*Kieran*
Mara called the council three days after Sage’s fever broke.
We met not in the longhouse, but at the old quarry.
An unusual choice.
Mara did things like that on purpose.
To unsettle.
To make people see familiar places differently.
Snow clung to the rock faces, dripping in slow rivulets into the dark water below. The sky overhead was a washed-out gray, the air heavy with that damp chill that seeped into bones.
Sage stood beside me on the ledge, bundled in her coat, scarf wrapped high enough to hide most of her scar. Her eyes were clearer than they’d been in days, though faint shadows still clung underneath.
“You sure you’re up for this?” I murmured.
“No,” she said. “But I’m here.”
“That’s become your motto,” Rafe said, coming up on her other side. “’No, but I’m here.’ Inspirational.”
“Put it on a poster,” she muttered.
Below, Kellan, Edda, and half a dozen others paced the quarry floor, the hard stone amplifying their footsteps.
Mara stood near the edge of the water.
She looked…small.
And enormous.
Like a pebble at the center of a landslide.
She lifted her hands.
Silence rippled out.
Wolves stilled.
Eyes turned.
“We stand on old ground,” she said without preamble. “Not as old as the stone. Not as old as the tree. But old enough that our grandmothers whispered its stories.”
“Stories?” Sage whispered.
“This used to be a sacred pool,” I murmured back. “Before humans cut it into a pit. Pack elders would come here to…listen. The echoes tell us things.”
Sage snorted softly. “You have a magic quarry. Of course you do.”
“Shh,” Rafe hissed, though he was smirking.
Mara’s gaze swept the assembly.
“We are at a…turning,” she said. “Old stories wake. New ones crawl out of mouth and machine. We have a human in our den, a bone tree on our ridge, a Northridge boy half-pulled back from death, a government wolf project humming on our borders, and a valley that has decided to take an interest in our dreams.”
Murmurs.
Levi lurked near the back, half-swallowed by shadow, wrapped in a coat that hung awkwardly on his half-set shoulders. Ronan stood a few feet away, posture stiff, eyes never leaving his brother.
Cassian was not there.
Good.
Or not.
Depending.
“We cannot keep…treating each of these as separate storms,” Mara went on. “They are the same weather. Different gusts. Different raindrops. Same wind.”
“You called us here to tell us it’s raining?” Kellan rumbled.
She shot him a look.
“I called you here,” she said, “to talk about *lines.*”
My hackles prickled.
“Territory lines?” Rafe asked. “We know those.”
“Not those,” she said. “Power lines. Pact lines. Fate lines.”
“Oh good,” Sage muttered. “Light conversation.”
Mara smiled faintly.
“For generations,” she said, “we survived by hiding. By letting humans forget we were more than shadows on ridges. We kept our magic close. Our songs quieter. We let the valley hum without…answering too loudly.”
She glanced at Sage.
“That’s gone,” she said. “We broke that ourselves. We stepped into the light. We hung bones. We saved a Northridge boy. We let a human hear the hum. We can’t…unknow that. We can’t close eyes that have seen.”
“Are you saying we should have left Levi?” Edda asked, frowning.
Mara’s mouth tightened. “No,” she said. “I’m saying we have to *own* what that choice means. For us. For them. For him.”
All eyes flicked to Levi.
He shifted uncomfortably, human hand rubbing at his scarred throat.
“You’ve felt it,” she continued. “The way the air changes when Sage speaks at the town hall. The way kids like Jess and Tyler look at the tree. The way Northridge snarls louder when we don’t flinch. Power is…moving. Lines are…redrawing.”
“What are you suggesting?” Kellan asked warily.
“Not war,” she said. “Not yet. Not…ever, if we can help it. I am suggesting we stop pretending we can stand still while everything around us shifts.”
“Be specific,” I said.
She nodded toward Sage.
“Our human,” she said. “Is…marked.”
The word sent a chill through me.
Sage stiffened.
“By what?” she demanded. “Old magic? The valley? Your grandmother’s weird vibes?”
“Yes,” Mara said. “All of the above.”
“That’s not helpful,” Sage snapped.
Mara sighed.
“When you saw Kieran shift,” she said, “you didn’t just see a man become a wolf. You stood where the old and new overlap. Your science and our magic crossed. The valley likes that. It likes…bridges. So it…wrote on you.”
