*Sage*
Pain woke me at dawn.
Not the sharp, bright kind from cuts or bruises.
The deep, throbbing ache of a full-body hangover without the fun part.
“Ugh,” I groaned, rolling onto my back.
My cheek twinged.
I winced.
“Easy,” Kieran murmured from beside me. “You ripped the bandage in your sleep.”
“Great,” I said. “Self-harm via tossing and turning. Very edgy.”
He hovered over me, brow furrowed. In the pale morning light, I could see the worry lines etched deeper than they should be at his age.
“How bad?” I asked.
“Pretty,” he said.
I reached up reflexively.
He caught my wrist.
“Don’t touch,” he said. “You’ll pull the salve off.”
I let my hand drop.
“Mirror,” I demanded.
He hesitated.
“Sage,” he started.
“Mirror,” I repeated.
He sighed.
“There’s no glass in here,” he said. “You’d have to go to the longhouse.”
“Fine,” I said. “Help me up.”
He offered a hand.
I took it.
Let him pull me up.
My body protested.
“You should rest,” he said.
“Nope,” I said. “If I lie here thinking about the fact that Cassian’s claw marks are on my face and there’s a literal shrine to us up the hill, I’m going to climb the walls.”
He grimaced. “Fine,” he said. “Breakfast. Then Mara can yell at you for moving too much.”
“And a mirror,” I insisted.
He muttered something in Spanish under his breath that I suspected was not complimentary and helped me into my clothes.
As we stepped outside, the cold air slapped me fully awake.
The village hummed.
Pups chased each other in the snow, kept closer to the dens than usual. Adults moved with a tight, efficient energy, voices low.
Everyone knew what had happened at the bone tree.
Word traveled fast here.
“Morning, Scarface,” Rafe called from the longhouse steps.
I flipped him off.
“That’s going to stick, you know,” he said. “The scar, I mean. The finger is temporary.”
“Good,” I said. “I’ll look badass in my tenure-track job interviews.”
“You think you’re going back to academia after this?” Edda asked, appearing at his shoulder with a bowl of something steaming.
“I don’t know where I’m going after this,” I admitted. “But if I show up somewhere with this—” I gestured at my cheek “—and a story about fieldwork, at least they’ll take me seriously.”
“Or they’ll call psych services,” Rafe muttered.
“Optimism, please,” I said.
“Breakfast first,” Mara called from inside. “Then self-loathing.”
Inside the longhouse, heat wrapped around me like a blanket.
Mara pressed a bowl into my hands.
Porridge.
With berries.
And something crunchy.
“Don’t ask,” she said. “Just eat.”
I ate.
It was…good.
Warm.
Comforting.
My body unclenched a fraction.
“Let me see,” Mara said, gesturing to my face.
I tilted my head obediently.
She peeled back the bandage.
“Hm,” she said.
“What does ‘hm’ mean?” I demanded. “On a scale from ‘you’ll have a cool scar’ to ‘your face is now a Picasso’?”
“You’ll have a faint line,” she said. “White, eventually. Not disfiguring. Just…there.”
“Cool,” I said. “Character.”
“You have enough of that,” Rafe said.
“Thank you,” I said sweetly. “Now where’s the mirror.”
Mara pointed to a small, warped piece of glass nailed to a post near the hearth.
I approached it like it might bite.
The face that looked back at me was…me.
Tired.
Pale.
Hair a mess.
Eyes too big.
And a red line, angry and raised, slanting along my cheekbone.
It wasn’t huge.
It wasn’t nothing.
I stared.
My chest tightened.
“It’s not that bad,” Kieran said quietly behind me.
“I know,” I said.
I didn’t.
Not yet.
I leaned closer.
The salve glistened.
The line would fade.
Become part of me.
A new topography on a familiar map.
“Does it bother you?” I asked without turning. “When you look at me?”
He was silent for a beat too long.
“Yes,” he said.
My stomach dropped.
“In the sense,” he added quickly, “that I hate that it’s there because of him. Because he thought he could mark you like territory. Because he thought he could…touch you and walk away.”
Heat flushed my chest.
“So it doesn’t…make me…less,” I said haltingly.
“Less what,” he asked.
“Pretty,” I blurted. “Feminine. Human. Whatever.”
His hand appeared in the mirror.
