Chapter 39 First Real Meeting
The next morning arrives with crystal clarity—one of those autumn days where everything feels sharp and defined, like the world has been rendered in high definition.
I dress carefully. Not for Mason—I tell myself firmly—but because I want to feel strong. Capable. In control.
Rory chooses her own outfit: jeans, a purple sweater with a wolf embroidered on it, and the boots Mark bought her last week. She brushes her own hair, braids it herself with practiced efficiency.
"You look beautiful," I tell her.
"I look strong," she corrects. "Beautiful is nice, but strong is better."
Another lesson I taught her without realizing it.
We eat breakfast in near silence, both of us processing what's about to happen.
Mark appears at our table. "He's ready. Whenever you are."
"Where?"
"The meditation grove again. He thought neutral territory would be best for a first real meeting."
Rory nods approval. "Smart. Shows he respects boundaries."
"When did you become an expert on relationship dynamics?" I ask.
"I read a lot. You'd be surprised what you can learn from books." She stands, squaring her small shoulders. "Let's go meet my father."
The walk to the meditation grove feels both too long and too short.
My heart pounds against my ribs. My palms sweat. Every instinct screams at me to turn around, to run, to protect myself from potential heartbreak.
But Rory's hand in mine keeps me moving forward.
When we enter the clearing, Mason is already there.
He's standing—barely—using a walking stick for support. But he's upright. Present. His color is better than yesterday, though he's still gaunt, still clearly suffering.
The moment his eyes land on Rory, his entire face transforms.
It's like watching the sun come out from behind clouds. Joy, wonder, love—all of it written clearly across his features.
"Aurora," he breathes.
"Rory," she corrects. "Only Mama calls me Aurora when I'm in trouble."
A smile tugs at his lips. "Rory, then."
They stare at each other for a long moment.
I can feel the tension, the uncertainty, the weight of three years of absence pressing down on this meeting.
Then Rory walks forward, closing the distance between them.
She stops a few feet away, studying him with clinical precision.
"You're taller than I expected."
"You're more extraordinary than I imagined."
"Mama says I get my eyes from you."
"And everything else from her, apparently." Mason glances at me, warmth in his gaze. "Your strength, your intelligence, your courage—that's all Sage."
"She is pretty amazing," Rory agrees. "She kept me alive when everyone said we wouldn't survive. Taught me to hunt, to hide, to fight when necessary. She's the strongest person I know."
"Mine too," Mason says softly.
The words hit me harder than they should.
Rory continues her assessment. "Dr. Chen says you're dying because the mate bond is broken. That you have maybe two weeks without treatment, less with the pain from the stabilization process."
"That's correct."
"And you're enduring all of this just for a chance to know me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
The question is simple, direct, devastating.
Mason lowers himself onto one of the meditation benches with obvious difficulty. When he speaks, his voice carries the weight of absolute honesty.
"Because I spent three years regretting the worst decision of my life. Three years watching my pack fall apart because I was too weak to lead without my true mate. Three years dying slowly, painfully, knowing I threw away everything that mattered for politics that meant nothing." He meets Rory's eyes. "Then I saw that video. Saw you shift, saw your power, saw your mother's pride when she looked at you. And I realized I had missed everything. Your birth, your first shift, your first words—all of it gone because I was too much of a coward to stand up for what was right."
"Are you still a coward?"
"Probably. But I'm trying to be brave. Trying to be the father you deserve, even if it's three years too late."
Rory processes this in silence.
Then she moves closer, reaching out to touch the walking stick he's using for support.
"This is made from ash wood. Strong, flexible, good for healing."
"Elder Sarah chose it for me. Said it represented new beginnings."
"She's wise." Rory looks up at him. "Can you shift? In your current condition?"
"Dr. Chen advises against it. Says the energy expenditure could kill me."
"But could you if you had to? If something threatened us?"
Mason's expression hardens. "I would die protecting you. Whether I could shift or not."
"Good answer." Rory nods, apparently satisfied. "Okay. Here are my rules."
I bite back a smile. Of course she has rules.
"First: You don't lie to me. Ever. Even if the truth is uncomfortable or makes you look bad. I'd rather have honesty than pretty stories."