“Wrote,” Sage repeated weakly. “Like in Sharpie?”
“In blood,” Mara said simply.
Sage blanched. “Gross.”
“Metaphorical blood,” Mara amended. “Your dreams. Your fever. The way you hear the hum now. That’s…a mark. Not as deep as a true Mate bond. Not as binding as an oath cut on the stone. But it’s there. A line from you to us. From you to him.”
She inclined her head toward me.
Heat crawled under my fur.
“What does that *do*?” Sage asked. “Besides make me very popular with eldritch entities.”
“It makes you…loud,” Mara said. “In the valley’s ears. In the old places. In dreams.”
“That explains the bonfire nightmare,” Sage muttered. “Cassian’s invitations to my own execution.”
“It also makes you…vulnerable,” Mara went on. “To being pulled. Pushed. Used. By us. By them. By…other things.”
My jaw clenched.
“We’re not using her,” I said.
“Not intentionally,” Mara said. “But intent is only one thread. The valley doesn’t care what you *meant.* It cares what *is.* And what is, is this: your love, your bond, your choices have made her into…a focal point. For everything.”
“So…what.” Rafe scratched behind his ear with a back paw. “We…untie her? Cut the line?”
“If we could do that cleanly,” Mara said, “we’d be having a different conversation. As it is, any attempt to…remove…this mark could break her. Or kill her. As we discussed when we first considered memory cutting.”
Guilt twisted.
Sage swallowed hard.
“So I’m…stuck,” she said.
“Stuck,” Mara agreed. “But with…agency.”
“That’s contradictory,” Sage said.
“Welcome to magic,” Mara said.
“What do you propose?” I asked, keeping my voice even with effort.
“We bind *back,*” she said.
Silence.
“What,” I said flatly.
“We formalize what the valley has already started,” she said. “We make your bond with her…a thing we can *name.* Not just for you. For the old places. For the packs. For…us.”
“You want to—” Rafe’s eyes widened. “No.”
“What?” Sage demanded. “No *what*?”
“Mara’s suggesting we…bless it,” he said. “Sanction it. Make it…pack law.”
“Make *what* pack law,” Sage asked, eyes narrowing.
“Your bond,” Mara said. “With Kieran. With us. With this valley. Make it…official.”
“Like…marriage?” Sage blurted.
Several wolves blinked.
“Human concept,” Edda said. “Contracts. Papers. Cake. Sometimes love.”
“Sometimes property,” Sage muttered.
“Bits of it,” Mara said. “Ours is…deeper. Blood. Bone. Howl. Choice.”
“You want to make her—” Kellan started.
“Don’t say ‘Alpha’s mate,’” Mara warned. “He’ll faint.”
“I would not faint,” I growled.
“Mhm,” Edda said. “You’d sulk.”
“Shut up,” I muttered.
Sage’s face had gone very still.
“What does that…mean?” she asked carefully. “In practical terms.”
“It means,” Mara said, “the pack recognizes you. As more than guest. More than ally. As…ours. It means if anyone touches you with ill intent, they answer not just to Kieran, but to all of us. It means the valley sees a clearer line: this human is *claimed.* Under our protection. Under our magic. Under our…songs.”
“It also means,” Rafe added quietly, “that if something happens to him, we don’t…cast you out. You’d have a place. With us. Even if—”
“Don’t,” I snapped.
He shut his mouth.
Sage looked at me.
Her eyes were wide.
Dark.
“You knew she’d bring this up,” she said.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“And you didn’t…warn me?” she demanded.
“I wasn’t sure,” I said. “Didn’t want to…pressure you. Again.”
She looked back at Mara.
“You’re saying we…do this ritual,” she said. “And suddenly I’m…safer?”
“Not suddenly,” Mara said. “Magic’s not a shield you can strap on and forget. But it gives…weight. To your presence. To your choices. To *our* obligation to you. Right now, you exist in a…gray area. That’s…dangerous. For you and us.”
“And if we *don’t*?” Sage asked. “If we just…keep doing what we’re doing. Untitled.”
“Then the valley will keep pushing,” Mara said. “Marking you in ways we can’t predict. Dreams. Fevers. Accidents. Cassian will keep poking. Northridge will keep circling, smelling an unclaimed thing. Your humans will keep…wondering. You’ll be…slippery. Harder to…hold.”
