THE BURDEN OF BLOOD

Chapter Seven: The Elder’s Examination

With his white beard dragging in the dust like a banner of surrender, Mason arrived before daybreak, leaning on his carved staff.

The elderly wolf became motionless after glancing at the woman seated at the table.

"Close the doors," he replied in a shaky voice. Nobody comes in. Nobody.

Scarlett herself barred the longhouse doors. Outside, Vance kept watch, snarling at anyone who dared to approach.

Heath had not slept. Savannah's small, chilly, but still alive hand was in his when he sat next to her on the bench. Her lips were once more colorful. The fever had subsided throughout the night, but the scars continued to bleed slowly and darkly.

Mason put down his staff and moved slowly in, like a man approaching a crossbow that was loaded.

"Gods down below," he muttered. "That's accurate."

Gently, he raised Savannah's eyelid. The eye below had an unending blood-moon light and was all red, without any white or pupil.

Mason took a step back and stumbled.

"White Wolf," he inhaled deeply. "The actual one. Not a legend. Not a narrative.

Heath's hold on her hand became firmer. "Are you able to assist her?"

Mason initially remained silent. With trembling fingertips, he traced the glyphs etched into her collarbone.

At last, he declared, "These are not chains." Leeches are what they are—prohibited syphoning—magic from old blood. Beau has been drinking her dry for years; he did not merely bind her.

Scarlett spoke in a cold tone. "What was his dosage?"

Mason remarked, "Enough to make him a god among wolves." "Enough that he will wither in weeks without it."

Heath clenched his jaw. "And her?"

Mason fixed his old stare on his Alpha's eyes.

"She ought to be deceased. She is breathing, which indicates that the power is returning. Quick. Too quickly. When it fills her all the way. He walked away.

Scarlett completed it. She levels everything after waking up. We included.

Heath rose gently. "After that, we make sure friendship is the first thing she notices."

Mason gave a headshake. "Boy, friendship cannot contain a White Wolf. Only mate-bonding or blood may.

The room fell silent.

Sharp and perceptive, Scarlett's gaze flitted to Heath.

Heath did not recoil. "After that, we give her one of those."

Mason looked at him for a while.

"With a single thought, you would bind yourself to a force of nature that could kill you?"

Savannah's scars, brittle bones, and the power that was already crackling beneath her skin like an impending storm were all visible to Heath as he gazed down at her.

He said, "I already did."

Vance yelled something about Shadowed Pine colors and riders on the ridge outside.

Mason let out a sigh. Beau is approaching more quickly than I anticipated. He must have been struck like a hammer by the syphon cracking.

Scarlett pulled out her sword. "How much time do we have?"

"Days," Mason murmured. "Perhaps less."

Savannah's hair was brushed from her face as Heath leaned over her.

"Awaken," he muttered. "You are needed."

His unexpected, crushing strength made her fingers clench.

She opened her eyes.

Crimson. Infinite. Old.

And angry.

Chains of shadow exploded from her skin as she sat up in one fluid motion, encircling Mason's staff, Scarlett's wrists, and Heath's throat.

The longhouse was flooded with power, the floor cracked beneath their feet, fire roared up the chimney, and wind howled through sealed doors.

Savannah's voice was six years of torment, despair, and thunder.

"Where is my brother?"

Heath did not resist being choked by the shadows. He looked her in the eye and talked despite his crush.

"Dead," he calmly lied by my hand. You are secure.

The shadows paused.

Mason went to his knees. Blade clanking, Scarlett trailed behind.

Heath remained upright, allowing the darkness to elevate him until his boots lifted off the ground.

"You're at home," he declared. "And now we're your pack."

The shadows quivered.

Then they gradually relaxed.

Something shattered behind Savannah's eyes as she gazed at him, at the honesty in his eyes, and at the blood remaining on his shirt from carrying her.

Sobbing like a child who had forgotten how to cry, she fell forward into his arms.

With storm and iron chains about his bones, Heath clutched her.

Beau's riders were cresting the ridge outside, their banners snapping in a lightning-like wind.

It was wartime.

Additionally, the White Wolf had sided with her.