Page 47 of To Carve A Wolf

We walked in silence for a while, boots crunching over frost-hardened ground, the wind whistling low between the stones of the outer yard. The morning sun had barely crested the eastern ridge, bleeding pale gold through the skeletal trees that clawed up along the path to the citadel. Everything smelled of cold iron and pine, smoke curling up from distant chimneys, the scent of training sweat still clinging faintly to our cloaks.

The citadel loomed ahead, a shadow of stone and steelcarved into the mountainside like it had grown from the ice itself. Its towers scraped the sky with jagged defiance, black banners snapping high above the battlements, and the guards flanking the massive front gates stepped aside with bowed heads as we approached.

Garrick fell into stride beside me, his expression unreadable—until it wasn’t.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice lower than usual, not the easy banter he usually favoured. “Only…” He hesitated, then looked at me fully. “I couldn’t help but wonder if some of that tainted shit in her blood’s gonna slip through the bond andinfectyou now that you’ve marked her.”

I didn’t look at him, but the line of my jaw tightened.

“She’s not a curse,” I said.

“Didn’t say she was,” Garrick replied, but the concern lingered behind his eyes. “Just... she’s got something dark rotting in her spine, and you wrapped a bond around it like it wouldn’t bite.”

A beat of silence passed. Then he added, far too casually, “You want me to tie you to a bed next? Maybe knock some sense back into your head?”

Despite myself, a short laugh escaped. It was sharp, dry, and unexpected.

“I didn’t plan to do that,” I muttered, running a hand down my face. “She left me no choice. I warned her, Garrick. She wouldn’t stop. Not until she broke herself in half.”

Garrick glanced at me from the corner of his eye, his brow raised. “You bit her, Andros. You didn’t just make a decision. You made a claim.”

I stopped just before the inner gate, the stones beneath us slick with frost, and looked up at the looming walls of the citadel.

“I know,” I said.

“Do you, though?” Garrick asked, his voice quieting. “Haveyou thought about what this means for the pack? For us? You didn’t just bring in a rogue—you marked her. Publicly or not, that bond will change things. People talk. Andstraysdon’t just become Luna material because you want them to.”

I turned to him slowly, my gaze cold.

“She’s not a stray anymore.”

Garrick studied me, long and hard, then gave a slow nod, not of agreement—but of acknowledgment.

“Then you’d better figure out what the fuck you’re going to do when the rest of them realize it too.”

He walked ahead, pushing open the door to the citadel with a creak of old wood and iron, his cloak trailing behind him like the end of a conversation I didn’t want to finish.

I didn’t move at first, just stood in the doorway, eyes narrowed at the rising sun, breath frosting in the cold air. The bond pulsed faintly under my skin—quiet for now, but ever-present.

Then a boy appeared from the shadows of the inner gate, chest heaving like he’d sprinted half the citadel to find me.

“Alpha,” he said, breathless but proud to have been chosen for the task. “The guests have arrived. They await you in the Great Hall.”

“Show them in. Garrick and I will join them shortly.”

He bowed and scurried off, the door slamming behind him.

We took the west corridor, past rows of mounted wolf crests and iron torches that lined the stone like sentries. The path to the Great Hall curved inward, its vaulted ceilings arching overhead like ribs of a giant beast. The air smelled of polished oak and hearth smoke, of steel and old history.

Inside, my men had arranged the space with long tables, heavy with food and wine, plates of roasted boar, fresh bread, thick stews still steaming in iron pots. Banners had been hung bearing both our sigils—ours in deep crimson and silver, theirsin a rich forest green sewn with earthen gold.

The Briarhold Pack.

They were no warriors—not by tradition. No great army. No bloodline soaked in conquest.

Briarhold was a pack of farmers, smiths, and crafters. Simple wolves. Proud. Tough. Their hands built the walls of their homes and buried their own dead. They’d survived in harsh lands with fewer men and less steel than any other pack I knew.

Now thatCrescent Moonhad been reduced to ash and whispers, their lands open and lawless, Briarhold wanted to secure trade. Establish routes through the forests and rivers we now controlled.

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