Chapter 42 42

Chapter 42 42
Chapter 42

Thalia's POV

I didn't sleep well that night.

Every sound outside made me tense. The wind rattles the shutters. A dog barking in the distance. Footsteps on the street that passed by without stopping.

By the time morning came, I felt exhausted.

I got ready for work mechanically, splashing cold water on my face and braiding my hair. The routine helped settle my nerves somewhat. When I looked in the small mirror by the door, I looked tired but functional.

That would have to do.

Ruth was at the inn when I arrived for breakfast. She took one look at me and frowned.

"You look like hell," she said.

"Thanks," I muttered.

She set a plate of eggs and toast in front of me. "What happened?"

I hesitated, then told her about Cyrus's visit. Ruth's expression grew darker as I spoke.

"Damn it," she said when I finished. "I was hoping he wouldn't notice you."

"You know him?"

"Everyone knows him," Ruth said. "Clearwater Pack's been expanding its influence for years. Cyrus is smart, ambitious, and patient. Dangerous combination."

"He wants me to join his pack," I said.

"Of course he does," Ruth said. "You're a wolf without a pack, which means you're unclaimed territory as far as he's concerned. Plus, if he recruits you, it's a subtle jab at Varian. Politics."

I pushed the eggs around my plate. "I told him no."

"Good," Ruth said. "But he won't accept that easily. Men like Cyrus don't hear 'no' often, and they don't like it when they do."

"What should I do?"

Ruth was quiet for a moment. "Stay visible. Keep working, keep living your life. The more integrated you are here, the harder it is for him to just take you. We protect our own, remember?"

"I'm not really one of your own though," I said quietly. "I've only been here three weeks."

"You work for Miller. You pay rent to the Peters family. You eat breakfast at my inn every morning." Ruth's voice was firm. "That makes you part of this community. Don't sell yourself short."

Her words helped, but they didn't completely ease the knot in my stomach.

I finished breakfast and headed to Miller's.

The store felt different when I walked in. Like Cyrus's presence had left a stain I couldn't quite see. Miller noticed my mood immediately.

"You sure you're alright?" he asked.

"Just tired," I said.

He didn't push, but he kept glancing at me throughout the morning like he was checking to make sure I was still there.

Around midday, Margaret came in. She'd left the baby with her husband today, which was unusual. She looked worried.

"Dad," she said quietly. "Can we talk?"

Miller and Margaret went to the back room. I stayed at the counter, helping a customer who wanted to buy seeds for her winter garden.

When they came back out, Margaret looked at me.

"My husband heard something," she said. "From one of the farmers on the outskirts of town. Clearwater Pack has been patrolling closer to Greystone's borders. More frequently than usual."

My chest tightened. "What does that mean?"

"Could mean nothing," Miller said, but his tone suggested he didn't believe that. "Could mean Cyrus is making a point."

"What kind of point?" I asked.

"That he's watching," Margaret said. "That he knows what happens here."

The knot in my stomach pulled tighter.

The rest of the day dragged. Every time the bell chimed, I looked up expecting to see Cyrus or one of his wolves. But it was just regular customers. People are buying supplies, making small talk, and going about their normal lives.

I envied them that normalcy.

When we closed up, Miller stopped me before I could leave.

"Thalia," he said. "If you need to leave town for a while—lay low somewhere else—I'd understand."

"You're firing me?" I asked, surprised.

"No," he said quickly. "God, no. You're the best help I've had in years. I just meant... if you need to protect yourself, I wouldn't hold it against you."

I thought about it. About packing up again. About walking away from the cottage, from this job, from the fragile life I'd started building.

"I don't want to run," I said finally.

Miller nodded slowly. "Alright then. But if that changes, you let me know."

I walked home as the sun started to set. The streets were quieter than usual. Or maybe I was just more aware of the silence.

When I reached the cottage, I saw something on the front step.

A package wrapped in brown paper.

I approached it slowly, every instinct screaming caution. I looked around, but the street was empty. No one was watching that I could see.

I picked it up carefully. It was light. The paper was of good quality, tied with a simple string.

Inside, I found a wool cloak. Deep green, well-made, lined with soft fur. The kind of thing that would cost more than I made in a month at Miller's.

There was a note tucked inside, written in elegant script.

"Winter's coming. Stay warm. —C"

I stared at the cloak for a long time.

It was beautiful. Practical. Exactly the kind of thing I would need in a few weeks when the temperature drops.

It was also a message.

Cyrus was telling me he was watching. That he knew where I lived. That he could reach me whenever he wanted.

The gift was a reminder of his offer—and a demonstration of what his pack could provide.

I should have thrown it away. Or burned it. Or taken it back to him and told him to stay away from me.

Instead, I folded it carefully and put it in the chest at the foot of my bed.

I told myself it was because it would be wasteful to destroy something so valuable. But part of me knew it was more than that.

Part of me was afraid of offending him. Of what he might do if I rejected his gifts as firmly as I'd rejected his offer.

That realization made me feel weak.

I made dinner—soup from vegetables I'd bought at the market—and ate without tasting it. Then I sat by the fire and tried to read a book Ruth had lent me.

The words wouldn't stick.

Around nine, there was a knock at the door.

I froze.

Another knock, softer this time.

"Thalia? It's Margaret."

I let out a breath and opened the door. Margaret stood there with a basket covered by a cloth.

"Sorry to come by so late," she said. "I made extra bread today and thought you might like some."

"Thank you," I said, taking the basket. The bread was still warm.

Margaret hesitated. "Can I come in for a minute?"

"Of course."

She stepped inside and looked around the cottage. "You've made it nice in here."

"It's a work in progress," I said.

Margaret sat down at the small table. She seemed nervous, which made me nervous.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," she said. "About Alpha Cyrus."

I sat down across from her. "What about him?"

"My husband—he's not from Greystone originally. He grew up near the Clearwater territory. He knows things about that pack."

"What kind of things?"

Margaret's expression was serious. "Cyrus doesn't just recruit wolves. He collects them. Especially ones he thinks are valuable. Ones with specific skills or strengths."

"I don't have any special skills," I said.

"You stood up to an Alpha's mate and survived," Margaret said. "That makes you interesting. And Cyrus values interesting."

"What does he do with the wolves he collects?"

"Uses them," Margaret said bluntly. "Builds his pack's reputation. Makes alliances. Sometimes arranges marriages to strengthen connections with other packs."

My stomach dropped. "Marriages?"

"He's strategic about everything," Margaret said. "Every wolf in his pack serves a purpose. And he doesn't like losing things he's decided he wants."

We sat in silence for a moment.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.

"Because I like you," Margaret said simply. "And because I think you should know what you're dealing with. Cyrus isn't going to just forget about you."

"I told him no."

"I know," she said. "But that's not going to be enough. Not for him."

After Margaret left, I locked the door and checked the windows. Then I sat by the dying fire and stared at nothing.

Cyrus wanted me in his pack. For politics, for strategy, for whatever purposes he had in mind. And he was patient enough to wait for me to come to him.

But what if I never did?

What happened to the wolves who refused Alpha Cyrus?

I thought about the cloak upstairs. The gift that was really a warning.

I thought about Varian, and how his control had felt like a noose tightening slowly around my neck.

I'd escaped one Alpha's territory. Now I was caught between two.

And I was starting to realize that neutral ground might not be as safe as I'd hoped.

The fire burned down to embers. I stayed where I was, watching the light fade, and wondered how long I could keep refusing before someone decided to stop asking.