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“You are. I’m beginning to understand that absolutely everything happens for a reason.”

Jameson stared into him, and Rory kind of felt caught—not in a bad way, not like trapped, but as if he had to stay there.

Stand there and absorb what Jameson was telling him.

“I thought Gareth was a wolf. We found out that there are half fae, half wolves. We’ve had three humans? Four? That ended up being dragons. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that I don’t knowanything. And that I’m learning every day. That magic is way beyond anything I can control. You’re pack, I know it. Fen knows it. Keegan knows that you belong here. The rest of it is petty details.”

His mouth dropped open, but he couldn’t deny it. Something in him warmed to the whole idea, even if he didn’t believe it.

“Then I’ll be pack. You know that I want to be here with you, with all of you.” With him. He wanted to be here with Fen.

“Should we go see if he’s awake? Speaking of Fen?” he asked.

“Absolutely. If he’s not up to visitors or resting, then we’ll leave him alone. But if he’s up, maybe at least we can make an introduction.”

They headed across the courtyard, and not for the first time, Rory was so happy to see how this little group of wolves had managed to make a real home for themselves.

There were children having lessons. There was a tiny farmer’s market set up for trade. There were classes going—fighting, knitting, music.

The weavers were starting to fill one of the common areas, tracking in with armfuls of wool and linen so that they could create clothes, blankets, things to sell to the outside, but also just for them.

They were creating beauty just for them, and Rory was pleased to have been a part of all this for so long.

The healing center slash clinic slash makeshift hospital was in a separate building in a quiet part of the packland. Much smaller than a gathering place, there were only four rooms to the entire place really—the main room, one exam room, and two little rooms for people who needed more long-term care.

“Ah, Rory,” one of the healers said. “Did you get something to eat?”

“I cleaned up,” he said, smiling. “Is he awake?” He hoped so. Fen was getting better, but Rory wanted him well.

Nita smiled at him. “He seems to be, yes. He drank, he ate quite heartily, he used the bathroom, and then he crashed again. He’s good, I think. I believe that he’s turned a corner.”

That was what Rory needed to hear. “Can I go see him? I want to introduce him to the alpha.”

“Of course.” She smiled, waved her hand toward the room Fen had been staying in.

“Thank you, Nita. I appreciate it.”

Jameson nodded. “Bright blessings, dear one.”

“And to you, Alpha.”

They had two healers in the pack—one elder, one young.

And then there was Nita.

Rory wasn’t exactly sure what Nita did, but she was always there. She was always friendly, and she always made him feel as if he was welcome, as if he was helping.

She was one of those women that you couldn’t tell if she was twenty or she was seventy. Her face was unlined, but her eyes seemed to hold the wisdom of ages. When she touched him, her hands felt callused like they’d been working for decades.

Of course he’d never ask.

Rory was fully aware that there were things you never asked a woman.

One, how old she was, and two, if she was pregnant.

Also, he never congratulated any omega on being pregnant unless it was confirmed by their mate. He’d gotten his ears boxed once for that, and had learned exactly what that old phrase meant.

Fen was awake when they went in, awake and human, wrapped up in blankets, and Rory shivered, gaze exploring every inch.