“Romantic,” Sage muttered.
“It also ties Kieran,” Mara said, looking at me now. “Not just to you. To your people. To your choices.”
“I already am,” I said.
“Not in the eyes of the pack,” she said. “Right now, you’re still…Alpha first. Lover second. This would…shift that. A little. Balance.”
“You want to…bind my power,” I said flatly.
“I want to…root it,” she corrected. “So you stop trying to hold the world alone.”
“That’s what I’m for,” Sage said under her breath.
Mara smiled faintly.
“Yes,” she said. “But even bridges need…pillars.”
Sage exhaled.
Ran a hand through her hair.
“This is a lot,” she said. “Even for a Thursday.”
“We don’t have to decide now,” I said quickly.
Mara snorted. “You never did.”
“Later,” I said.
Sage’s mouth twitched.
“Later,” she echoed.
Mara’s gaze sharpened.
“That word,” she said. “You two wield it like a charm.”
“It’s…ours,” Sage said.
“Then be careful with it,” Mara said. “Later is a promise the valley likes to…test.”
“What…does this ritual involve?” Sage asked abruptly. “Hypothetically. For…research purposes.”
Mara’s lips curled.
“Blood,” she said.
“Of course,” Sage muttered.
“How much?” Kellan asked warily.
“A cut,” Mara said. “Small. Shared. Names spoken. Howls answered. Standing in one of the old places while you say ‘yes.’”
“Which old place?” I asked.
“The tree,” she said. “Or the stone. Your call.”
“The tree,” I said immediately.
“The stone,” Sage said at the same time.
We looked at each other.
“Why the tree?” she demanded.
“Less…binding,” I said. “Newer. Less blood-soaked. The stone has…too much weight. Too many old oaths. Too many…ghosts.”
“Because of Isandro,” she said softly.
My jaw clenched.
“Yes,” I said.
“The stone is…older,” she said. “More…foundational. If we’re doing this—hypothetically—I want it to…count. To be…seen.”
“The tree is seen,” I said. “By humans. By kids. By Cassian. The stone is seen by things we don’t even have names for.”
“Exactly,” she said.
My hackles rose.
Mara cleared her throat.
“This isn’t…tonight’s decision,” she said. “Or tomorrow’s. It’s…coming. The valley is already tugging the line. You can resist. For a while. But at some point, you’ll either tie the knot yourselves or it’ll tie you. And that tends to…hurt.”
Sage made a face. “I hate that everything is inevitability with you people,” she muttered.
“Not inevitability,” Mara said. “Trajectory. You can still choose your angle.”
“We’ll…talk,” I said.
Sage snorted. “We always do.”
“Then talk fast,” Mara said. “Winter is ending. So is your season.”
Chill settled over the quarry that had nothing to do with the air.
The assembled wolves shifted.
Uneasy.
Thoughtful.
Levi’s eyes were on Sage now.
Assessing.
Curious.
Ronan’s hand hovered near his brother’s uneven shoulder, not quite touching.
I caught his gaze.
Held it.
We both looked away at the same moment.
Lines.
Everywhere.
Old.
New.
Invisible.
Humming.
We broke the council without a decision.
We were good at that.
Later.
Always later.
As we walked back toward the village, Sage fell into step beside me, boots slipping slightly on the wet stone.
“You okay?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “You?”
“No,” I said.
We walked.
Our hands brushed.
She grabbed mine.
Held tight.
“Whatever we do,” she said quietly, “we do it *together.* Not because Mara or the valley or prophecy wants it. Because we do.”
“Yes,” I said.
“And we tell Kim something,” she added. “Not everything. But…something. Before we let an ancient mountain officiate our commitment ceremony.”
I choked.
“She won’t be happy,” I said.
“She doesn’t have to be,” Sage said. “She just has to be…informed.”
“You’re going to break her brain,” I muttered.
“So did you,” she said. “Fair’s fair.”
“Later,” I said.
She squeezed my hand.
“Later,” she agreed.
We were standing on a cliff, watching the river rise, knowing at some point we’d have to jump.
At least, this time, we’d jump holding hands.
***
*To be continued…*