"Agreed."
"Second: You don't make promises you can't keep. If you say you'll do something, you do it. No excuses."
"Understood."
"Third: You respect Mama. Always. She's been through enough because of you. If you hurt her again—even accidentally—we're done."
Mason's eyes find mine across the clearing. "I would rather die than hurt her again."
"You might have to prove that," Rory says bluntly. "Words are easy. Actions matter."
"You're absolutely right."
"Fourth: You teach me things. Pack history, fighting techniques, how to be a good leader. I'm going to be powerful—everyone says so. I need to know how to use that power responsibly."
"I can do that."
"And fifth..." Rory takes a deep breath. "You let me decide how I feel about you. Don't try to force affection or make me call you Dad before I'm ready. Earn it. The way you're earning Mama's trust."
Mason's voice is thick with emotion when he responds. "Those are fair rules. More than fair. Thank you for giving me a chance to follow them."
"Don't thank me yet. You haven't passed the test." She turns to me. "Mama, do you have anything to add?"
I step forward, joining them in the center of the grove.
"Just one thing." I look at Mason directly. "Rory is the priority. Always. Not me, not you, not pack politics—her. Her safety, her happiness, her future. Everything else is secondary."
"I understand."
"Do you? Because three years ago, you prioritized pack politics over everything. Over me, over our unborn child, over the bond that should have been unbreakable. What's different now?"
Mason struggles to his feet, abandoning the walking stick to stand unsupported.
The effort costs him—I can see pain flash across his face, see his hands tremble.
But he stands.
"What's different is that I learned the hard way that packs don't make us whole. Mates do. Family does. Love does." His voice is steady despite his obvious weakness. "I spent three years watching my pack disintegrate because I rejected my true mate. Watched wolves leave because they couldn't follow an Alpha who'd chosen politics over love. Watched everything I'd built crumble because the foundation was rotten."
He takes a shaky step toward me.
"I can rebuild a pack. Can find new wolves, establish new alliances, create new political connections. But I can't rebuild what I had with you. Can't get back the three years I missed with Rory. Can't undo the damage I caused." Another step. "So yes, Sage. I understand that Rory is the priority. Because she represents everything I threw away. Everything I'm trying to earn back. Everything that actually matters."
The speech leaves him breathless, swaying on his feet.
Rory moves quickly, offering her small shoulder for support.
Mason takes it gratefully, and something passes between them—some wordless understanding that makes my throat tight.
"Okay," Rory says. "You can stay. For now. We'll see how the two weeks go."
"Thank you." Mason's voice breaks on the words. "Thank you for the chance."
"Don't waste it." She helps him back to the bench. "Now, tell me about pack history. Start with the founding of the Black River Pack. Mama tried to teach me, but she only knows the omega version of events. I want to hear the Alpha perspective."
And just like that, they're talking.
Mason, weak and dying, sharing stories of pack lineage and territorial disputes and alliance formations.
Rory, brilliant and eager, absorbing every word, asking questions that show she's already thinking three steps ahead.
I sit on a separate bench, watching them, feeling something shift in my chest.
This is what Rory has been missing. Not just a father, but someone who can teach her the Alpha side of her heritage. Someone who understands the weight of leadership, the burden of power, the responsibility that comes with extraordinary ability.
I've taught her survival. Mason can teach her to thrive.
"Mama?" Rory's voice breaks into my thoughts. "Did you know that the Black River Pack was founded by three brothers who were all Alphas? That's why our territory is so large—each brother claimed a section."
"I didn't know that."
"Mason says it's rare for multiple Alphas to share power peacefully. Usually they fight for dominance. But the three brothers made it work because they prioritized pack survival over personal glory."
I meet Mason's eyes over Rory's head.
There's a message there: I'm trying to prioritize pack survival now. Trying to choose right over ego. Trying to be better.
I nod slightly, acknowledging the unspoken communication.
We spend the next hour in the grove.
Mason teaches. Rory learns. I observe.
It's almost peaceful.
Almost normal.
Until Mark appears at the edge of the clearing, his expression grim.
"We have a problem."
The words send ice through my veins.
"What kind of problem?"
"Stella's back. And she's brought reinforcements."