The unmistakable scent of ocean and pine hits me before I even round the corner to the cottage we’ve emptied for the Aspen Pack’s use. Lucas said something about it being a voluntary sacrifice on the part of some of our pack members; I have to remember to get their names.
I’m not sure what I can do to show our gratitude, but there’s probably something. Maybe extra rations. Practicality goes farther than luxuries these days... Or am I thinking too simply? I’ll have to ask Lucas what he usually does in these situations.
I prefer meat, Selene offers.
Grimoire hums. I’d rather have a new book.
Not helpful. But I guess it means I should learn more about the people to understand what they would prefer.
A vaguely familiar face opens the door when I knock, but I can’t quite place it. Clayton’s standing with his back to me as he speaks with two other wolves. My steps falter momentarily.
I haven’t seen him in a long time; since I made it clear I chose Lucas.
It would be strange not to feel a little anxious in this situation.
"Baa baa black wolf, have you any wives? Yes sir, yes sir, three lives’ time," the ghost sings overhead, twirling in erratic circles. "One for the master, and one for his dame, and one for the little girl who lives without shame."
He’s getting more coherent, Grimoire notes. Interesting.
And more annoying, Selene grumbles.
"Both of you, hush," I mutter under my breath.
Clayton turns at the sound of my voice, and I brace myself for... what, exactly? Coldness? Resentment? Pain? His name has felt synonymous with the block of guilt I’ve carried in my chest for months.
But his expression is open, his green eyes clear as he dismisses his guards with a brief nod.
"Luna of the Westwood Pack," he says, inclining his head respectfully. "I was hoping you’d find time to check on us."
My steps stutter again, but for an entirely different reason. There’s no shadow crossing his face, no hint of our complicated past in his demeanor. Just genuine respect.
Grimoire’s attention piques. Well, well. Looks like someone’s gotten over his little crush.
The proper title, Selene says, sounding oddly pleased.
I mentally shush them again as I close the distance.
"How are your wolves settling in?" I ask, finding my voice steadier than expected.
"As well as can be expected under the circumstances." Clayton gestures toward the temporary quarters Lucas assigned them. "Your mate has been impressively accommodating, considering the situation Westwood is in. It is greatly appreciated by all of us."
Movement over his shoulder catches my attention. Several Aspen guards I recognize from my time in Cedarwood are doing... something. Emptying duffel bags and suitcases.
One of them notices me watching and offers a respectful nod. "Luna Westwood."
Not Ava. Not Miss Grey. Not even ma’am or miss. Just the proper address for the Luna of another pack.
My lips curve.
Clayton extends his hand. "It’s good to work with the esteemed Luna of the Westwood Pack," he says with a warm smile. There isn’t a hint of regret or shadow in his eyes. They’re clear and guileless, staring at me for who I am. The me now, the one without him by my side. "Lucas chose well."
I take his hand, and it’s just a handshake. No electricity, no charged moment. Just a respectful greeting between two pack leaders.
It almost makes me feel silly for worrying about the past.
"You know, I never properly thanked you," I say, surprising myself.
Clayton raises an eyebrow. "For what?"
"For helping me when I needed it. For being a friend when I was lost." The words come easier than I expected. "I don’t think I would have found my way back to Lucas—or to myself—without that time."
He hesitates, before offering a faint smile. "We all serve our purpose in each other’s stories, Ava."
The ghost swoops down between us, making Clayton step back instinctively. The spirit passes harmlessly through him.
"The pine tree’s sister dances with shadows! Shadows creep and shadows swallow! The silver-haired woman sleeps beneath silver moon, but not for long, not for long!"
Clayton’s entire body goes rigid. "What is that?"
"A ghost," I explain quickly. "He’s been following us since we found him near the perimeter. We can’t touch him, and he won’t leave."
They’re closer to magic than wolf, though, Grimoire counters in my head.
Kellan was part of the ambush, Selene says thoughtfully.
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