Page 46 of Fated (The Bonded Legacy #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CALEB

C aleb’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel as he pulled into the gravel parking lot of The Chrome Counter, the modest building sitting like a time capsule against the backdrop of Yakima’s rolling hills.

Over a week had passed since the summit, and Alaric Voss hadn’t wasted time following up about Crescent Fang’s reintegration plans.

The elder had been delighted when Caleb confirmed their commitment, wasting no time emailing articles of incorporation and calculating their first quarter dues before extending an invitation to this breakfast.

“An orientation of sorts,” he’d called it.

Now, staring at the weathered building with its neon sign flickering intermittently, Caleb wished he’d brought Asher along. His beta’s calming presence would have been welcome, but someone needed to oversee the projects back home.

Taking a deep breath, Caleb grabbed his laptop bag from the passenger seat and stepped out of his Silverado. The morning air carried the faint scent of sage from the surrounding hills, mixing with the rich aroma of bacon and coffee drifting from the diner’s kitchen vents.

With each step toward the entrance, he straightened his spine, squared his shoulders, and let the confidence he’d gained at the summit settle into place.

Yes, Crescent Fang was new to the Collective again.

Yes, there was still morbid curiosity surrounding their return.

But he’d earned the respect of influential alphas at the summit.

The rest would come with time and trust.

The diner’s interior hit him with a wave of nostalgic Americana—red and black vinyl booths lined the windows, their surfaces cracked but clean, while a long stainless-steel counter stretched along one wall, punctuated by barstools facing the open kitchen.

The air was thick with the symphony of a well-seasoned griddle: butter, salt, and that indefinable richness that only came from years of perfectly executed breakfasts.

Caleb spotted Alaric, tucked into a corner booth at the back, silver head bent over a laptop screen while steam curled from the coffee mug at his elbow. The elder’s weathered hands moved across the keyboard with surprising agility for someone his age.

“Elder Voss,” Caleb said, approaching the table.

Alaric looked up, removing wire-rimmed glasses from his nose, and his face broke into a genuine smile. “Ah, Caleb! Great to see you again.” He gestured to the seat across from him. “Have a seat. And please, call me Alaric.”

“Thank you.” Caleb slid into the booth, the vinyl cool against his back, and set his bag beside him. He picked up the laminated menu, scanning the options while trying to settle his nerves.

“I hope you brought your appetite,” Alaric said, patting his stomach with a chuckle. “Best breakfast in Yakima. And the portions...” He gave a wink. “Well, try to save room for pie.”

Caleb managed a laugh just as their waitress appeared—a woman with brown hair pulled into a messy bun, wisps of gray framing her face. She wore a black bowling-style shirt with the diner’s logo, dark jeans, and a black apron tied at her waist.

“You boys ready to order?” she asked, pulling a worn pad from her apron pocket.

“I’ll have the Country Breakfast,” Alaric said without hesitation. “Ham steak, four slices of bacon, two sausage patties, hashbrowns, and scrambled eggs with a short stack.”

Caleb’s eyebrows rose. “I’ll have the country fried steak and eggs, sunny side up, with a short stack as well.”

The waitress nodded, then looked at Caleb. “Coffee, hon, or something else?”

“Coffee’s perfect.”

“I’ll get that order in and be right back with your mug.” She tucked the pad away and disappeared toward the kitchen.

“First time in Yakima?” Alaric closed his laptop, focusing on their conversation.

“It is. Beautiful drive through the valley.”

“Wait until you see it in the fall. The orchards are something else.” Alaric leaned back as the waitress returned with a fresh mug and a carafe of coffee for the table. “Food should be up momentarily,” she said before hurrying off to check on other customers.

Alaric poured coffee for both of them. “Any questions about the articles of incorporation?”

Caleb shook his head, reaching into his bag. “We went through everything with our council and attorney.” He pulled out a manila folder and slid it across the table. “Signed and notarized. The first quarter’s dues are in there too.”

The memory of that council meeting still left a sour taste in his mouth.

Erik had been particularly vocal about the cost—one hundred dollars per member when it had been twenty-five forty years ago.

Caleb had to remind them that Collective dues helped fund grants that packs like theirs could apply for, especially for projects like the sanctuary.

That argument had finally secured the votes he needed.

