Riven
Gently, more gently than he had ever moved in his life, he slid one arm behind her shoulders and the other beneath her knees, minding the bandaged thigh. Her breath hitched when he lifted her. She tensed in his hold, fingers curling hard into his shirt.
Her weight was nothing. She was all soft curves and fragile bone. He could feel the tremor in her muscles, the quick flutter of her heart against his chest.
He stepped out into the cold evening with her in his arms.
The air hit them at once. Crisp. Thin. Laced with pine resin and distant smoke. The sky above the ridge was painted in indigo and soft purple, the first stars pricking through as night settled over Wildmane territory.
His cabin sat near the top of the hill, tucked against a line of old stone and trees. From the porch, the land fell away into a broad valley. Pines marched down the slope in dense green waves. Farther below, the faint outline of rooftops and longhouses clustered around the pack's central clearing, their shapes softened by distance and mist. A river cut silver through it all, catching the last of the light.
Nahla went very still in his arms.
He felt the exact moment the view hit her. Her fingers loosened in his shirt. Her breath left her in a small, unguarded sound.
"Oh," she whispered.
It was not fear. Not revulsion. Just quiet awe.
Something proud rose in him, sudden and hot. This was his land. His pack. His responsibility. For years now, he had looked at this valley with a calculating eye. Where to place patrols. Where the borders were weak. Where a rogue or human might slip through.
He had forgotten, somewhere along the way, that it was also beautiful.
He carried her to the wooden bench he had dragged out earlier and set her down slowly. She winced as her injured leg shifted. He adjusted her until the weight was off the stitches, then stepped back to grab the thick fur-lined blanket he had left on the railing.
"Lift your arms," he said.
She gave him a narrow look but obeyed. He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, tucking it in around her sides. Her curls brushed his fingers. Her skin was warm beneath the wool.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
He inclined his head and took a step back, hands retreating to the safety of his pockets.
For a short while, they said nothing.
She stared out at the valley like she was trying to memorize every line of it. The wind brushed her face, lifting the mess of curls from her cheeks. Her eyes tracked a circling hawk. She inhaled deeply, the way a starving person might look at bread.
"This is all yours," she said at last. Her voice was hushed. "All of it."
"It belongs to the pack," he corrected. "But I am responsible for it, yes."
Her gaze slid to him. "You live in the nicest house on the hill. I think that counts as yours."
He almost smiled. Almost.
"You live in it too," he said.
"Temporarily," she replied. Her mouth twisted. "Very, very temporarily."
He did not answer. He did not say that he did not know how temporary anything was anymore.
"Is that the pack," she asked, nodding faintly toward the cluster of buildings.
"Yes."
"It is... bigger than I thought," she said softly.
"You thought we lived in caves," he said.
"Maybe," she admitted. "My father always talked about wolves like they were barely above wild animals. No offense."
"Some offense taken," he said. "We have houses. Jobs. Traditions. Council meetings that last far too long."
She huffed a small breath that might have been a laugh. "So you are like us. Just with more fur and better smelling."
He was not going to think about the fact that she had noticed how he smelled.
"I know little of your world," he said. "But we are not like you."
She watched the valley again, a crease forming between her brows. "Lira said you are all... connected. That the pack is like one big family."
"That is the idea," he said. "Some days we are more family than others."
He joined her at the railing, resting his hands on the wood, keeping a careful distance between them. The night was growing colder. Down in the valley, a few lanterns flickered to life.
"You asked me why I brought you here," he said. "Part of the answer is duty. Anyone attacked on Wildmane land falls under our protection. Pack member or not. Human or not."
"And the other part," she asked.
He kept his eyes on the horizon. "I do not have that answer yet."
She was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, "Lira told me your name. Riven."
He inclined his head. "And you are Nahla."
"Yes." Her lips curved. "Nice to finally be properly introduced, I guess, after you carried me bleeding through your forest."
His jaw tightened. "You should not have been on that road."
"I know that now," she said. "It was not exactly my first choice. I was driving home for the holidays."
"Home," he repeated. The word tasted complicated.
"In Ridgehaven," she added. "On the human side."
He had heard of the city. A border settlement. Far enough to Sanctuary land that it bred both traders and trouble.
"How did you end up alone on a border road at night," he asked. "Even humans know better than that."
Her mouth pulled to the side. "I made a stupid choice."
He did not argue.
She shifted the blanket around her shoulders, gathering it tighter. "My sister offered to pay for my flight. I said no. I did not want to admit I could not afford it. So I drove instead. I thought it would be... freeing, maybe. Just me, the car, the road. Some dramatic, independent woman thing."
