Chapter 50: Provide

Chapter 50 Lenora I run to him. Despite the silence, despite the stunned expressions painted across every face in this square, I don’t care. I don’t hesitate. My feet move before I think, before anyone else dares to. They’re all staring at him—no, gaping. Because just now, he didn’t just win the fight. He commanded a wolf. With his voice. With his presence. With that terrifying, unmistakable authority. The only other alpha in White Stone Pack right now is my father. And he’s dying. It’s why most of these fucking assholes wanted me in the first place. Being an omega? It comes with a twisted kind of value. An 80% chance of producing an alpha-blooded child. Who wouldn’t want that? They’re not just stronger, faster, larger. No. It’s more than that. They dominate. They impose. They control. They’re terrifying. They command. Their presence alone can still a crowd, make grown wolves drop to their knees. Like what just happened. I throw my arms around him and hug him as tight as I can. He catches me, just like I knew he would, strong and steady, like always. I bury my face into his shoulder and hold on. "Are you okay?" I ask, my voice small. "I’m okay. I’m okay," he says, rubbing circles on my back. I exhale and pull back slightly, brushing my fingers over the arm he used to block the worst of the wolf’s claws. The skin is torn, still tender and raw, but already closing. "Lenora," he says, catching my chin and lifting it so I meet his gaze. His hand is warm, solid, grounding. "I’m fine." His voice is so steady it makes something inside me buckle. I nod, but tears prick the corners of my eyes anyway. "I just—" I shake my head, unable to finish. Because this whole thing could have gone so differently. "It’s fine," he whispers. "You don’t have to explain." "Okay," I breathe. My arms wrap around his waist again, tighter this time, like I could somehow shield him the way he just shielded all of us. *** Eamon "That’s why you weren’t worried—he’s an alpha wolf," Aunt Linda says, smacking my back hard enough to make me flinch. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but the ghost of the old trauma makes my spine stiffen on instinct. I glance back toward the center of the square, where Lenora and Cameron stand—oblivious to the murmurs and stares. "Maybe," I answer with a small smile. "You could’ve warned us," she mutters. "But Nana knows," I shrug. "Please. Natasha gets this sick satisfaction watching people stumble around blind," she snaps. She’s probably the only wolf alive who still calls her that—same generation, after all. There isn’t a single wolf in this pack who hasn’t been on the receiving end of Linda’s spankings at least once. I watch my daughter and—let’s face it—son. It wasn’t just that I knew he was an alpha. It’s him. Look at him. Regardless of how this ended, I never doubted he would protect her, even if it meant doing it outside of this pack. "Ahem." Alric claps his hands once, and the crowd stills immediately. "It’s quite obvious that you can protect yourself," he says, voice smooth, measured. "You’ve proven your strength—and everyone here is witness to it." A few nods, murmurs of agreement. He doesn’t let the silence settle. "And now, on to the next test: is he capable of providing for the pack?" There’s a beat of stillness, and then I see Cameron lean down to whisper something in Lenora’s ear. Her mouth twists, reluctant, but she walks over to stand beside me. I nudge her shoulder gently. She exhales, gives me a weak smile. Cameron steps forward. He clears his throat. "When I found out this morning—justbeforenoon—that this whole thing was happening, I didn’t know what the hell to do," he says. A few quiet chuckles ripple through the crowd. "From what I researched," Cameron says, "back in the day, when someone was marrying into a pack, providing meant bringing in a kill. A deer, maybe two, for a small group of a hundred or so wolves. Three hundred was considered massive." A couple of older wolves nod faintly in agreement. Tradition, after all, is always remembered best by those who cling to it. "But there’s just one thing—White Stone Pack has three thousand and seven members." That earns a few sharp intakes of breath. A ripple of shifting weight. The realization hits, and hits hard. Alric had set the bar not high but practically impossible. Cameron doesn’t miss the flicker of disdain on a few faces. Some wolves tilt their heads, nostrils flaring, questioning what he’s doing here. "But that’s not an excuse," Cameron says, and his voice carries with more gravity than I’ve ever heard from him. "At the end of the day, am I able to provide? One thing everyone here knows—something my mate reminded me of—is that the goddess makes no mistakes. So I have to believe I am able to provide. Even if I’m not like any of you. Even if I don’t do it the way it’s been done before." Silence. And honestly, I’m just as curious as everyone else about where this is going. That’s when Ronan walks into the square with a dead deer slung over his shoulder, striding right to the center like it’s nothing. He drops it at Cameron’s feet and walks away without a word, head held so high you’d think he was the one being tested. Next to me, Lenora lets out a short scoff of laughter. "This guy," Cameron says, amused, nudging the deer with his foot. "I won’t lie—took me the better part of the afternoon to bring him down. But hey, if we’re being serious, maybe we can stretch it out. Everyone take a bite, pack-style." He drags the deer a few steps forward and drops it at Alric’s feet. "Uncle-in-law," he adds with a smug nod. That’s when we hear it—the low rumble of an engine. Heads turn. A truck pulls into the square. Then another. Then a third. Three huge black trucks roll in like they’re delivering supplies to a war zone. Cameron steps forward casually. "Everyone, please head to the trucks. There’s premium steak, chicken, ribs... enough meat for all three thousand and seven of you. Should be arriving now." Gasps ripple through the crowd. Then murmurs. Then disbelief. The first truck stops and its back doors creak open. A couple of young pups I recognize from training scramble out. "What are you waiting for? We don’t have all night!" one of them shouts, already hurling vacuum-sealed meat down to the growing crowd. There’s laughter as the wolves swarm the trucks, grabbing meat by the armful. And judging by the revving engines in the distance, those three weren’t the only ones en route. "Is he serious?" someone says behind me. "Where the hell did all this come from?!" Lenora marches over and pinches Cameron’s ear. Hard. "Are you insane?! Just how much did this cost?" "A lot," he replies, clearly amused. "Cameron!" "But it’s nothing to me. You know that." He flashes her a boyish grin and threads their fingers together. "Now come with me. I need your help with something." Just then, the head butcher strides forward and grabs the deer Cameron dropped earlier. "Is this why your shop was shut down all day?" an older wolf calls out. "You have no idea," the butcher grumbles, adjusting the deer over his shoulder. "Dragged into the human side, made to ’inspect’ the whole shipment like I was some certified quality control officer." He clicks his tongue. "Tiring, chaotic, probably the most ridiculous errand I’ve run in years." "You don’t work for free," I ask suspicious. "So why do you look so damn pleased?" "And how the hell did you even pull this off without raising suspicion in the human world?" someone else asks, skeptical. The butcher shrugs like it’s no big deal. "Apparently there’s a whole underground chain of wolf-owned butcheries—real discreet, real exclusive. The owner said this was the biggest single order he’s ever processed. Helped rush it through customs, no questions asked, claimed it was for some ’private elite retreat.’" He smirks. "And I may or maynot have walked out of there with brand-new cutting equipment, three industrial-grade coolers, and enough vacuum seals to last me a decade."