Chapter 4 Sanctuary

I wake to the scent of pine resin and yeast. Sunlight filters through a crack in the alcove's stone wall, painting stripes on the wolf pelt tangled around my legs. For a heartbeat, I forget where I am. Then the pup kicks, and memory crashes back-*Jarek. The storm. Sanctuary.*

Voices echo outside the alcove. I creep to the curtain dividing me from the hall, peering through a gap. Wolves move in the dim torchlight, some human, some shifted, carrying baskets of herbs and freshly skinned game. No collars. No crescent moon tattoos. *Nightclaw Pack.*

A boy, maybe twelve, nearly collides with me as he darts past with an armful of firewood. "Watch it, *outsider*," he sneers, though his eyes flick to my stomach with curiosity.

Riva's voice slices through the chatter. "You're late."

I turn. She stands arms crossed, her silver-streaked braid coiled like a snake. "Jarek says you can stitch. True?"

"Yes." I learned young, patching Kael's wounds after border skirmishes.

She thrusts a pile of torn tunics at me. "Fix these. Thread's in the corner. Bleed on them, and you'll lick the stains out."

The work is mindless, but my hands shake. *Prove yourself. Stay alive.* The needle pricks my thumb. I suck the blood away before Riva sees.

Jarek finds me hours later, his boots dusty. "You're supposed to rest."

"I'm supposed to earn my keep." I hold up a mended tunic. "See? Useful."

He studies the stitching. "You missed a hole."

"Where?"

He points to a spot near the hem. There's no hole. When I glare, his mouth twitches. *Almost a smile.*

"Come on," he says. "You need air that doesn't smell like Riva's temper."

He leads me through a narrow tunnel into a hidden grove. Snow blankets the ground, but steam rises from a hot spring at the center. Wolves soak in the pools, laughing. They fall silent as we pass.

A woman with a toddler on her hip nods at me. "Welcome."

The words sting. *False. Temporary.* But the pup kicks, greedy for hope.

Jarek stops at a pool ringed by stones. "Get in."

"What?"

"The heat's good for the pup. And you look like death."

I clutch my tunic. "I'm fine."

"You're shaking." He turns his back. "I won't look."

The water is heaven. I sink in up to my chin, sighing as the knots in my shoulders unravel. Jarek sits on a boulder, still facing away. His silence is... comfortable. Not like Kael's, which was always waiting to be filled.

"Why does Riva hate me?" I ask.

"She hates everyone." He tosses a pebble into the water. "Her mate died to rogues. Thinks kindness is weakness."

The pup swirls lazily. I press a hand to the movement. "And you? What do you think?"

He's quiet so long I think he won't answer. Then-

"Kindness is a weapon. Rare. Sharp."

A wolf howls in the distance. Jarek tenses, head cocked.

"Trouble?" I ask.

"Border patrol." He stands abruptly. "Out. Now."

Back in the den, he vanishes into the warren of tunnels. I return to my alcove, but sleep won't come. The hot spring's heat lingers under my skin, along with the memory of Jarek's voice. *Weapon. Sharp.*

***

Days blur. I mend clothes, scrub pots, sort herbs. The pack watches, some with pity, most with disdain. But no one touches me. No one threatens.

Jarek is a shadow-appearing with food, checking my pulse with calloused fingers, disappearing again. Sometimes I catch him staring at my stomach, his face unreadable.

"Ask," I snap one evening as he leaves a bowl of stew.

He pauses. "Ask what?"

"Whatever you're thinking when you look at me like that."

He steps closer. My breath hitches. "I'm thinking," he says slowly, "that you're brave. And stupid."

"Why?"

"Because you haven't asked the one question that matters."

The air thickens. "What question?"

"Who attacked you."

Ice floods my veins. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You will." He leaves, the stew steaming between us.

***

That night, a nightmare drags me under-*Kael's face, twisted. A stranger's hands. Wolfsbane bitter on my tongue.*

I wake gasping.

Jarek sits beside my bed, a knife in his hand. "You screamed."

"Bad dream." I curl away. "Go."

He doesn't. His heat radiates through the furs. When his fingers brush my shoulder, I flinch.

"I'd never hurt you," he says, so low it's almost a growl.

I want to believe him. *Need* to. But the pup kicks, a warning.

"You don't know me," I whisper.

"No." He stands, a shadow against the torchlight. "But I'd like to."

The alcove feels colder when he's gone.