Chapter 200 – The Alpha’s Ally

Chapter 200 – The Alpha’s Ally
Mara
Peace has a lot more paperwork than war. Stacks of it, that needs to be filed in triplicate.
By the second week of relative calm, my desk looks like it’s trying to breed.
There are requisitions from Hollowrock, reports from Silvercrest, border patrol updates, trade agreements, hunting permits, and an entire pile of anonymous suggestions about which packs we should ally with and what to demand from them.
I’ve fought Redmaw raids with less aggravation.
Eli says I should be grateful.
“You wanted stability,” he told me yesterday, sprawling across my chair like he owns it.
“This is what stability looks like. Boring. Bureaucratic. It’s up to you to make it sexy. Be creative. Create moments of joy. Maybe you can seduce Alpha Vaughn on your desk?”
I threw a quill at his head, which he caught easily and called ‘proof of your deep affection for me.’
He’s been more unbearable than usual since we got back. Ronan keeps him too busy to cause real trouble, but that doesn’t stop him from meddling in everyone else’s lives.
Apparently, he’s decided mine is next on the list.
I’m halfway through rewriting a supply ledger when a knock sounds at the door.
“Come in,” I call, expecting Jace.
It’s not Jace.
Vaughn of Hollowrock fills the doorway, all muscled bulk and quiet confidence, wearing a travel coat that looks much too fine for our muddy roads. He smells amazing. A respectable Alpha scent. Steady, clean, with a hint of beastliness buried under restraint.
“Mara,” he greets, voice rough. “I was told I’d find you buried alive in here.”
“Alive, yes. Buried, nearly.” I set my pen down. “What brings you back here so soon? Don’t tell me you missed the sound of my arguing.”
He smiles, something slow, warm and disarmingly genuine. “Trade routes. And the company. I like the way you argue.”
I should roll my eyes. Instead, my mouth twitches before I catch it.
“Company?” I echo. “From what I hear, Hollowrock has no shortage of admirers. I’m sure they’re all clamoring to keep you company.”
“They admire my pack,” he corrects. “I’m looking for something more personal. And they’re all terribly obsequious. I prefer your straight talking.”
The man has no shame.
I gesture toward the empty chair across from my desk. “If you’re hoping for a proper debate, you’ll have to let me finish the inventory first. The soldiers drink enough coffee to bankrupt us.”
He sits, unbothered. “Then I’ll help. I used to keep Hollowrock’s ledgers myself before the title stuck.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
He chuckles. “You think I was born leading the pack?”
“I think you were born with that smirk and it’s been getting you out of trouble ever since.”
He laughs, low and startled. The sound drags something hot and steamy into the room.
I focus very hard on my papers.
He stays for the rest of the afternoon, reviewing maps and filling forms as if he’s been part of Blackthorn all along. Our conversation slips between politics and humor without warning. I forget to be formal, which is rare for me.
When we finally take a break, the light outside is honey-colored and warm. I rub my temples. “If I never see another column of figures again, it’ll be too soon.”
“Dangerous words,” he says, leaning back. “You’ll tempt the gods of bureaucracy.”
“They already hate me.”
“Then let me distract you.”
The way he says it could be teasing. It could also be something else.
Before I can decide which, the door bursts open and Eli strolls in. I’m surprised it took him this long.
“Well, well, what have we here?” he asks, eyeing Vaughn like a cat discovering cream.
“Our favorite Alpha from Hollowrock! And you, Mara, smiling. I didn’t know your face could do that.”
“Get out,” I say automatically.
“Oh, I’d hate to interrupt,” he goes on, clearly delighted. “Please continue your trade negotiations. I assume that’s what we’re calling flirting these days?”
Ronan appears behind him like a divine punishment. “Eli,” he scolds.
Eli throws up his hands. “What? It’s cute! Don’t you think it’s cute?”
Ronan steers him firmly back toward the hall. “We’re leaving. Now.”
As the door shuts, I hear him mutter, “Femme fatale in fur,” followed by a yelp and, presumably, a swat to the back of the head.
I groan. “I swear he’s getting worse.”
Vaughn’s mouth tilts. “He’s perceptive.”
A blush touches my cheeks. “Don’t encourage him.”
“Too late. I’m perceptive too.”
He doesn’t look embarrassed, which makes it worse. I focus on the ledgers again, pretending to be busy. My pulse doesn’t cooperate.
Vaughn keeps finding reasons to visit.
At first, it’s mostly business. Grain allocations, supply caravans, joint patrols. But the conversations stretch longer each time.
Sometimes he brings wine. Sometimes just himself.
We walk the training grounds together in the evenings. He asks about the pack, about our losses, about how Blackthorn rebuilds so well after so many battles.
His attention is steady, never prying. I’ve met enough Alphas who listen only to their own voices. Vaughn listens like it’s a skill he honed deliberately.
