Chapter 187 – Homecoming
Jace
The gates of Blackthorn rise ahead like sentinels of iron. Torches burn along the ramparts, their light throwing gold across the snow, and the sound is enough to crack something in my chest. A chorus of howls, low and rising, echoing down the valley as the pack senses us returning.
We slow at the boundary, paws shifting into boots, fur into flesh and clothing. For a moment, no one moves. The cold stings less than it should. The smell of home hits like a blessing.
Ronan steps forward first. The entire pack still bends around his gravity. He doesn’t need to shout for the gates to swing open. Someone up there sees him and runs to pull the bolts. The groan of the mechanism sounds like relief.
When we cross the threshold, the world explodes into noise.
Dozens of wolves flood the courtyard. Blackthorn soldiers, healers, pups too excited to stay back. They surge forward, half in disbelief, half in joy, all relief. I have the sense none of them believed we’d be coming back.
There’s clapping, laughter, voices calling our names. The sound is strangely beautiful after so much silence.
Someone tosses an extra cloak over Mara’s shoulders before she can even ask. Someone else throws both arms around Eli, who accepts the hug like it’s his divine right.
For a few long seconds, I just stand there, blinking in the light. I can’t remember the last time I saw this many people smiling. It feels unnatural and necessary at once.
Ronan raises a hand and the noise dims immediately. His voice carries easily over the courtyard. “Silvercrest is no longer our enemy. Alaric is dead. Kieran’s taken his place and there is a firm alliance between our packs.”
The ripple that follows isn’t disbelief so much as awe. Wolves glance at one another as if to confirm what they heard. Alaric of Silvercrest is gone. And we’re alive to tell the tale.
Ronan keeps it brief. “We came home in one piece. That’s all that truly matters.”
It’s the kind of thing that would end most speeches. But Eli is already climbing onto one of the tables near the firepit, balancing with a theatrical sweep of his arm.
“Oh, but there’s so much more to it than that,” he announces, grinning. “Our noble Alpha’s modesty does him no favors. You’d think we just went out for a brisk jog in the snow, not a full-scale siege! Five wolves pitted against thousands.”
A few people laugh. He has their attention now. Ronan gives him a look. The usual one, half warning, half indulgence. Eli ignores both halves.
He launches into the story like he’s performing at a tavern instead of standing at the center of the fortress. “Picture it! Fifty mercenaries, blades gleaming, all ready to carve us like the roast we never got to enjoy-”
Mara snorts softly behind me. “Here we go.”
Eli spreads his arms wide, voice ringing through the air. “And then, our fearless Alpha, glorious, resplendent, and only mildly terrifying, ordered them to cease their foolishness. His command stopped them all mid-swing. Blades in the air! Wolves frozen like perfect statues!”
Someone in the crowd gasps. Another laughs outright.
Eli leans forward conspiratorially. “Of course, I would’ve handled it myself, but Ronan gets possessive about heroics.”
Laughter ripples through the crowd. Ronan sighs and covers his face with one hand.
Hazel mutters, “He’s going to milk this for weeks.”
“Months,” I say. “Minimum.”
Eli’s already embellishing, eyes bright with mischief. “And then we dined with death! We were surrounded, cornered, outnumbered. Yet I, your humble narrator, stood steadfast by my Alpha’s side-”
Mara hides her grin behind her mug.
Hazel leans toward me again, voice dry. “Should we stop him before he rewrites history?”
I shake my head. “He’s entertaining. Let him enjoy it.”
“Oh, I am enjoying it,” Eli says, cutting his eyes toward me. “In fact, you’d all be shocked to learn how dedicated our dear Captain and our favorite Delta were to keeping morale high during the journey.”
My head jerks toward him. “Eli.”
He spreads his hands innocently. “I’m just saying, it’s very cold out there. I’m sure Jace and Hazel only… how shall I phrase this delicately? Shared body heat out of necessity.”
The crowd howls with laughter. Hazel’s entire face goes scarlet.
“Eli,” Ronan says sharply.
Eli pretends to wince. “Right, right. Modesty. I forgot we’re all prudes now.”
Hazel crosses her arms. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Get in line,” I mutter.
Eli bows dramatically, basking in the noise, and for a heartbeat, the tension of everything we’ve survived finally cracks into laughter.
By the time the pack starts pouring into the Great Hall for the impromptu homecoming feast, even Mara’s smiling openly. Someone uncorks the good wine. Someone else drags out the drums. The air fills with the smell of meat, good spirits, and home.
I stay long enough to see the first toast raised. Ronan’s name shouted and repeated several times. Eli’s dramatics met with applause, Hazel pretending to sulk while hiding her grin in a mug. The warmth of it all is wonderful, but overwhelming. I slip out quietly while everyone’s distracted.
The cold night air feels like temporary asylum. A place to take a breath that isn’t heavy with emotion. I lean against the stone wall and let my breath fog the air. The noise inside fades into a muffled hum.
For a long moment, I just stand there. The relief hasn’t settled yet. It hovers at the edges of my ribs, unsure if it’s allowed to stay.
The door creaks open behind me and I don’t have to turn to know who it is. Her smell is already drugging me.
Hazel steps out, boots crunching in the thin crust of snow. She’s shed her heavy coat, cheeks pink from firelight and ale. She doesn’t speak, just presses a small flask into my hand.
“Stole that from Eli?” I ask.
“Borrowed,” she corrects. “He was too busy reenacting his own near-death scene to notice.”
I take a sip and it burns all the way down, sharp and sweet. “Good vintage.”
“Eli’s been hoarding it since the last trade run.” She leans beside me against the wall, her head an inch from leaning on my shoulder. “Figured this was a worthy occasion.”
We drink in companionable silence for a while. The courtyard’s empty except for us, torches sputtering in the wind. Somewhere above, a banner snaps. Blackthorn’s sigil, wolf and thorn, dark against the stars.
“I’m trying to drink enough to forget all the nonsense he spouted about us,” she says suddenly. “But you heard it too, right?”
“Oh, yes,” I say dryly. “He was very detailed. You missed the part where he claimed we invented a new technique for survival cuddling.”
Hazel groans. “I hate him.”
“You don’t.”
“Fine,” she admits. “It’s weird that nobody seems to question it though.”
The words hang there, warm in the cold. I glance sideways. Her eyes are fixed on the snow, but there’s a curve to her mouth that wasn’t there before.
“I didn’t mind it,” I say carefully.
She smiles up into my eyes, then sets her gaze on the distance. “I noticed.”
There’s no follow-up, no awkward laugh to defuse it. Just that look, that tiny pulse of honesty between us.
The silence that follows is alive. The kind that hums quietly with all the things that might happen if either of us decides to move an inch closer.
Her hand brushes mine as she takes back the flask. The contact is small, almost nothing. But after weeks of blood and frost and longing, it feels enormous.
She lifts the flask in a mock toast. “To the ones who made it home.”
“To the ones who fought for it,” I reply.
She smiles, faint but real, and the sound that escapes her is enough to make something under my ribs shift. The certainty that I should stay away from her all but gone.
We stand there until the torches burn low, the sounds of feasting behind us fading into the steady heartbeat of the keep. The snow falls lightly again, soft enough to disappear when it hits skin.
Just the two of us, breathing the same cold air. When she bumps my arm again, it feels less like teasing and more like punctuation. The end of one story, the start of another.
Neither of us mentions it. But we both know what it means.