“Excellent.” Alaric tucked the folder beside his laptop. “The bureaucratic part is always the least exciting, but it’s necessary.”

Their conversation paused as the waitress appeared with a tray carrying four enormous plates.

Caleb’s eyes widened at the spread before him—a country fried steak that had to be close to eight ounces, smothered in thick, peppery white gravy, alongside two sunny-side-up eggs with perfect golden yolks nestled atop a mountain of crispy hashbrowns.

The short stack covered the entire diameter of a separate plate.

“Wow,” Caleb said, mouth watering as he unwrapped his silverware. “You weren’t lying about the portions. I probably didn’t need the pancakes.”

Alaric chuckled, attacking his own impressive spread. “Take a bite while they’re fresh, then box up the rest for later.”

They ate in comfortable silence for several minutes, the scrape of silverware against plates and appreciative hums filling the space between them. The steak was perfectly seasoned, the gravy rich and comforting, and Caleb found himself relaxing despite the importance of their meeting.

After putting a significant dent in his meal, Caleb set down his fork and regarded the elder across from him. “Alaric, I’ve been wondering something. Why was Crescent Fang invited to the summit this year? After all this time?”

Alaric paused mid-chew, then carefully set down his fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

“It might sound silly.” A soft smile spread across his weathered features.

“Well, maybe not for you.” He met Caleb’s eyes directly.

“The Denali massacre was rough news. We knew things were getting worse with the rogues, but an entire pack...” He shook his head grimly.

“I went to our ritual grounds to pray for their souls. To seek guidance.”

Caleb leaned forward, anticipation brewing.

“I don’t remember exactly how long I was out there,” Alaric continued, gaze drifting toward the window overlooking the parking lot.

“Just asking for help, for some sign of what we should do. And that’s when I heard it.

” He turned back to Caleb. “The faintest female voice, like a whisper in the wind, telling me to ‘seek my first children, bring them home.’”

Fenrir surged, alert and focused. “This is Her design,” his wolf murmured. “We will follow.”

“It felt like a dream, but there was this certainty.” Alaric emphasized his words with both hands. “It was a sign that to face this threat, we needed to be one community.”

Caleb wouldn’t deny their Goddess’s call, but apprehension knotted in his stomach. “I agree completely. I want to help in any way we can, but what exactly are you expecting from us?”

Alaric’s laugh made the vinyl bench creak as he shifted forward. “I heard a whisper, not a fully outlined plan.” His expression grew pensive. “Has anyone ever told you about the day your grandfather announced Crescent Fang’s departure from the Collective?”

Caleb shook his head, reaching for his mug.

“It was during the summit review meeting. Odin had started giving his usual progress update, everything normal. Then suddenly he just...stopped, and began weeping.”

The coffee turned bitter in Caleb’s mouth. “Weeping?”

“His entire demeanor shifted. He condemned nearly every alpha in that room. For their selfishness, their self-aggrandizing, their greed.” Alaric’s voice took on the force of memory as he pointed forcefully across the table. “‘Your apathy!’ he roared at my father at one point.”

Caleb’s eyebrows shot up. “You were there?”

“My fifth summit. Quite the show.” Alaric paused, clearly still affected by the memory.

“Odin’s aura was incredible. Damn near pressed every wolf in that room into their seats, demanding they listen to every word.

He told the alphas that their ‘Goddess was moonlight, not land or money.’ Reminded them their power wasn’t limitless, and their will wasn’t absolute. ‘Only Hers,’ he said.”

Caleb’s stomach churned as he pushed his plates away, appetite completely gone. The grandfather he remembered had been joyous, gentle—a male who never needed to raise his voice because his presence alone commanded respect.

“He stalked to the conference room door,” Alaric continued, “and warned them that they’d ‘destroy themselves from the inside out unless they humble themselves and found a way back to Her light.’ Then he ripped open the door and left.

No one saw a member of the Crescent Fang delegation for the rest of the week.

Apparently, a formal letter of separation was already in the mail. ”

“I always assumed it was a quieter departure,” Caleb said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s hard to picture the even-tempered male I knew taking such a strong stand.”

Alaric shrugged, palms upturned. “I can only guess it was a long time coming. A decision that clearly hurt him to make.”

Caleb nodded, trying to process this new understanding of his family’s legacy. “I still don’t understand what that has to do with us being asked back now.”