Page 73 of Fated
“Thank you.” Caleb slid into the booth, the vinyl cool against his back, and set his bag beside him. He picked up the laminated menu, scanning the options while trying to settle his nerves.
“I hope you brought your appetite,” Alaric said, patting his stomach with a chuckle. “Best breakfast in Yakima. And the portions...” He gave a wink. “Well, try to save room for pie.”
Caleb managed a laugh just as their waitress appeared—a woman with brown hair pulled into a messy bun, wisps of gray framing her face. She wore a black bowling-style shirt with the diner’s logo, dark jeans, and a black apron tied at her waist.
“You boys ready to order?” she asked, pulling a worn pad from her apron pocket.
“I’ll have the Country Breakfast,” Alaric said without hesitation. “Ham steak, four slices of bacon, two sausage patties, hashbrowns, and scrambled eggs with a short stack.”
Caleb’s eyebrows rose. “I’ll have the country fried steak and eggs, sunny side up, with a short stack as well.”
The waitress nodded, then looked at Caleb. “Coffee, hon, or something else?”
“Coffee’s perfect.”
“I’ll get that order in and be right back with your mug.” She tucked the pad away and disappeared toward the kitchen.
“First time in Yakima?” Alaric closed his laptop, focusing on their conversation.
“It is. Beautiful drive through the valley.”
“Wait until you see it in the fall. The orchards are something else.” Alaric leaned back as the waitress returned with a fresh mug and a carafe of coffee for the table. “Food should be up momentarily,” she said before hurrying off to check on other customers.
Alaric poured coffee for both of them. “Any questions about the articles of incorporation?”
Caleb shook his head, reaching into his bag. “We went through everything with our council and attorney.” He pulled out a manila folder and slid it across the table. “Signed and notarized. The first quarter’s dues are in there too.”
The memory of that council meeting still left a sour taste in his mouth. Erik had been particularly vocal about the cost—one hundred dollars per member when it had been twenty-five forty years ago. Caleb had to remind them that Collective dues helped fund grants that packs like theirs could apply for, especially for projects like the sanctuary. That argument had finally secured the votes he needed.
“Excellent.” Alaric tucked the folder beside his laptop. “The bureaucratic part is always the least exciting, but it’s necessary.”
Their conversation paused as the waitress appeared with a tray carrying four enormous plates. Caleb’s eyes widened at the spread before him—a country fried steak that had to be close to eight ounces, smothered in thick, peppery white gravy, alongside two sunny-side-up eggs with perfect golden yolks nestled atop a mountain of crispy hashbrowns. The short stack covered the entire diameter of a separate plate.
“Wow,” Caleb said, mouth watering as he unwrapped his silverware. “You weren’t lying about the portions. I probably didn’t need the pancakes.”
Alaric chuckled, attacking his own impressive spread. “Take a bite while they’re fresh, then box up the rest for later.”
They ate in comfortable silence for several minutes, the scrape of silverware against plates and appreciative hums filling the space between them. The steak was perfectly seasoned, the gravy rich and comforting, and Caleb found himself relaxing despite the importance of their meeting.
After putting a significant dent in his meal, Caleb set down his fork and regarded the elder across from him. “Alaric, I’ve been wondering something. Why was Crescent Fang invited to the summit this year? After all this time?”
Alaric paused mid-chew, then carefully set down his fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “It might sound silly.” A soft smile spread across his weathered features. “Well, maybe not foryou.” He met Caleb’s eyes directly. “The Denali massacre was rough news. We knew things were getting worse with the rogues, but an entire pack...” He shook his head grimly. “I went to our ritual grounds to pray for their souls. To seek guidance.”
Caleb leaned forward, anticipation brewing.
“I don’t remember exactly how long I was out there,” Alaric continued, gaze drifting toward the window overlooking the parking lot. “Just asking for help, for some sign of what we should do. And that’s when I heard it.” He turned back to Caleb. “The faintest female voice, like a whisper in the wind, telling me to ‘seek my first children, bring them home.’”
Fenrir surged, alert and focused.“This is Her design,”his wolf murmured.“We will follow.”
“It felt like a dream, but there was this certainty.” Alaric emphasized his words with both hands. “It was a sign that to face this threat, we needed to be one community.”
Caleb wouldn’t deny their Goddess’s call, but apprehension knotted in his stomach. “I agree completely. I want to help in any way we can, but what exactly are you expecting from us?”
Alaric’s laugh made the vinyl bench creak as he shifted forward. “I heard a whisper, not a fully outlined plan.” His expression grew pensive. “Has anyone ever told you about the day your grandfather announced Crescent Fang’s departure from the Collective?”
Caleb shook his head, reaching for his mug.
“It was during the summit review meeting. Odin had started giving his usual progress update, everything normal. Then suddenly he just...stopped, and began weeping.”
