Henry Greystone's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

A week passed inside the tavern's warm light, and Henry still didn't know where he stood with Rowan. The red-furred wolf had welcomed him first, clasped his arm, poured his ale, taught him the names of the pack. But Rowan clapped every newcomer on the back. He grinned at everyone. Henry lay awake asking one question. Was that kindness friendship, or something more? Guess wrong, and he could lose the only place that had ever claimed him. So Henry tested it. He picked a cluster of ripe red berries from the wood and carried them to Rowan's cabin at dusk. Rough timber, a green door, warm windows. He knocked before he could talk himself out of it. Rowan opened the door, saw the berries, and laughed. "You brought me wolfberries." Rowan took the bunch. His thumb brushed Henry's hand and stayed there a second too long. "Come in. I was hoping you'd come by." Henry stepped inside. His heart slammed. That word, hoping, could mean anything. He needed to know. "Rowan," he said. "I have to ask you something plain. I'm no good at guessing." Rowan set the berries down. "Ask." "The way you treat me." Henry's voice caught. "Is it the way you treat everyone? Or is it different?" The grin faded. For a breath Henry thought he'd ruined it all. Then Rowan crossed the floor and stopped close, close enough that Henry felt his warmth. "I welcome everyone," Rowan said. "I don't bring them here." He nodded at the small den, the two chairs by the fire. "I've watched you all week. You howl like a wolf who's been alone too long. I know that howl." His hand found Henry's shoulder, then his jaw. "It's different, Henry. It's you." Henry's breath left him. He'd gambled his whole place in the pack on this question, and the answer was yes. Not friendship. More. He set his hand over Rowan's. "Then run with me," Henry said. "Tonight. There's a clearing I know. Moonlight and soft grass." Rowan's eyes lit gold. "Lead the way." They ran together through the pines, two wolves under a rising moon. The clearing opened before them, washed silver, ringed by dark trunks. Henry had crossed it alone a hundred times. Tonight Rowan ran at his flank, matching his stride, breath for breath. A sleek black bird watched from a low branch, its feathers shining strange colors in the moonlight. Henry didn't care. For the first time the woods didn't feel like a cage. They slowed in the center of the clearing. Rowan pressed his shoulder to Henry's, panting, grinning that grin. Henry had his answer. Rowan wanted him. But knowing it opened a harder door. One night in a clearing was not a mate for every full moon. Rowan led a pack, carried its weight, answered to more than himself. To truly win him, Henry would have to prove he belonged at that side for good.