Into the Alpha’s Keep Chapter 38: 37

POV Fenrir Dăneşti

And now, he would have to involve all of them in this mess.

He would inform Jax, planning to go to his territory and tell him what had been happening. Also to keep him aware and increase his protections. Jax was pragmatic when it came to the security of his pack.

"Now what?" he asked, scratching his jaw.

"I'm going to the dinner and tell them the truth."

"What truth?"

"That Savannah has a bastard ex-fiancé who's after her. As my mate, they'll understand why I can't hand her over to him."

He crossed his arms and furrowed his blonde brows.

"Don't want to hand over your mate because you can't or because you choose not to?"

I felt a heat intensifying in my chest, slowly consuming me, as if it were running through my veins.

"Hunter could kill her."

"I highly doubt that. To be honest, Fenrir, I think he wants her back because of his bruised ego. Savannah ran from him, interrupting his plans." He narrowed his gaze. "That's why I'm asking. You could make a deal with Hunter, hand Savannah over as long as he keeps her alive."

My wolf reacted to what he said. My eyes shone, and my fangs extended, as did my claws. Just the mere thought of leaving my little wolf with the other alpha disturbed me.

"There will be no deal, period. Handing her over is out of the question, Anton," I growled.

He threw his hands up and stepped back.

"Fine, I'm not the one who said it."

"Are their heads still in place?"

"Yes, they are."

"Every time any of them attack us, rip off their heads and distribute more stakes. If necessary, we'll make a gate of heads, maybe then they'll understand how bad of an idea it is to invade my territory."

"As you wish," he muttered, lowering his chin.

I turned to the side, my body pivoting with a sluggish weight as I resumed my trek toward home, each step heavier than the last. Fatigue gnawed at my bones, a dull ache that pulsed with every thud of my boots against the forest floor.

I needed sustenance—something warm and hearty to fill the hollow pit in my stomach—followed by a long, steaming bath to soak away the grime and tension of the past days.

Sleep was the real prize, though, an elusive escape I hadn’t tasted in two nights.

Every time I closed my eyes, Ruda’s death played on an endless loop—her small frame crumpling, the light fading from her eyes, the silence that followed.

The images clawed at me, stealing rest and leaving only rage in their wake.

Hunter would pay for every fractured second of my disturbed peace, every night I’d spent staring into the dark, haunted by what he’d taken.

The forest stretched around me, cloaked in an inky blackness that seemed to swallow sound itself. It was a stillness so profound it felt alive, as if nature had draped itself in mourning, grieving the loss of the little wolf whose life had been snuffed out too soon.

The air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth, but there were no rustling leaves, no distant hoots or scurries—only silence, heavy and reverent.

The silver moonlight pierced through the canopy in slivers, casting my shadow in fleeting glimpses as I wove between the towering trunks.

It danced ahead of me, a dark silhouette slipping over roots and moss, illuminated briefly whenever I passed into a patch of light, my form outlined in stark relief against the forest’s embrace.

I’d built my house in a secluded pocket of the woods, deliberately tucked away from the world. Privacy was my sanctuary, the quiet a balm to a soul that had weathered too much noise—both literal and otherwise.

To some, the isolation might’ve been unsettling, the silence a creeping threat, but I thrived in it. Watching the branches sway lazily in the wind, their shadows playing across the floor, or catching sight of a deer pausing at the edge of a clearing—these were the simple joys I cherished.

That’s why I’d installed oversized windows in every room, framing the wild beauty outside like living paintings, inviting the forest in even as I kept the rest of the world at bay.

As I neared the house, the exterior lights flickered to life, their soft glow spilling onto the stone path that wound toward the front door.

The contrast was striking—the warm, golden illumination cutting through the encompassing darkness of the forest, which seemed to press in closer, a velvet shroud that made the house feel like a lone island in an endless sea. The sight stirred something in me, a quiet appreciation for the refuge I’d carved out here, its beauty heightened by the starkness around it.

I climbed the first steps of the porch, the wood creaking faintly under my weight, when a rich, tangy aroma hit me—sour cabbage mingled with the savory heft of ground meat.

Sarmale.

My lips curved into a tired but genuine smile as the scent wrapped around me, familiar and comforting, one of my favorite dishes from childhood.

My stomach growled in eager anticipation, a low rumble that broke the silence. This was exactly what I needed—a good, delicious, proper meal to anchor me, to coax my body into the rest it so desperately craved.

I pushed the door open, the hinges sighing softly, and stepped inside, already tasting the promise of a full belly and a peaceful night.

The smell intensified as I crossed the threshold, flooding the house with its mouthwatering warmth.

My eyes found Savannah sprawled on the couch, her frame relaxed yet somehow guarded, her knees drawn up to her chest.

She cradled a plate between them, balancing it against her body as she ate sarmale slathered in a generous drizzle of tomato sauce, the vibrant red stark against the pale cabbage rolls. She stared out the large window, her gaze lost in the shadowed landscape beyond, the moonlight catching the edges of her profile.

“Good evening,” I said, my voice cutting through the stillness as I walked toward her, my boots thudding lightly on the hardwood floor.

Savannah’s eyebrows lifted, a flicker of surprise crossing her features as she paused mid-bite. She swallowed deliberately, the motion slow and measured, then set her fork down on the plate, her eyes flicking to meet mine.

"I didn't know you'd come back home," she said, cutting a piece of sour cabbage stuffed with ground meat, then dipping it in the sauce and tossing it in her mouth.

"And why wouldn't I come home?"

She shrugged.

"I guess you have more... interesting houses to visit."

Our coexistence was wonderful. When I was home, she stayed locked in her room. And when I wasn't... well, she must have been doing whatever she was doing at that moment.

At first, I spent my nights at Marilyn's house, but since the wolf started irritating me, becoming too invasive, I began avoiding her, and it had been weeks since I'd barely seen her.

Next to her, on the couch, was a battered book. It was something she carried back and forth. I wondered if she was learning to read or why she kept reading and rereading the same book a million times.

"Do you have food for me?" I glanced over the counter, looking for the pots.

She let out a high-pitched laugh.

"Of course not; I didn't know you'd be back tonight."

I gritted my teeth, irritated.

"How could you not know, when I come back every single day?"

"Oh, I'm sorry for not being interested enough to keep track of your routine."

I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes.

"Did you make dinner just for yourself?"

She slowly rubbed another piece of sarmale in the sauce. She looked up at me, then tossed it in her mouth, chewing and sighing.

Damned!

"Yes." She shrugged. "I don't know why you seem so surprised and offended."

"Who knows, maybe because you excluded me?!" I snapped.

"And don't you do that, by any chance? Any event in the village, anything involving the pack, either you don't inform me how it works, or you just leave me out!"

I widened my eyes, understanding. It was revenge. She was upset with me, irritated because she'd been excluded from the meeting.

"It's different..." I murmured.

"It’s not different at all." She speared a roll with her fork and brought it to her mouth, biting a big piece. The crunching of the cabbage made my stomach twist with hunger. With each bite, a sigh of satisfaction. "If you want to eat, make your own food. I'm not your servant, and I don't have any feelings for you other than disdain."

She was punishing me.