Her eyes dropped to her bandaged leg.
"Turns out I am not very good at being dramatic and independent," she said. "I am just good at bleeding a lot."
The bitterness in her voice made something in him twist.
"You work in the city," he said. That much Lira had mentioned.
"Work is a strong word," she said. "I fetch coffee. Run errands. Sit in meetings I am not paid enough to be in and watch other people take credit for ideas I am not brave enough to claim."
"Then why stay," he asked.
She shrugged, the motion small under the blanket. "Because it is mine. Because I earned my way there. No one in my family thought I would make it out of Ridgehaven. Every time they look at me, it is like they are waiting to see me fail so they can say they were right."
Her fingers picked at a loose thread on the blanket.
"My older sister is the perfect one," she continued. "Married her high school sweetheart. Two kids. House with a big yard. My mother loves her. My father respects her. I am the one who left. The one who chose something else and did not have a neat answer when they asked what success was supposed to look like for me."
There was a raw honesty to the words that he had not expected her to give him.
"Do you regret leaving," he asked.
"Sometimes," she said. Her eyes tracked the river below. "But I regret the idea of going back more."
He understood that more than he cared to admit.
"When I challenged the last alpha," he said slowly, "there were many who thought I should not. The old ways like power to stay where it is. Passing from father to son. Title to bloodline. I was not born to it. I took it."
She turned her head, eyes widening slightly. "You fought him."
"Yes."
"And you won."
"I am standing here," he said. "He is not."
She stared at him like she was seeing him differently now. More clearly.
"That is allowed," she asked. "You can just... take leadership."
"If you are strong enough," he said. "And if the pack accepts the outcome. Leadership is not meant to be comfortable. It is meant to keep people alive."
"Is that why you never..." She hesitated. "Lira mentioned that wolves sometimes have mates. That it is a big deal. You do not have one."
The word sat heavy between them.
Riven's hand tightened on the railing. His wolf stirred restlessly under his skin.
"I never wanted a mate," he said.
Her brows drew together. "Why."
Because an alpha with a mate had something the world could use against him. Because he had watched the last alpha fall to his knees in the mud, howling over the mate he could not save. Because he had seen what grief did to strong men and had decided as a boy that he would never give the world that kind of weapon.
He did not say any of that.
"Some bonds become weakness," he said instead. "An alpha does not have the luxury of being weak."
Her gaze lingered on his profile. "That sounds lonely."
"Lonely men live longer," he replied.
The wind brushed past them. Below, someone lit a larger fire in the main clearing. The glow pulsed faintly, growing brighter as night deepened.
Nahla hugged the blanket closer. "You really think loving someone makes you weak."
"I think it gives your enemies a target," he said.
"And you have a lot of enemies," she asked.
He did not answer. He did not need to.
For a while, they simply stood there in shared silence. She watched his world. He watched the way the bruises on her face were already fading under the influence of his pack's proximity. Wolves healed fast. Humans did not, but Lira's magic could coax their bodies to work harder. Still, weeks, maybe months, before that leg would be steady.
She would be here for a long time.
His wolf did not hate that idea as much as it should.
She angled her head at him. "What is it like," she asked softly. "Being alpha. Besides long meetings and everyone doing what you say."
"They do not always do what I say," he said. "Kael complains. Cavan questions. Lira ignores me entirely. The elders argue. The pups disobey. The job is not about ordering. It is about deciding who eats first when winter is hard. Who you send to die when rogues come. Which voices you listen to when your people are afraid."
Her throat bobbed.
"And when there is no right choice," she asked.
"Then I choose the one I can live with," he said. "And hope I do not walk into the river with stones in my pockets ten years from now because I chose wrong."
She stared at him. "That is a dark joke."
"It is not a joke," he replied.
"You really do not smile much, do you."
He glanced at her, startled by the faint spark in her tone. "You are very bold for someone who can barely stand."
"Almost dying does that to a person," she said. "Some things feel less scary after you have had your leg in a wolf's mouth."
His wolf snarled quietly at the memory. He had not been there in time. He could still hear her scream, still see the blood on the leaves.
He pushed the thought away.
Before he could answer, he felt the familiar shift in the air that meant Kael was approaching. Light footsteps on the path. A steady, familiar heartbeat.
Riven tensed.
He did not want Kael to see this. The human wrapped in his blanket. Sitting on his bench. Breathing his air. Looking at his land like it was something holy.
He did not want anyone to see what she did to his chest.
Kael stopped at the edge of the clearing, just beyond the porch. Riven heard the soft scrape of his boots on stone, the respectful pause as he waited.
