across the table. “Probably.”
He met her eyes.
“Then how do we *not* move and still win?” he asked.
She toyed with her spoon, tracing circles in a smear of gravy. “We move… differently,” she said. “Outwards. Not just… inwards. We… strengthen ourselves. Our ties. Our… choices.”
He frowned. “That’s a very healer answer,” he said.
“It’s the only one I have,” she replied. “We can’t punch the ravine. Yet. So we punch… fear. Guilt. Old habits. We make sure when it *does* pull, it doesn’t find as many cracks.”
Mara snorted. “Now there’s work for a century,” she said.
Corin’s gaze shifted to Bram. “We’ve been so focused on the land,” he said, “we’ve been neglecting… other structures.”
“Like what,” Bram asked suspiciously.
“Pack lines,” Corin said.
Bram stiffened. “What about them?”
Corin set his spoon down. “You’re my beta,” he said. “You were my beta when your father and mine died. You’ve *been* my beta all through this mess. But we never… made it formal. Not… fully.”
Bram blinked. “We did,” he said. “You howled. I answered.”
“That was… necessity,” Corin said. “War. Grief. The land needed… someone. We didn’t have time for ceremony.” He paused. “We do now. Or… we need to make it.”
Rane’s eyes gleamed. “Finally,” she rasped. “I was wondering how long you’d drag your paws.”
Lira looked between them. “What does… formal… mean?” she asked.
Corin’s gaze flicked to her, then back to Bram. “It means… binding,” he said. “Publicly. With witnesses. With… vows.” He grimaced. “With a lot of howling and some blood, probably. You know how elders love their rituals.”
Bram’s heart kicked.
He’d always felt bound to Corin. From the moment they’d run as pups. From the second they’d stood side by side over their fathers’ bodies. From the night Corin’s howl had dragged him back from death in that ravine clearing.
But this—
This was… different.
“What changed?” he asked slowly.
Corin’s mouth tightened. “The land,” he said simply. “And you.” His eyes flicked to Lira again, then back. “You’re… tied to other things now. To her. To this web. To… more than just Ashridge. If I want you to *stay*… when this is over… I need to… claim you properly.”
Heat flashed under Bram’s skin.
Claim.
The word did something it shouldn’t.
To him.
To his wolf.
To the space between him and Lira.
He saw her swallow, her fingers clenching around her spoon.
“That sounded less possessive in my head,” Corin muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
Rane barked a laugh. “Too late, pup,” she said. “You spilled it.”
Bram cleared his throat. “You… think I might leave,” he said, voice rough.
Corin met his gaze squarely. “I think the world is changing,” he said. “I think when the web is retied and the ravines are quiet, if that ever happens, you will have… choices. Thornfell. Others. Maybe no pack at all.” He glanced at Lira again, something like understanding in his eyes. “I don’t want you to feel… obligated to stay because of guilt. Or habit. I want you to… choose. With… full knowledge of what you’re tied to.”
Bram swallowed. “You want to… formalize,” he said. “So that if I leave, it… means something more.”
“Yes,” Corin said quietly. “And so that if you stay, it does too.”
Silence fell over their end of the table.
On the other side, someone told a joke about a pup and a rabbit that made Idris snort stew. Life went on, oblivious.
Bram sat back, the weight of the idea settling on his shoulders.
Formal beta-bonding.
He knew what it entailed in Ashridge tradition. Standing before the full pack under a waxing moon. Bleeding into a bowl with the alpha. Drinking from it together. Howling until their voices blended.
Letting the land watch.
Letting the land *bind.*
“I’m… not whole,” he said, before he could stop himself. “My wolf is still… scarred. I don’t know if I deserve—”
“No,” Rane said sharply. “Stop.”
He blinked.
“You sound like her,” Rane went on, jerking her muzzle at Lira. “With your ‘I’m broken’ and ‘I don’t deserve.’ I’ve lived long enough to bury more alphas and betas than you’ve had birthdays. None of them were whole. The ones who thought they were got us into this mess.”
Mara grunted in agreement. “You’re both idiots,” she said. “Useful. But idiots.”
Lira’s lips twitched. “We contain multitudes,” she murmured.
Bram looked at Corin. “You… sure,” he asked. “About… me. Like this.”
Corin’s stare was steady. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he said flatly. “You think I’d have survived my father, your father, this fucking web, without you at my side? You think Ashridge would?”
Bram’s stomach flipped.
He glanced at Lira.
She watched him, chest rising and falling a little too fast.
“You… have a say in this too,” he said to her, surprising himself. “If I tie myself tighter to Ashridge. To Corin. That… affects you. Us.”
