Chapter 168: Between the Leaves
Josie
My chest still felt tight from the tension the stranger had brought into the house — that frail shape at the doorway, the hush that had fallen so fast it felt like an accusation. For a moment I had thought the nightmare had followed me in, and now here she was, standing small and shivering as if she could disappear if we all just stopped looking.
Two guards hovered nearby, faces flushed with that embarrassed kind of guilt that people get when they know they messed up. One of them stepped forward with a bow that was too formal for the situation. "Alpha, we’re sorry. We— we did not realise who she was. She came in under a false name and we didn’t check—"
Thorne’s hand cut the apology off and the hallway breathed in. He was swift at silencing people — a skill at which he excelled. He gave the woman a look that was equal parts command and challenge, and when he signalled, the guards immediately stilled. There was a subtle authority to him, the kind that made people do what he wanted without question. It was... infuriating, but in the same instant I felt a weird little tug—like a small animal excited and afraid.
"Remove your shawl," Thorne said, low and clipped, as if demanding a thing already done.
The woman’s hands fumbled at the fabric around her face and she trembled. "I cannot," she whispered, voice hoarse. "The moon goddess placed a curse on me. If anyone looks upon my face... they will die."
The hallway went very, very quiet. I could feel a collective flinch, like all our breath had been pushed back into our ribs. For a second my mind refused to form the obvious answers. The words felt theatrical, impossible. But her eyes—dark and haunted—didn’t carry the flair of invention. They carried pleading and a rawness I could not fake.
Kiel spoke first, his voice steady despite the weirdness of it all. "Where are you from?"
"A rogue," she answered, the word clinging to her like a bitter taste. "Cast out. I had nowhere to go. I thought, perhaps, the pack—" Her voice broke. She had a scent, yes, skirts of old magic woven around her like a moth-eaten cloak, but the kind of scent that made the hair at the back of my neck lift. She had an edge of danger and something inexperience at the same time.
They asked the same things you always want to ask: name, purpose, how she came to be on our doorstep. She gave us a story—short, clumsy, about a mate who had rejected her, about being driven out, about hunger and fear. "They call me Carolyn," she said finally, the name small as if she were offering it to us to break.
Thorne’s jaw tightened. He was done with strangers. He had every right to be cautious; after the business with Liam and Michelle, he had not been sleeping peacefully. He was still the Alpha, even if I had been foolish enough to think an apology could change months of habitual dominance. He faced her head-on. "You will leave at once. We are not a refuge for rogues. We do not take in those who come to manipulate our pack."
Something clamped down inside me like an animal between my ribs. I saw Carolyn flinch and it was like a knife. I could hear the words before they left my mouth and, even as they did, I wondered which part of bravery and which part of stupid made me say them. "She can work in the kitchen," I said, the sentence stepping out of me before I could bottle it up. "If she cannot cook, she can clean. She can’t be anywhere near the Alphas’ quarters unsupervised — that much is obvious."
The hallway looked at me like I’d pulled a wrong lever somewhere, but I kept going. "We can use hands. She’ll be useful and she’s grateful." The woman looked as if someone had handed her the world; her eyes shone with tears that weren’t theatrical. She could have been lying. She could have been dangerous. And yet something in the way she held herself, the way she bowed properly to us, told me she was not there to take advantage.
Thorne’s eyes snapped to mine, and the expression there made the heat climb into my face. "What right do you have to assign anyone tasks in my house?" he demanded. "You are not Luna. You may be our mate—" His voice clipped at the word like it tasted bad to him. "—but you do not control who we shelter."
I don’t know whether I was more shocked by the formality of his anger or by the sting when he said what he said. I felt it like a physical thing, a slap that left my cheek burning and my heart pounding like an overworked drum. "I am your mate," I said, my voice steady despite the tremors under the surface. "Varen and Kiel accepted me. That means something. It should mean something to you as well."
Thorne’s face wrenched. He was used to forms, to rules and order. His voice hardened. "There is an issue. I am the Alpha here. I have a duty to protect this pack from threats. After what happened with Liam and that woman—Michelle—" He spat the name like venom, "I will not be lax. We do not invite strangers who cloak themselves in myth. We do not take risks."
That cracked me. I felt something flicker and die inside my chest — sorrow, a little betrayal. "You brought Liam into our lives," I snapped back before thinking better. The words landed harshly and once they were out there, they were like thrown stones. Thorne’s nostrils flared and for a second the room held its breath, the static of confrontation; then Varen stepped in between us like a cool current.
