Page 23 of Unveiled

Connor followed.

The pack climbed out, dripping, steaming faintly in the cold air. They shook water from their coats, sending droplets flying like rain. Wolves nudged each other, checked each other, a quick accounting. Everyone’s here. Everyone’s whole.

Connor stood at the edge of the pool, water running from his fur, and lifted his head to the wind. For a moment, there was only the Highlands.

Only the land that had held his ancestors as the land held him now.

Then the pull of home tugged at him. The castle’s walls, warm fires, Alicia’s small hands, and the weight of responsibility settling back onto his shoulders.

He gave a low bark. The pack moved as one, trotting up the path, paws silent on wet earth. The return felt different. Slower, satisfied.

The wolves had fed their souls.

As the castle came into view, its stone walls rising from the mist, Connor felt the shift pressing again, the human shape waiting beneath the fur. They reached the shelter of the trees, out of sight of any windows, and Connor let the change take him.

Bone re-formed. Skin tightened. Breath tore from his throat as he returned to human form, knees bending slightly with the force of it.

Cold air hit his bare skin again, but now it felt less like a slap and more like a promise.

Around him, the others shifted back too with grunts and gasps, the soft thud of bodies settling into human form.

Fraser was the first to speak, his voice rough. “Better?”

Connor nodded, reaching for his clothes. “Aye.”

They dressed quickly, hands clumsy with cold, their laughter low and brief.

Laird’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright. Louella ruffled his wet hair like he was still a boy, and he didn’t flinch away.

They walked back into the castle in a loose group, boots leaving damp prints on stone floors. The warmth inside hit them like a blanket. The smell of stew drifted from the kitchen.

Alicia came barrelling into the hall, skidding to a stop when she saw Connor, her eyes wide.

“Did you run?”

Connor crouched, still damp, and she launched herself at him. He caught her easily, lifting her into his arms. “We ran,” he said into her hair.

“Did you swim?”

He glanced at Fraser, who was trying and failing to look stern. “We swam.”

Alicia squealed. “Next time I’m coming.”

Connor kissed her temple. “Next time,” he lied gently, because he didn’t know what next time would look like anymore.

***

Later, the clan scattered, some to the kitchen, some to the fires, some to beds. The run had taken the edge off, leaving a heavy, satisfied tiredness in its wake. Connor sat in the great room with a mug of something hot in his hands, boots off, socks steaming by the hearth. Fraser dropped into the chair opposite, groaning like an old man.

Moira passed by and squeezed Connor’s shoulder, brief and grounding.

Connor stared into the fire, feeling the wolf curled inside him, calmer now. Outside, the wind still worried at the Highlands. And somewhere beyond the glen, beyond the waterfall, beyond the certainty of stone and water and pack, the world was shifting.

Connor didn’t know what the Council of Veils had done. He didn’t know what being a Valour would demand of him. But for tonight, his clan was warm, fed, and safe. For tonight, that was enough.

Tomorrow, he’d walk the streets of the village and see how the townsfolk were doing. Perhaps his sense of unease and impending doom would diminish there.

And he might meet Adrian.