Cupped my jaw.
Fingers careful to avoid the salve.
He met my eyes in the warped glass.
“Sage,” he said. “If you think any mark could make you less, you’re an idiot.”
The words were harsh.
The tone wasn’t.
I swallowed.
“You’re biased,” I muttered.
“Yes,” he said. “Utterly. Hopelessly.”
Rafe gagged loudly behind us.
“Gonna puke,” he said. “So much sap.”
“Don’t mind him,” Edda said. “He’s just jealous no one cut his face for love.”
“That’s not what this is,” I protested.
Edda arched a brow. “Isn’t it?”
Mara cleared her throat.
“We can debate the romantic merits of scars later,” she said. “Right now, we have two problems.”
“Only two?” I asked. “We’re slipping.”
“Human,” she said, ticking off on her fingers. “Northridge.”
I sobered.
“What did I miss?” I asked.
“While you were busy getting mauled,” Rafe said, “our friend Kurt was busy at the bar. Again. New rumors. Louder this time.”
“And?” I pressed.
“And,” Mara said, “word reached town council. They’re ‘concerned.’ Kim called.”
“The council,” I repeated. “As in…town hall. Elected officials. People with actual power.”
“Yes,” Mara said. “They’ve scheduled a…meeting. To discuss ‘wildlife management and public safety.’ They’ve invited Fish & Wildlife. That means you.”
My gut twisted.
“They want me to…defend the wolves,” I said. “In front of a room full of scared, angry people. While my boss watches. And Kurt rants. And Cassian circles the valley.”
“Pretty much,” Rafe said. “Should be fun.”
My hands went cold around the bowl.
“You don’t have to go,” Kellan said gruffly. “You can tell them you’re…sick. Transfer. Run.”
“No,” I said immediately.
Everyone looked at me.
“I mean…yes. I have to go,” I corrected. “If I don’t show up, Kurt wins the narrative by default. He’ll say I’m hiding. That I don’t care. That I’m…guilty.”
“Of what?” Edda asked. “Being hot and smart?”
“Of bringing wolves back,” I said. “Of…this.” I gestured vaguely toward the northern ridge. “And now, if he mentions ‘demon wolves that walk like men,’ there’ll be enough…smoke in the air for people to start seeing fire.”
“Then you go,” Mara said. “You stand. You speak. You tell your truth.”
“My truth is insane,” I said. “’Hi, yes, wolves are good for the ecosystem, also some of them turn into hot men and one of them clawed my face.’”
“Leave out the last part,” Rafe advised.
“Really?” I deadpanned. “I thought that was the persuasive bit.”
“You’re funny when you’re panicking,” Kieran said softly.
“I’m always funny,” I said. “Panic just makes it sharper.”
“When is this meeting?” he asked Mara.
“Two nights from now,” she said. “Town hall. Early evening. Humans like to argue before bed.”
“Will Cassian go?” Edda asked.
“Probably not,” Rafe said. “He hates human spaces.”
“He might watch,” I said. “From outside. From corners. In half-shadow.”
Kieran’s jaw clenched.
“I’ll be there,” he said.
“In town?” I asked. “At the meeting?”
“Yes,” he said.
“You can’t—” I started.
“I can,” he said. “And I will. I won’t leave you alone in that room.”
“I won’t be alone,” I argued. “Kim will be there. Other FWS people. Rangers. Probably a cop or two.”
“None of them know what’s really coming,” he said. “None of them can smell the difference between fear and hunger. None of them can hear the way a room shifts when someone lies. I can.”
My heart thudded.
“He’s not wrong,” Mara said softly. “Human rooms have teeth too. You’ll need someone who can see them.”
“I can see them,” I protested. “I’ve been in plenty of town halls. I know how to read a crowd.”
“Not like this,” Kieran said. “Not with…you on the altar.”
“Stop calling everything an altar,” I muttered.
He stepped closer.
Lowered his voice.
“You faced Cassian on the hill,” he said. “Let me face your wolves with you.”
The phrase *your wolves* did weird things to my chest.
Mostly painful.
A little warm.
“You’ll stand out,” I said. “Construction-cover-story or not. You look…like you.”
“I’m capable of wearing flannel like the rest of your kind,” he said dryly.