Her eyes widened. “Why would my… opinion… matter?” she asked.
“Because you’re… in it,” he said. “My… future. Whatever that looks like. I’m not… making big life choices without at least… asking how you feel.”
Mara choked. “Look at you,” she said. “Communicating.”
Rane cackled.
Lira’s cheeks flushed. She set her spoon down with deliberate care. “I…” She took a breath. “I don’t… want you to… choose… anything… because of me,” she said. “Ashridge. Thornfell. Alpha. Beta. Wolf. Man. You were… all those things before I walked in.”
“Yes,” he said. “And then you changed everything.”
She flinched. “That’s… not a good thing,” she said.
“It is for me,” he said.
Corin cleared his throat. “You two can do your courting speeches after dinner,” he muttered.
Lira shot him a faintly horrified look. “Courting—”
Rane snickered. “Pups,” she said.
Bram resisted the urge to bang his head on the table. “We’re not—”
“Not *yet,*” Garron called from further down, having clearly been listening. “But if you keep staring at each other like that, we’re going to have to start charging admission.”
Laughter rippled.
Bram scowled. “Eat your stew,” he muttered.
When the noise died down, Lira spoke again, voice steadier.
“I think…” she said slowly. “That formalizing… your bond with Corin… might make the web… stronger.” She gestured vaguely between them. “The land responds to… clear lines. Old oaths. New ones. If you… say ‘this is my alpha’ in front of everyone… and the stones… it might… give us more to hold when it pulls again.”
Bram blinked. “You’re thinking… strategically,” he said.
“Always,” she said. “You’re… important. To Ashridge. To the web. To me.” The last words slipped out before she could edit them. She flushed. “If… formal ties… keep you from being… ripped… I’m for them.”
Silence.
Corin exhaled. “That settles that,” he said. “We’ll do it at the next waxing. Three nights.”
“Three days?” Bram repeated, startled. “That soon?”
“You want to give Zev time to stir up more trouble?” Rane asked. “No. Short notice. Less grumbling.”
Mara snorted. “There will be grumbling no matter what,” she said. “We might as well get it over with before the next crisis.”
Lira’s fingers twisted in her lap. “Does this mean…” She hesitated. “Will… I… be expected to… stand… somewhere?”
Bram frowned. “What do you mean?”
“In Thornfell,” she said, “when we… did formal stuff, anyone… important… to the wolves being bound… was… placed… near. Visible. Pack. Family. Lovers.” Her cheeks burned. “Not that I—”
“You are important,” Bram said bluntly. “You’re… my… healer.” His gaze softened. “My… friend.”
Her chest squeezed. “That’s… safe,” she said.
“Safe,” he repeated. “For now.”
Her pulse stuttered.
Corin watched them, something like amusement and exasperation mingling in his scent. “Traditionally,” he said, “the beta’s family stands behind. Mates to the side.”
Bram’s wolf perked.
Lira choked on a sip of water.
“We are *not*—” she began.
“Not *yet,*” Rane said again, grinning.
Mara threw a crust of bread at her. “Stop,” she said. “You’ll give them ideas.”
“They already had them,” Rane retorted.
Bram wanted to crawl under the table.
Instead, he squared his shoulders. “My family is… dead,” he said. “Blood-wise. My father. Mother. Brothers. Sisters. All… gone.” He glanced at Garron. “Except you. Pack-blood.”
Garron inclined his head, something like pride in his eyes.
Bram looked at Lira. “But my… pack-family… is not just… Ashridge-born,” he said quietly.
Her breath caught.
“If you’re… willing,” he said, voice low enough that only she and those closest could hear, “I’d like you behind me. When I stand. When I howl. When I bleed. Not… as lover. Or mate. Or… anything else anyone wants to call it. Just… as the person who’s held my wolf when I couldn’t. Who’s… carried… parts of me I didn’t want to carry alone.”
Tears burned behind her eyes.
She blinked them back.
“Yes,” she said, voice steady. “Of course.”
His chest loosened in a way he hadn’t realized it was tight.
“Good,” Corin said, sounding falsely brisk. “Settled. Ceremony in three nights. Rane, dig out your old chant. Mara, find a bowl that doesn’t leak. Garron, start making bets on how many elders cry.”
“They’ll all cry,” Garron said. “Old wolves are sentimental.”
Mara snorted. “They’ll cry because they’re losing their last excuse to treat Bram like a pup,” she said.
“Never going to happen,” Rane said. “Once a pup, always a pup. Beta or not.”
Bram groaned.
Lira laughed.
The sound wrapped around him like another thread.
He let it.
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