Page 58 of Fated
Abandoning their tasks, they closed in with eager curiosity. Their questions came fast and overlapping, a chaotic hum of voices swirling around him as he stepped out of the truck. The gravel crunched beneath his boots as his feet hit home soil.
“Alpha, what was the summit like?” The young warrior’s sandy hair was still damp with sweat from training, chest puffed with pride, clearly starstruck standing so close to Caleb.
“Did anyone challenge you?” a female warrior called out, incredulous, as though she couldn’t imagine anyone daring to cross him. Her hand rested on the knife at her hip, ready to defend her alpha’s honor even in story.
“Is it true other packs might be visiting us soon?” another voice chimed in, this one belonging to a slight woman with silver-streaked hair, tone more hesitant but no less curious. The scent of herbs clung to her clothing—one of the pack’s healers, Caleb noted.
The fervor in their voices overwhelmed him, their loyalty and trust heavier than any alpha crown. He raised his hand, the subtle gesture carrying the full weight of his authority, quieting even the most eager wolves. Resolve tightened in his chest as he scanned their faces, noting the mix of curiosity and pride in their expressions.
This—these faces, these lives—is why isolation is no longer an option.
“I’ll address everyone at dinner tonight.” His voice carried the firmness of command, yet warmth underscored his words, visibly relaxing several wolves’ shoulders. “First, I need to meet with Varek and the council.”
The tension eased as Asher climbed out from the passenger side, his natural charisma working its magic like sunshinebreaking through clouds. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he flashed the group his signature grin, the one that made his dark eyes crinkle at the corners. “I promise, we’ll tell you everything,” he said, voice light as mountain air. “But only if someone saves me a slice of blueberry pie at dinner.”
Laughter rippled through the group, warm as the afternoon sun. Caleb felt the energy shift. This—Asher’s ability to soften his alpha authority without diminishing it—was why he made such a perfect beta.
“That’s a lot of confidence in your charm, Beta,” one of the younger wolves quipped, a dark-haired female who couldn’t be more than nineteen. Her tone was teasing, but Caleb caught the slight blush in her cheeks. “But I’ll think about it.”
“You heard him,” Caleb added, voice teasing but firm. “Save the pie—and your questions—for tonight.”
He watched as Asher exchanged jests with the younger wolves, their scents transforming around his beta—anxiety softening like butter in sun. Caleb’s own shoulders lowered as he watched Asher work through the crowd, his easy laugh drawing smiles even from the most reserved elders. The pack needed Asher’s sunshine as much as they needed Caleb’s steady shade.
As the crowd began to disperse, Caleb turned toward the packhouse. Asher fell into step beside him, their shoulders brushing as they walked
“That wasn’t so bad.” Asher’s tone remained light, though his eyes sharpened as they stepped back into their roles.
Caleb smirked, a glimmer of humor breaking through the gravity of the day. “Let’s see if you’re still saying that after dinner.”
The council room was a space steeped in history, its atmosphere thick with decades of pack decisions. Afternoon light filtered through high windows, catching dust motes that danced like memories in the air. Thick beams of aged wood lined the ceiling like ancient guardians, their surfaces worn smooth by time and the residual energy of countless meetings. A long oak table dominated the center, its surface bearing the marks of passionate discussions—small nicks and scratches that told stories of fists pounded in emphasis, claws emerged in heated moments.
The air carried the faint scent of cedar and old parchment, mingled with the distinct markers of each council member, weaving a tapestry of scents that centered Caleb as he took his place at the head of the table. The heavy wooden chair, worn smooth by generations of alphas before him, welcomed his weight. To his right sat Asher, steady and confident as a mountain peak, and to his left, Varek, his gamma, whose quiet intensity had always reminded Caleb of a still pool hiding deep currents. Around the table, the elders watched intently including Erik, whose silver-streaked beard caught the fading light, and Garreth, Asher’s father, whose gaze missed nothing beneath heavy brows.
Caleb’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “Crescent Fang has thrived in isolation for decades, but the summit made it clear—this can’t continue. The world around us is changing, and not for the better.”
The room held its breath as he leaned forward, broad shoulders taut with conviction. The wood creaked beneath his forearms, a sound as old as the pack itself.
“Seven packs in the region have been annihilated by rogues.Seven.” He let the number hang in the air like smoke. “That’s not just a statistic; it’s a warning. The overall death toll across the region is staggering, and the survivors… There are fewer of themeach attack. The rogues seem to be targeting smaller packs in the north, but we’d be fools to think we’re immune. Crescent Fang must adapt, or we risk everything.”
A murmur rippled across the table, a mix of unease and agreement scenting the air. Garreth’s expression tightened, the lines around his mouth deepening as he focused on Caleb as though trying to predict where this was leading.
“And it’s not just the rogues,” Caleb continued, voice gaining a hard edge that made several elders straighten in their seats. “There are alphas out there—greedy ones—who see the abandoned lands of these destroyed packs as opportunities. Territory is currency to them, and they’re willing to take it by force.” His palm flattened against the warm wood. “Crescent Fang will not be seen as vulnerable. We will protect what is ours.”
The table fell silent, Caleb’s words landing like a gavel. Every face reflected the gravity of the moment—from Erik, whose fingers drummed nervously against his thigh, to Garreth, whose expression shifted from sharp skepticism to solemn understanding.
“You’re right to be cautious. But this isn’t just about protection, is it? You actuallywantto reintegrate.” Garreth’s voice carried the wisdom of his years as Caleb’s father’s beta and the interim alpha before Caleb took his oaths.
Caleb nodded to Asher, a silent signal passing between them, intimate as a touch. Asher straightened, picking up the thread of the conversation. The subtle shift in his posture—from attentive beta to passionate advocate—made pride swell in Caleb’s chest.
“We need to think beyond survival.” Asher’s tone was filled with a quiet urgency that commanded attention better than any shout. “Think about growth. There are survivors out there—wolves who have lost everything to the rogues.” His hands moved as he spoke, painting pictures in the air above the longtable. “We should follow the example of other packs who are welcoming them in. Not for strategy or territory, but to give those wolves a chance to rebuild their lives, to find safety and community again under the guidance of Selene.”
The room shifted, unease settling as Asher’s words struck a chord. The scent of anxiety began to fade, replaced by something warmer—hope, perhaps. Or determination. Garreth’s gaze softened, pride crossing his features as he regarded his son. The resemblance between them was strongest in these moments, when passion lit their eyes the same way.
“You’ve thought this through.” Approval threaded Garreth’s voice.
Asher nodded, spine straightening, and chin lifting as his hands flattened against the table. “Crescent Fang must stand strong with our community to ensure that no wolf, no family, has to face the rogues alone.”
Varek spoke up for the first time, voice calm but resolute, like deep water over stone. “Taking in new members isn’t a small task. It will take planning—resources, housing, food. We’ll need to prepare.”