"Stay here," Riven said quietly to Nahla.
She frowned. "Where would I go."
He did not answer. He stepped away from her and down off the porch, putting a few meters between them and Kael.
His beta stood in the shadows, hands loose at his sides, dark hair pulled back, eyes sharp.
"Alpha," Kael said, then snorted softly. "Riven."
"That is better," Riven said.
Kael's gaze flicked briefly to the porch, curiosity bright in his scent. "Lira said you had taken the human outside."
Riven's jaw ticked. "She needed air."
"Is that what we are calling it," Kael murmured.
Riven let the comment slide. "Report."
Kael straightened slightly, the easy humor fading. "The pup is going home. Lira says he will keep the scar on his shoulder but nothing worse. His parents are with him. They are... grateful. Confused. His mother asked why the human is still here."
Of course she had.
"And what did you tell her," Riven asked.
"That you have your reasons," Kael said. "That our old laws say anyone attacked on our land falls under the pack's protection. She asked if our laws changed when the anyone is human."
Riven's jaw clenched. "They did not."
"That is what I told her," Kael replied. "She did not look comforted."
He thought of the pup's mother. How her face had crumpled when she had seen her child on the healer's table. How she had clutched the boy's hand and glared at Riven like all of this was his fault. Perhaps it was.
"Tonight is the bonfire," Kael added. "The elders ask if you will speak."
Riven grunted a quiet curse under his breath. He had almost forgotten.
Every season, they lit the great fire in the central clearing. They burned offerings to honor the dead. Names were spoken. Stories were told. Cubs learned where they came from. Wolves remembered who had bled for the soil beneath their feet.
He had led it every year since he took the title. Tonight would be no different.
Except that there was a human in his cabin who would hear the drums and smell the smoke and know she was surrounded by hundreds of creatures her people called monsters.
"I will be there," Riven said.
Kael nodded. "Do you want more guards posted around your cabin tonight. Some of the younger wolves are... curious."
"No," Riven said. "Curiosity gets teeth when it thinks it is not being watched. Post them where they can see anyone who comes too close. Not at the door like she is a prisoner."
Kael's mouth quirked. "As you say."
He hesitated then, weighing something in his mind. "We still do not know why the rogue was that far into our border," he said. "Or why it did not kill her quickly. Rogues do not play with their food."
"It is dead," Riven said shortly. "Whatever reason it had died with it."
Kael studied him. "You do not believe that."
Riven did not give him the satisfaction of answering.
After a moment, Kael exhaled. "Very well. I will see to the preparations for the bonfire. You should change before you come down. You smell like human worry and old blood."
Riven scowled. "You talk too much."
"Someone has to," Kael said, and turned back toward the path.
Riven watched him go until the sounds of his footfalls faded into the forest.
When he turned back to the cabin, Nahla was still on the bench. Her blanket had slipped off one shoulder. She had not tried to move closer to listen, but her eyes were on him, sharp and searching.
"How much did you hear," he asked, climbing back onto the porch.
"Enough to know there is some kind of event tonight," she said. "Bonfire. Elders. Honoring the dead."
Of course she had heard that part.
"It is pack business," he said.
"And I am not pack," she finished for him. Her mouth twisted. "I got that part, thank you."
He looked at her for a long moment.
"The sound may carry," he said. "Drums. Voices. If it bothers you, Lira can bring something to help you sleep."
Her eyes flashed. "The sound of your people honoring their dead is not going to bother me. I just do not want to be the reason anyone new joins the list."
His wolf stirred at that. At the thought of her name being spoken over ashes.
"That will not happen," he said. The words came out rougher than intended.
She seemed to weigh them, then nodded once. "You care about them a lot," she said. "Your pack."
"They are my responsibility," he replied.
"You care about me too," she said quietly. "A little. Or I would have been left on that road."
The night air thinned.
He could have lied. Could have told her it was only law. Only duty. Only politics.
He did not.
"I do not know what I feel about you yet, Nahla Calder," he said. "But I know I do not like the thought of you dying on my land."
Her gaze slid away, back to the valley. "That is enough for now," she said.
He stood beside her as the first drum sounded from the clearing below. Low and steady. A heartbeat for the pack.
Her eyes closed briefly, as if she were listening to it settle inside her chest.
He watched her in the fading light. The bruises on her cheek already turning yellow at the edges. The small cut near her brow almost gone. Each day she would look a little less like a victim the rogues had tried to tear apart, and more like who she was beneath all that blood.
He did not know what she was to him yet.