He’s careful with his humor, too. Subtle. Dry. The kind that sneaks up on you after a long day and makes you laugh before you can stop it.
We’re standing by the fence, watching the younger wolves spar, when he glances sideways and says, “You have a talent for command. No wonder even your Alpha obeys you when you scowl.”
I snort. “Don’t let him hear that.”
“I suspect he knows.”
“I suspect you overestimate my power.”
“I suspect you underestimate it.”
I tell him he’s insufferable. He tells me I’m beautiful when I’m annoyed. Neither of us takes it back.
By the third week, the whispers start. Curious murmurs at the edges of conversation. The soldiers nudge each other when he visits. Hazel winks at me across the mess hall. Jace pretends not to notice, which is its own brand of commentary.
Eli, of course, is insufferable.
Every time Vaughn’s boots hit the courtyard, Eli appears out of nowhere like a herald of chaos.
“Look, Ronan,” he’ll announce. “Hollowrock’s courting envoy arrives!”
Or, “If Mara gets any happier, we’ll have to start calling her Luna.”
Or my personal favorite, whispered loudly enough for half the pack to hear: “She’s going to eat that poor man alive.”
Ronan doesn’t even bother stopping him anymore. He just mutters, “Better Vaughn than another war.”
I try not to care what they say.
I fail miserably.
The truth is, Vaughn unsettles me in ways I can’t name. He’s too composed, too kind, too… attentive. I don’t trust kindness easily. But he doesn’t flinch from my sharp edges, he meets them with patience.
Last night, he stopped by after patrols, still wearing his travel cloak. I offered him tea, because that’s what you do when your heart is misbehaving, you distract it with manners.
He accepted, of course. Sat opposite me at the small table near the fire. The shadows made him look younger. Or maybe just less guarded.
“I know what you’ve gone through in your life,” he said after a while. “Your father. Ronan eliminating him. All the wars. It’s no wonder you don’t trust easily.”
I watched the fire instead of him. “Trust gets people killed.”
“Or saved if they trust the right person.”
“That’s a luxury belief.”
“I guess I’m a fool for luxury then. I trust you.”
He didn’t press the silence. Just poured more tea. When he finally left, he brushed my hand lightly. A small, deliberate contact that lingered long after the door shut. My skin still remembers the weight of it.
Today, he arrives again, earlier than usual. The courtyard gleams with thawing snow and the world feels brighter than it has in months.
He catches me mid-inventory, ink on my thumb, hair escaping its braid.
“I’ll walk with you,” he says. “If that’s alright with you?”
“I don’t recall ever denying you permission before,” I answer.
“Good. I’d hate to have to charm my way past your warriors.”
“They’d let you. The kitchen staff has already decided you’re the perfect man.”
He feigns modesty. “That’s because I complimented their stew.”
“You also fixed their stove.”
“I’m a practical romantic.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s not a real thing.”
“It could be.”
We walk the perimeter wall together, boots crunching through frost. Vaughn’s shoulder brushes mine as we turn.
“You’ve built something remarkable here,” he says quietly. “Your pack is strong and loyal. Worth protecting.”
“It was Ronan,” I reply automatically.
“It was all of you,” he counters. “Don’t shrink your own name. Ronan could never have done this without you.”
The words settle somewhere I don’t want to examine.
When we reach the gate, he pauses. “You know, if you ever wanted to visit Hollowrock, I’d be honored to host you. We have less snow. Better wine. Fewer forms.”
“Tempting.”
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a ‘don’t get ahead of yourself.’”
He smiles, slow and wolfish. “Progress.”
I laugh despite myself.
That evening, Eli finds me in the hall, leaning against the wall with his most annoying grin.
“Trade negotiations again?” he asks. “Every grain of sand that sticks to the wagon wheels must be accounted for by now.”
“Keep walking.”
“He likes you.”
“He likes our alliance.”
“He brings you flowers, Mara.”
“He brings everyone something.”
“Right. Only if you’re everyone.”
I swat him with a ledger. “Go annoy your Alpha.”
“I did. He told me to spread the suffering evenly.”
I groan. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”
He grins wider. “So they tell me. But I’m right, aren’t I?”
I start to deny it. I really do. But the words that come out are softer than I mean them to be. “Maybe.”
He beams. “Femme fatale in fur. Don’t say I didn’t tell you so first.”
“Out,” I bark.
He leaves laughing, and when the door closes, I find myself smiling despite everything.
Later, alone by the window, I watch the snow fall in slow spirals. Somewhere in the distance, Vaughn’s wolves are camped near the southern ridge, guarding the trade road. The thought is oddly comforting.
Maybe peace isn’t just paperwork. Maybe it’s the chance to breathe, to rebuild, to let something, or someone, unexpected in.