"Okay," Varen said, hands raised, peacemaker mode flicking on in his voice. He sighed and his features softened. "We’re getting nowhere by snapping at each other. The only sane thing is to verify what she says. Call a seer. Have someone test the claim. If she’s a threat, we’ll deal with her. If not, we give her a job and keep an eye on her."
Kiel nodded, backing him up in his own calm way. They both turned to me and Varen put a hand on my shoulder, a brief, grounding squeeze. "Come with me," he suggested suddenly. "Josie, we’ve planned that little outing. You need to come. Get outside. Don’t stew here."
I hesitated because Thorne’s glare was still burning in the back of my mind, because Carolyn’s pale, haunted face lingered like a ghost. But Varen’s hand was steady, and Kiel’s eyes were patient. Sometimes you need to step away from the hot iron to stop burning. I nodded, trying to fold the swirl of guilt and uncertainty into a neat, manageable thing and leave it there.
The ride was a strange kind of silence. Sandwiched between Varen and Kiel in the back of the carriage, I felt small and protected and acutely aware of all the fragile fissures that made our little family more glass than stone. Varen’s thigh brushed mine in a claim that was casual and sure; Kiel’s steady presence on my other side felt like a promise. I watched the world blur past in bands of green and brown and thought about how enormous things had become — how small my hands felt compared to the responsibilities humming around us.
If only I could hear my wolf, I thought absurdly. If only she had a voice that could say why Thorne was the way he was, to explain the iron and the loneliness and the wounds he kept hidden. Sometimes I think a wolf’s honesty would be simpler than human words. A raw voice that would tell me where to step, where to hold, how to mend what had been rent.
We arrived at the field and stepped out into a place that looked impossible: rows of blocks, like a chessboard, each section pinned with clusters of leaves — but the leaves were trapped, suspended in the air between two slabs of stone, fluttering like tiny flags in a still wind. It felt ceremonial and a little strange, like the kind of place old stories used for tests and rites.
"What is this?" I asked, curiosity and a sliver of fear prickling me.
Kiel’s mouth tilted at the corner. "You’ve been worrying about your power spiralling out of control." He drew closer, and his voice quieted, honeyed with patience. "We thought it was time to change fear into something else. Time to make you grow—deliberately, not by accident."
A warmth flooded me, and it spilled into tears before I could stop them—sudden, hot, uninvited. The enormity of it all, the fear for everyone, the rawness of Thorne’s resistance, the morning’s thread of tension—everything pooled and spilled down my face. I tried to blink it away but the tears kept coming, and Varen, ever the observant one, moved before I realized he had.
"Kiel—" I started, then quit.
Instead I ran to them because the only thing certain in the world that morning were those two steady anchors. I threw my arms around Kiel first, fingers splayed on the firm line of his cheek. "What did I do to deserve you?" I whispered, voice thick.
Kiel’s thumb stroked the fire trail beneath my jaw, and his look was soft enough to make me ache. "You didn’t do anything," he said. "I’m the lucky one. I want to make right what should have been from the start. You don’t deserve chaos, Josie. You deserve better than that."
I turned toward Varen, laughing through the residue of my sob. He shrugged like a man who’d rather be anywhere else, and then, impossibly, his grin split into something sweet. "I don’t know much about your powers," he admitted bluntly, "but I know how to pick up heavy things. I can carry blocks. I can carry you when you need it."
I laughed properly then, a choked, delighted sound that felt like sun breaking through cloud. Varen’s attempt at practical wisdom was ridiculous and exactly what I needed.
He wound his arm around my waist, a promise in the simple gesture. "Time to kick ass," he said, voice rough with amused resolve. "And don’t you worry about Thorne. He hates being challenged—he’ll come around or he won’t. But that’s not for you to carry."
For one bitter, confused second my face faltered — because I loved Thorne and I wanted him to understand and to see me and to accept me without the armor he always wore. But Kiel’s hand cupped my cheek then, and he said, bright and determined, "We won’t talk about him today. We’re going to be happy. Just for a while."
He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, like a seal, and before I could form a protest, he bent and grabbed my hands. "Come on," he cried, voice bubbling over with an excitement that was infectious. "Let’s do it."
"Let’s do it," I whispered back, because in that moment — with leaves hanging like held breaths and two Alphas at my side — it was the only answer that felt like truth.