Chapter 156 – Storm on the Horizon
Eli
The camp feels different after the feast.
The laughter is quieter. The fires burn lower. Even the wolves who usually swagger through the yard have a stiffness to them now, as if their bones know something their mouths won’t say aloud.
I smell the unease before I hear it. Bitter as copper, sharp as cold iron. It lingers like smoke in the furs, in the hallways, in the training ring. A storm, thick and waiting.
Silvercrest.
The name hangs in the air even when no one dares speak it. Whispers trail behind me wherever I walk, curling like smoke around my ankles. Some say they’re rallying soldiers. Others say mercenaries have already been bought. A few mutter that it’s safer to bend before the wind than break beneath it.
I don’t ignore them, because if they think they can speak like that in front of me, if they think their Alpha’s mate is deaf or blind to their cowardice, then they’ve forgotten exactly who they’re dealing with.
Ronan lets me handle it and his trust presses against me like a warm hand on my spine. If I want to walk among them, if I want to fight among them, if I want to snap my teeth at them, he doesn’t stop me.
He tells me to deal with it as I see fit, so I do.
The first group I find is clustered by the woodpile, talking low and quick. Three young wolves, two Betas and a Delta, blades still on their hips like they’ve just come from training. Their eyes dart when they see me, then away again, like if they don’t meet my gaze I won’t notice them. Silly puppies.
“It’s safer with Silvercrest as an ally,” one of them mutters. “They’ve got numbers, and Alpha Alaric’s coffers are endless. If war comes, we won’t stand a chance against the swords he can buy.”
I stop walking and my shadow stretches long across the dirt, catching their boots.
The nearest one goes pale. “Omega-”
“Try again,” I cut in smoothly. “What’s my name?”
His mouth works. “Eli.”
“Better.” I step closer, letting my smile show just enough teeth. “Now, tell me what you were saying about Silvercrest. Something about safety?”
The Delta clears his throat. “It’s just… numbers. We weren’t saying anything bad about-”
“Numbers.” I tilt my head. “Let me tell you something about numbers. I spent years surrounded by them. Rows and rows of wolves who thought they could fuck me into obedience. I survived them all. Numbers don’t scare me. The higher the numbers, the more they’ll bleed.”
The Beta closest to me shifts uncomfortably, throat bobbing.
I lean in, voice dropping low. “So if you want to mutter about how safe it would be to bend your neck to Alaric, do it where I can’t hear you. Or better yet, don’t do it at all. Because I won’t forget. And when the time comes, I’ll be the one standing by your Alpha’s side, forming a wall between you and him. You really want to test whether I’ll let you hide behind me after I hear you whisper about running?”
Their silence is thick and shaking. I let it hang a moment, then step back, my grin sharp and sweet.
“Good talk,” I say, and walk away. Behind me, no one dares breathe too loud.
Unfortunately it doesn’t stop there.
I catch two more whispering near the supply tents, voices pitched low as they tie bundles of arrows. “Blackthorn can’t hold against Silvercrest. Our Alpha’s strong, but he bleeds like anyone else.”
I clear my throat loud enough to make them jump.
“Your Alpha might bleed,” I say, sauntering closer, “But when he does, he always takes chunks out of the bastard who dared to cut him. You want to bet Silvercrest can’t say the same?”
They stammer apologies. I let them sweat a little, then lean in, all mock-conspiratorial. “You’d better get sharper with those arrows. Because when the storm comes, I expect every wolf here to stand. Anyone too cowardly to fight? Well, I’m sure we can find a nice quiet place for them to live. We only need wolves who are willing to do the work.”
Their faces blanch. I wink and stroll away, satisfied. If fear is the only language some of them understand, then fine. I’ll speak it fluently.
The thing is, I’m not just doing it for Ronan.
I hate the way they look at him sometimes. Like he’s reckless for keeping me at his side. Like he’s foolish for letting me into war councils, for showing the bond mark like a badge instead of hiding me somewhere safe.
They don’t say it aloud, but I feel it. I feel everything. I know they think I’m useful, but weak. A talisman rather than a weapon.
And if they think my presence makes him weaker? If they think Silvercrest’s pretty promises are enough to sway loyalty? Then they deserve to be afraid of me.
I’ll teach them fear, because that’s what loyalty is worth.
Later, Mara finds me perched on the railing outside the main lodge, boots swinging, the night wind cold against my face. She doesn’t ask what I’ve been up to. She always knows everything almost as soon as it happens.
“You’re enjoying yourself,” she says dryly.
“Me?” I put a hand to my chest. “Just charming the masses.”
She snorts. “You’ve got half the camp spooked.”
“Good,” I say, sharper now. “Better spooked of me than dreaming about Silvercrest.”
Her eyes narrow. “You really think you can slap down whispers with a few bratty comments?”
“Yes,” I answer bluntly. “Because the wolves of this pack have always followed strength. And if they’re too blind to still see it in Ronan, I’ll carve it into them myself.”
Something flickers across her face. It could be respect or resignation, it’s hard to tell with Mara. She’s as careful as Ronan is ruthless.
“You’re starting to sound like him,” she mutters.
“I guess he’s rubbing off on me,” I answer with a grin.
Her nose wrinkles, but she doesn’t argue. She just shakes her head and heads inside, leaving me with the stars.
Neither of us are able to sleep that night. Eventually I crawl out of bed to go and sit by the fire and stare at the flames. Listening to his breathing while he pretends to be asleep.
I can feel his restlessness in our bond. It thrums with uneasiness. His wolf is pacing. Mine is too. Both want out. They want to attack and put an end to the threat, but unfortunately it’s not usually that simple.
We don’t speak, but everything can be heard in the silence. The weight of war pressing closer, the inevitability of blood. And the certainty that neither of us will face it alone and we’d both do anything to keep the other safe.
I glance over my shoulder at him and his eyes are open, golden in the firelight.
“You need to get some sleep,” he murmurs.
“Can’t,” I say.
He shifts, sitting up. His hair is a mess, his chest bare, scars catching the light. He looks like a war god dragged from his altar. He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Storm’s coming,” he says.
“I know.”
“Scared?”
I pause, then answer honestly. “No.”
His eyes sharpen, searching me. “Why not?”
“Because I’ve already been through hell and survived it,” I say quietly. “And this time, I’ve got claws and a partner.”
The corner of his mouth curves with pride, fierce and bright. He stands, crosses to me, and grips my jaw hard enough that my pulse stutters.
“You’re mine,” he growls.
“Obviously,” I mutter.
“And I’ll keep you safe.”
I hold his gaze. “Not safe. Standing.”
Something in him softens. He kisses me once, rough and fleeting, then lets go. We sit by the fire until dawn, side by side, watching the flames eat wood.