Remy looked intrigued, his head tilting like a curious puppy, amber eyes bright with interest. Silas looked... cautious, his pale eyes guarded, his scarred fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around his fork. Harper just looked thoughtful, his jaw working as he considered.
"I don't put much stock in fortune-telling," Harper said finally, settling into his chair across from me, the wood creaking under his weight. "But if it matters to you, I'll do it."
"It's not fortune-telling," I corrected gently, pouring syrup over my pancakes in a careful spiral. "It's... insight. Perspective. The cards don't tell you what will happen—they show you what's already there, what you might not be seeing." I shrugged, spearing a bite of pancake. "You don't have to believe in it. You just have to be open."
"I'm in," Remy said immediately, reaching across the table to snag the syrup from me, his fingers brushing mine deliberately. "I've always wanted a mysterious woman to tell me my future. Very romantic."
"I said it's not—" I started, then gave up, shaking my head with a reluctant smile. "Fine. Mysterious fortune-telling. Whatever gets you there." Silas was quiet for a long moment, hispale eyes fixed on something only he could see. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than usual, rougher around the edges.
"My grandmother used to read cards," he said, his scarred fingers tracing patterns on the table, something distant in his expression. "Not tarot. Some older tradition, something from her mother's mother. She said the cards could see things people couldn't." He looked up, meeting my gaze with an intensity that made my breath catch. "I'll do it."
I reached across the table and covered his hand with mine, feeling the raised lines of his scars beneath my palm. "Thank you," I said quietly, meaning it for more than just the reading.
He turned his hand over, lacing our fingers together, and didn't let go.
After breakfast, we moved to the living room. I'd set up my reading space by the window—the small table Aunt Marguerite had used for this exact purpose, two chairs facing each other, a cloth embroidered with moons and stars spread across the surface. My cards sat in the center, wrapped in the silk scarf that had been my aunt's, waiting.
"Harper first," I said, settling into my chair and unwrapping the deck, letting the familiar weight of the cards ground me. "Head Alpha sets the tone." He approached like he was walking into a negotiation—shoulders squared, jaw set, gray eyes watchful. But when he sat across from me, some of that tension eased, replaced by something almost vulnerable.
"What do I do?" he asked, his voice low and uncertain in a way I rarely heard from him, his massive hands resting awkwardly on his thighs.
"Shuffle the cards," I said, holding them out to him, my voice gentle. "Think about what you want to know. About yourself, about us, about the future. Don't tell me—just hold the question in your mind." His hands engulfed the deck, making it look almost comically small, his scarred fingers careful as he shuffled.I watched him—watched the furrow between his brows, the slight movement of his lips like he was praying, the way his broad shoulders slowly relaxed as he focused.
After a minute, he handed the cards back. I spread them face-down on the table and let my hand hover over them, waiting for the pull.
Three cards. Past, present, future.
I turned the first.
The Hermit.
"Your past," I said softly, tracing my finger over the image of the solitary figure with his lantern, my voice taking on that distant quality it sometimes got during readings. "Isolation. Solitude. You've spent a long time alone, Harper. Not just physically—emotionally. Building walls, keeping people out. Convincing yourself it was safer that way."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't look away, his gray eyes fixed on my face. "Wasn't wrong," he said, his voice rough like sandpaper.
"No," I agreed, shaking my head slowly, my fingers moving to the second card. "But things change."
I turned it over.
The Lovers.
His breath caught audibly, his gray eyes dropping to the card, something raw flickering across his face.
"Your present," I said, unable to keep the warmth from my voice, feeling my own heart beat faster. "Connection. Union. Choice. You've let people in, Harper. You've chosen love over isolation. This card isn't just about romance—it's about integration, about bringing together different parts of yourself. You're not the Hermit anymore."
"Because of you," he said, his voice thick with emotion, his gray eyes suspiciously bright when they lifted to meet mine. "Because of all of you."
"Because of you," I corrected gently, reaching across to touch his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin. "We just gave you somewhere to land. You're the one who made the choice."
I turned the third card.
The Emperor.
I smiled, feeling the rightness of it settle into my bones, warmth spreading through my chest.
"Your future," I said, tapping the card with one finger. "Leadership. Structure. Protection. You're meant to lead this pack, Harper. Not with force—with stability. With strength. The Emperor isn't a tyrant; he's a foundation. Something for others to build on." I looked up at him, holding his gaze steady. "That's what you are for us. That's what you've always been."
He stared at the cards for a long moment, his massive chest rising and falling with deep, measured breaths. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, cracking at the edges.
