Chapter 117 – The Weight of Returning
The trees thinned around them, giving way to the familiar curve of the southern trail that led into the heart of the pack lands. Rowan's breath grew heavier with each step, the pain creeping deeper into his bones. Every heartbeat thundered behind his eyes, but he refused to lean too heavily on Giselle or Luther. He was an Alpha—and this was his homecoming.
A broken one, but still.
The moment the gates came into view, a ripple of motion stirred ahead. Women. Dozens of them.
They must have returned when the warriors on watch spread word that the battle was done, but no one had told them anything else. The uncertainty bled from every expression as they surged forward, eyes wide and desperate, searching faces, searching for answers.
“Alpha!” one cried, breaking from the crowd. “My son—did you see him?”
“Please—my mate was at the front lines—”
“My brother—he’s not back yet—”
Their voices clashed together, a rising tide of panic and need that hit Rowan like another wave of pain. Giselle tightened her grip around his waist as women pressed closer, some nearly reaching for him, as if he could offer names, faces, hope.
He wanted to.
Gods, he wanted to give them something—anything—to ease their fears. But his mouth opened and nothing came. Only the weight in his chest, a pressure that made it hard to breathe.
And then—
“Back!” a voice thundered from behind the crowd.
The pressure stilled. Heads turned as the Elders cut through the sea of pack members, parting them with urgency and force. Elder Malric was at the front, his expression drawn tight with something Rowan hadn’t seen from him before.
Worry.
“Give your Alpha space!” Elder Malric snapped, his voice sharper than Rowan had ever heard it. “He’s returned from battle half-dead, and still you mob him like hungry wolves!”
The women startled, pulling back as if struck. Shock flickered in their eyes—this wasn’t the cold, calculating Elder they were used to. He sounded...protective. Genuine.
Even Rowan blinked.
Elder Calen moved beside him, murmuring something to the others. A few of the Elders looked like they wanted to protest Elder Malric’s outburst but held their tongues. For once.
Rowan drew in a ragged breath and lifted his head. He didn’t let go of Giselle or Luther, but he straightened as best he could, forcing himself to meet the gazes around him.
“I’ll answer your questions soon,” he said, his voice rough and cracked but steady. “We’re bringing the dead home now. You’ll have names... before nightfall.”
A choked sob escaped one of the women. Another fell to her knees in silent grief.
But none of them surged forward again.
They stepped back, clearing a path.
Because despite the bruises, the blood, and the weight of death clinging to him, Rowan was still their Alpha.
And he was still standing.
The porch of the packhouse came into view like a dream through the haze of pain and exhaustion. Rowan wasn’t sure how he was still upright, his steps more memory than strength, but Giselle and Luther held him steady, their bodies tense and unyielding at his sides.
The moment they reached the stairs, Giselle shifted, guiding him carefully onto the weathered wooden porch, the boards creaking beneath their weight. They steered him to one of the old rocking chairs that sat nestled beneath the awning—ones the elders usually favored when the sun was warm and their bones ached too much to stay inside.
Today, it was Rowan whose bones ached.
He collapsed into the chair with a muffled grunt, his body sagging with relief. The cushion gave beneath him, soft and familiar in a way that tugged something loose in his chest. Home. Somehow, against all odds, they had made it home.
Luther pulled away the moment Rowan was settled, a quiet hand clapping his shoulder before the warrior turned and strode down the steps toward Liam and Charlie, waiting near the bottom with haunted eyes.
But Giselle remained.
She didn’t release her hold, even as she knelt beside him, one hand braced on his thigh as her eyes studied every mark on his body with a frown that only deepened.
A few soft footsteps approached, hesitant and slow. Rowan glanced up to find a trio of women crossing the porch. Their eyes were wide, shoulders stiff, but they came anyway, their arms heavy with bundles. A loaf of bread wrapped in cloth. A pitcher of cold spring water. A metal basin filled with clean water, steam still curling faintly from it.
None of them said anything. They didn’t need to.
Giselle rose with gentle grace and offered them a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” she said warmly. “This means more than you know.”
They nodded, eyes darting toward Rowan and then back again. Giselle took the items from their arms with care, whispering another quiet thank-you before waving them away. They disappeared without another word, heads bowed.
Giselle set the basin down beside the rocking chair and poured some of the cool water into a smaller bowl. She dipped a cloth in, wringing it out with delicate fingers, and then turned to him. Her touch was soft as she pressed it gently to the dried blood on his cheek.
“I should be taking care of you,” Rowan rasped, his voice raw with emotion and pain. “You’re *my* Luna.”
Giselle smiled softly without looking up. “You take care of me every day,” she murmured, brushing a bloodied streak from his jaw. “It’s my turn now.”
Her cloth moved with tender precision, careful to avoid the thick greenish paste Avella had smeared over his worst wounds. She cleaned around them, her breath hitching each time he flinched. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Almost done.”
Rowan swallowed against the lump in his throat, watching her. There was a fierceness in her gentleness, a quiet storm in every motion of her hands. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but her jaw was set, determined.
She had been through hell—and yet she knelt here now, washing his blood-streaked skin with more reverence than he deserved.
He reached for her hand, stopping her movements, and she stilled beneath his touch. Their eyes met.
“I came back for you,” he murmured.
“I know,” she whispered back, pressing her forehead to his. “And I’ll never let you go again.”
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