“You’ll make people drop their coffee,” I said. “And their jaws. And possibly their underwear.”
“Is that a problem?” Edda asked.
“Yes,” I said. “We’re trying to avoid distractions.”
“You’re the only one flirting with him,” Rafe said. “The rest of them will just be…confused.”
“This isn’t about flirting,” I snapped.
“Isn’t it?” Edda muttered.
Mara clapped her hands once.
“Focus,” she said. “Meeting. Two nights. Sage and Kieran attend. Rafe runs interference in town. Edda and Kellan hold the ridge. I keep the pups from eating each other.”
“And Northridge?” Kellan asked.
“We watch,” Mara said. “We listen. We feel. If they step, we step harder.”
“Do we…tell Kim?” I asked quietly. “About Cassian. About…Northridge. About…the bone tree encounter.”
Everyone went still.
“No,” Kieran said immediately.
“She’s my boss,” I said. “My…friend. She’s backing me on the Legends project. She’s covering for me with her higher-ups. She deserves to know more than…half-truths.”
“You tell her half-truths now,” he said. “She can survive that. You tell her the whole truth, she’s going to have to choose. Between you. Between us. Between her job and her belief and her *sanity.* Don’t ask her to do that.”
“That’s not fair,” I whispered.
“Nothing about this is fair,” he said.
Mara’s gaze was sympathetic. “He’s right, Sage,” she said. “Your Kim is already burning herself for you. Don’t pour more oil on the fire.”
I swallowed hard.
“I hate this,” I said.
“We all do,” Rafe said. “Welcome to the club.”
“Fine,” I muttered. “No full disclosure. Yet.”
“Yet,” Kieran echoed softly.
“I reserve the right to blow everything up later if this goes sideways,” I added. “Ethically.”
“You reserve the right to do a lot of things,” he said.
“Oh, do I?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “That’s what scares me.”
***
I spent the rest of the day pacing.
Half the village was a blur of logistics—who would patrol where, which pups would sleep in which den, what herbs Mara needed stockpiled.
The other half was a blur of my own making.
I wrote.
Crossed out.
Wrote again.
Talking points.
Data.
Graphs.
Jokes.
The old familiar rhythm of preparing for a talk settled over me, a thin blanket over a bed of nails.
“You’re muttering,” Rafe observed from the doorway of the cabin as the light started to fade.
“I’m practicing,” I said.
“For what?” he asked. “A TED Talk about how to make love to wolves?”
I threw a balled-up piece of paper at him.
He caught it easily.
Uncrumpled.
Read.
“‘Wolves were here before we drew lines on maps,’” he read. “’They’ll be here after we forget where we put our fences.’ Not bad. Poetic. Little dramatic.”
“People like a little drama,” I said. “Makes them feel like they’re part of something bigger than their property tax arguments.”
“Mm,” he said. “You’re good at this.”
“At what?” I asked.
“Making people listen,” he said. “Even when they don’t want to.”
“I wish I could do that with Cassian,” I muttered.
“You did,” he said. “He just doesn’t like what he hears.”
He tossed the paper back.
“Try not to get eaten at your little human jamboree,” he said.
“I’ll have your Alpha with me,” I said lightly. “What could possibly go wrong?”
He snorted.
“Don’t say that out loud,” he said. “The universe listens.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in that,” I said.
“I believe in stories,” he said. “And how they like to twist around people who get cocky.”
“You’re all very superstitious for creatures that can do actual magic,” I said.
“Magic makes you respectful,” he said. “You might want to remember that in your PowerPoint.”
“I don’t have a projector,” I muttered.
“Then use your words,” he said. “You’re good with those. Most of the time.”
“Thanks, I guess,” I said.
He hesitated.
Then, more quietly, he added, “For what it’s worth…we’re glad you’re here. Even if you’re a walking disaster.”
Heat prickled behind my eyes.
“Thanks,” I said, voice rough.
He nodded once.
Then he was gone.
Leaving me with my notes.
My fear.
And the echo of his words.
*We’re glad you’re here.*
I pressed my hand to my scarred cheek.
Closed my eyes.
Breathed.
Then I picked up my pen and started writing again.
Because tomorrow, I’d stand in a room full of humans and try to talk them into not unleashing hell on the valley.
And after that?
After that, I had no idea.
***