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Chapter 20 - Roots and Rain

Rain fell gently across the pack lands, a steady rhythm that turned the dirt paths to soft mud and painted every tree in deeper shades of green. The pack house, always so full of noise and movement, seemed quieter in the storm, as if the whole world had paused to breathe.

Scottland stood by the front windows, forehead resting lightly against the cool glass. She watched the water trail down in winding rivulets, her reflection faint in the pale light.

She had always loved the rain. Even as a pup in the Roger Pack, when it meant being cold and damp and unwelcome, there had been something about it—something cleansing. Freeing. As though the sky had wept for her when no one else would.

Behind her, the quiet creak of the floorboards made her smile.

"I know that step," she said without turning. "You walk heavier when you're trying to be quiet."

Grant chuckled, coming up behind her. "I'm learning you have sharper senses than most Alphas."

"I'm learning you like to sneak up on me."

He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Not to scare you. Just to be near you."

She leaned back into his embrace, comforted by the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart against her spine.

"You alright?" he asked after a moment.

"I'm okay," she said softly. "Just… feeling a lot."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She hesitated. "It's not just one thing. It's everything. The new families, the questions, the way the girls look at me now like I have answers. I'm still figuring out what I believe in… and they think I already know."

Grant didn't rush to respond. He simply held her tighter.

"I don't think leaders are people with all the answers," he said eventually. "I think they're the ones willing to ask the hard questions out loud. And let others speak into the silence."

Scottland let out a long breath.

"I had a dream again last night," she whispered. "The one with the forest."

He lifted his head, listening.

"This time the trees were blooming. And I wasn't alone. There were voices. Soft ones. I didn't recognize them, but I didn't feel afraid."

Grant kissed her temple. "Sounds like your heart is starting to trust your future."

She nodded slowly. "Maybe."

After lunch, Clara came to find her.

"There's a visitor," she said carefully. "He's not from the pack."

Scottland's brows rose. "Who?"

"He says he's a messenger from the White Thorn Pack."

The name made Scottland's stomach twist. Not because she feared them, but because they were known—reclusive and strict, ruled by a dominant Alpha council with little tolerance for change.

Grant was already in the front hall when she arrived, shoulders squared, expression unreadable. The visitor stood just inside the doorway—a young man, tall but wiry, dressed in damp travel clothes. His scent was Beta. Neutral. Polite.

"My name is Micah," he said with a bow. "I bring word from the White Thorn Pack's council."

Grant nodded. "We're listening."

Micah held out a sealed envelope. "They've heard of the influx of Omegas here. And they're… curious about your policies."

Scottland stepped forward. "Curious, or suspicious?"

Micah glanced at her, surprised. "That remains to be seen."

Scottland exchanged a look with Grant, then reached for the letter and opened it carefully.

The message inside was brief but sharp.

We understand you are harboring displaced Omegas from multiple territories. The White Thorn Council wishes to remind the Gray's Pack that cross-territory movements must be formally acknowledged and approved. We request an audience with your Alpha before further action is taken.

Scottland folded the letter neatly and handed it to Grant.

He read it once, then looked at Micah. "Tell your council we accept their request. A meeting can be arranged. Here."

Micah blinked. "They may not agree to come here."

"Then it may not happen at all," Grant said simply. "We do not send our people to be judged elsewhere."

Micah hesitated, then gave a respectful nod. "I will return with their answer."

Scottland watched him go, then turned to Grant.

"That felt like the beginning of something," she said quietly.

Grant slipped the letter into his jacket. "It is."

That evening, the Omega wing was filled with soft candlelight. Rain still whispered against the windows, and a hush had fallen over the girls. Elise sat near the fireplace with her children. Evie and Lila curled up together, half-asleep under a quilt.

Scottland stood before the low shelves in the common room, her fingers trailing along the books Grant had stocked there months ago. She stopped at a small journal with a pressed flower on the front. She hadn't seen it before.

Inside were pages of letters—handwritten by the girls. Some were signed. Some weren't. But all of them were raw and real.

"I used to dream of being invisible. Now I dream of being seen."

"I am not just something to be mated. I am someone to be loved."

"I don't remember the sound of my own laugh. But I want to."

Scottland blinked back tears. These weren't just confessions. They were seeds. Little truths buried deep that had finally found light.

She closed the book carefully and held it to her chest.

Maybe she didn't need to know all the answers.

Maybe it was enough to keep creating space where others could find their voices, even if hers still trembled sometimes.

Later, in their shared room, Grant sat on the edge of the bed, boots off, shirt unbuttoned to the chest. His hair was still damp from the rain, curling slightly at the ends.

Scottland came up behind him and ran her fingers through it, smiling.

"You look like a prince in a romance novel," she teased.

Grant tilted his head back. "Do I get a happily ever after?"

"You're already in it."

He reached for her hand and kissed her palm, then pulled her gently into his lap.

Their kiss was slow. Soft. Familiar.

But under it was a current of something deeper. Not heat. Not hunger.

Something like promise.

"I want you to know something," he said when their lips parted.

Scottland looked into his eyes, waiting.

"If that council comes here and tries to pressure us, or threaten you, or take a single thing away from what we've built—I will stand before them and remind them who this pack belongs to."

She swallowed. "Who does it belong to?"

He touched her cheek.

"To the ones who were told they didn't matter. And to the girl who taught them they did."

She kissed him again, and this time it was fiercer.

Not out of fear.

But love.

Because the storm outside was only weather.

But the roots they'd planted? Those were forever.

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