Chapter 8 Claws Behind Smiles
Bella's POV
Kattie found me at breakfast.
I’d been making reasonable progress through a cup of tea — genuinely good tea, which felt like a minor conspiracy, because it was harder to keep low expectations about a place where even the tea was this good — when she appeared in the doorway.
Fresh. Unbothered. The exact energy of someone who had slept well and was completely confident in the day ahead.
“There you are,” she said warmly. “I was hoping to catch you.”
I wrapped both hands around my cup.
“Good morning.”
“I thought I’d show you around the grounds today.” She smiled, leaning against the door frame. “You shouldn’t have to navigate all of this alone. That would be…” A tilt of her head. “A lot.”
I could have said no.
But declining would look like exactly what it was, and I wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction either.
“Sure,” I said. “Let me get my jacket.”
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She started with the training grounds.
Wide packed earth, bordered by wooden posts, equipment I didn’t have names for arranged in neat rows. A group of warriors were mid-drill at the far end — fast, precise, moving with the kind of capability that reminded you quietly these weren’t just physically strong people. They’d been built for something specific.
They stopped when they saw Kattie.
Not me. Kattie.
“Morning,” she said to them easily, waving with the loose confidence of someone who had walked these grounds a thousand times.
They nodded back. Some smiled. One of the men said something low and she laughed — natural, effortless.
I walked beside her and watched two sets of eyes pass over me with the mild interest of someone checking a doorway for obstacles.
“Warriors train every morning,” she told me, slipping back into tour-guide rhythm. “Rain, cold, heat — doesn’t matter. Non-negotiable in Moonstone.” She glanced sideways. “Rhys used to train with them every day. Lately he’s been…” A short pause. “Occupied with other things.”
“Mm,” I said.
She smiled. “Not much of a talker in the mornings?”
“Oh, I’m listening,” I said. “Please go on.”
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We moved on to the pack hall.
High ceilings, long tables, carved walls I couldn’t read the meaning of. She explained each section with the ease of someone who’d grown up learning what everything meant — the elder seats, the head table, where the Alpha stood for announcements.
“Rhys hates how long the ceremonies run,” she added, with a small private smile. “He always tries to shorten them. The elders complain every time.”
She said his name like it was hers to say. Not possessive exactly — more like a habit worn smooth from use.
I studied the carvings above the head table and said nothing.
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We moved on to the pack hall.
High ceilings, long tables, carved walls I couldn’t read the meaning of. She explained each section with the ease of someone who’d grown up learning what everything meant — the elder seats, the head table, where the Alpha stood for announcements.
“Rhys hates how long the ceremonies run,” she added, with a small private smile. “He always tries to shorten them. The elders complain every time.”
She said his name like it was hers to say. Not possessive exactly — more like a habit worn smooth from use.
I studied the carvings above the head table and said nothing.
We turned off the main path toward an open green at the far edge of the residential buildings.
Wolf pups — six or seven of them — were running in circles through the grass. One was sitting on top of another one. Two were chasing a torn piece of cloth with the total gravity of creatures engaged in something deeply important.
The corner of my mouth moved before I could stop it.
Small wolves were objectively chaotic. Watching them was the first thing since arriving here that hadn’t required any effort at all.
Kattie kept talking — meal schedules, communal duties, the monthly moon gathering. I half-listened and watched the pups.
Then one of them stopped.
Small, even by pup standards. Grey fur, paws too big for the rest of him, ears pointing in slightly different directions. A moment ago he’d been wrestling with something. Now he was completely still, nose lifted, head tilted at an angle.
His eyes found me.
I held still.
He crossed the green with the steady, unhurried gait of something that had already made up its mind. Straight across the path, no detours, and stopped at my feet.
Then sat down. Right on my shoes.
I looked down at him.
He looked up at me, ears cycling through several positions at once, tail sweeping slowly back and forth across the tops of my feet.
“Oh,” I said quietly.
The conversations around us trailed off.
I looked up and found the pack members watching. Not casually this time — with real attention. The young woman who’d been trying to herd pups had gone completely still, a water bowl held at a strange angle in her hands, forgotten.
“He doesn’t usually…” she started.
“Pups,” Kattie said smoothly from beside me. A light laugh. “So unpredictable.”
She laughed easily, but something underneath it had gone tight. Not visible — she knew better than to show it — but present in the sound, like a string pulled just past where it wanted to be.
I crouched down slowly.
The pup sniffed the back of my hand with careful focus, taking his time like it was something worth getting right. Then he pushed his head firmly against my knuckles.
Something loosened in my chest. Small and uncomplicated. The first thing like that since I’d arrived.
“Hello,” I said.
He made a sound somewhere between a bark and a whine and pushed harder.
I didn’t look up at the watching pack members. But once, without quite meaning to, my eyes lifted to the upper balcony of the manor.
Rhys was there. Standing completely still. Looking down at the green.
I couldn’t read his expression from this distance. But he wasn’t moving.
I looked back at the pup.
Kattie crouched beside me.
“Come on, little one,” she said sweetly, reaching one hand toward the pup to nudge him back. “Don’t bother her.”
The pup turned and growled.
Not playfully. Not a pup sound. It was low, even, and completely clear — a sound that didn’t belong to the small body it was coming from. His upper lip lifted just slightly. His golden eyes stayed fixed on Kattie’s hand, unblinking.
Kattie’s hand pulled back.
Sharp. Fast. Like something hot had grazed her palm.
The green went quiet. Everyone was staring now — really staring, the kind that meant something had just happened that people would be talking about later.
Kattie straightened. When she stood, she was still smiling, but it was held together now rather than natural. Smaller. Arranged.
The pup stayed where he was.
Pressed against my feet, warm and solid and entirely unbothered.
And he didn’t move.