Page 7 of Fated (The Bonded Legacy #1)

CHAPTER SIX

CALEB

T he morning air bit at Caleb’s skin as he descended the hill, breaths steady and controlled from his early run.

The rising sun caught in his chestnut waves, turning them golden at the edges and highlighting the powerful line of his jaw.

Even at twenty-eight, he carried himself with the natural grace of a seasoned alpha.

His broad shoulders and athletic build spoke to the legacy of his bloodline and years of training.

Yet his hazel eyes held more thoughtfulness than most would expect from a young leader.

He slowed his pace as Erik’s cottage came into view. Anxiety crept into his chest as he wiped sweat from his brow. Fenrir tramped circuits behind Caleb’s ribs. Each loop sent ripples of awareness down his spine, vibrating through bone and sinew.

The cottage stood like a guardian at the edge of the main village.

Centuries of moss and ivy softened its weathered stone walls.

Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, carrying the familiar scent of Erik’s morning tea—chamomile and something older, earthier.

Caleb’s hand hesitated over the carved wolf-head knocker. He blew out a breath and rapped twice.

“Come in.” Erik’s gravelly voice carried through the door, rich with decades of stories waiting to be told.

Caleb stepped into the warm cottage, drinking in the space that had always felt like stepping into Crescent Fang’s living memory.

Carvings of wolves adorned the mantle while shelves groaned under the weight of ancient books.

A tapestry depicting Selene’s blessing of the first wolves hung above the fireplace, its colors faded but its power undimmed.

The air carried the subtle mix of aged wood, dried herbs, and dying embers that Caleb had always associated with Erik’s counsel.

“Alpha.” Erik rose from his chair with a smile that softened his time-worn features.

Though the years had carved deep lines into his olive skin, pack members still straightened when he entered a room, a habit left from decades ago when he’d served as Caleb’s grandfather’s gamma.

Now Erik watched Caleb carefully as he gestured to the waiting chair. “You’re early.”

A steaming cup of tea waited on the small table between them, its herbal aroma mixing with the cottage’s familiar scents.

“Morning run was quicker than I expected,” Caleb said, clasping Erik’s extended hand. “I wanted to make sure we had enough time.”

Erik chuckled as he lowered himself back into his chair. “I’d expect no less. You’ve always been thorough.” He studied Caleb with a mixture of fondness and scrutiny that made hiding anything impossible. “You’re nervous,” he said.

Caleb’s fingers drummed against his thigh before he stilled them. “I am. Fenrir’s been...vocal. He doesn’t think we should go.”

“And what do you think?” Erik asked.

“I think...” Caleb’s gaze fixed on the tapestry of Selene.

“Fenrir’s right to want to protect Crescent Fang.

We’re one of the last packs whose hierarchy directly descends from the first wolves.

” His fingers brushed absently over his chest. There, his bond with Asher pulsed steady and warm.

“But Asher sees beyond our isolation. He believes these challenges—the rogues, the unrest—are signs the wolves need to return to grace. Asher thinks this summit is a chance for us to reclaim our place. To remind the Collective of Selene’s gifts and what it truly means to be Her children. To show them She hasn’t abandoned us.”

The mention of his lover brought a wistful smile to his face, even as his thoughts tangled around their differing views.

When Asher spoke, Caleb found himself leaning closer, not just as alpha to beta, but as a male drawn to the one who knew the shape of his nightmares and still believed in his strength each morning.

“And where do you fall between their views?” Erik asked, with a knowing grin.

“That’s the problem. I don’t know.” His voice wavered, the weakness in his tone surprising him.

“I trust Fenrir’s instincts, but Asher has a way of making me see beyond my wolf’s protective nature.

He makes me wonder if there’s more to gain than lose, reminding me that sometimes the greatest act of preservation is evolution. ”

Erik nodded, gaze growing distant as if watching memories play out. “You’re not the first Crescent Fang alpha to wrestle with this. Your grandfather, Odin, faced a similar choice.”

“When Crescent Fang withdrew from the Collective?”

“Yes.” Erik’s shoulders squared with pride even as lines of old pain shadowed his face.

He reached for his tea, the steam curling between them like the threads of history itself.

“Odin saw what the Collective was becoming—leaders more interested in amassing power than fostering community. He couldn’t stomach the betrayal of Selene’s teachings, the greed and ambition that poisoned the summit halls.

So, he pulled Crescent Fang away, to protect what mattered most.”

“And it cost us our place,” Caleb said tightly.

“It preserved our soul.” Erik’s eyes blazed with intensity, voice ringing through the cottage like a struck ceremonial bell.

Fenrir surged forward, the wolf’s fierce pride in their lineage momentarily overwhelming Caleb’s doubts.

“Make no mistake, Caleb. When the other packs abandoned Selene’s teachings, it was our withdrawal that kept the true spirit of Her blessing alive.

” Erik’s battle-scarred hand closed into a fist on the table.

“Our isolation wasn’t just a choice. It was salvation.

The last bastion of what it truly means to be Selene’s children. ”

Erik closed his eyes for a moment, hands clasping together as he gathered himself. When he spoke again, his voice had softened to barely above a whisper. “But yes, the cost was great. Over time, the world forgot what Crescent Fang stood for. Our wisdom became myth, our strength overlooked.”

Caleb leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of the ancient table. “If my grandfather was right to withdraw, why should we go back now?”

A soft chuckle escaped Erik as he gestured toward the tapestry.

“Perhaps Fenrir’s right, and we shouldn’t.

” His expression sobered. “This isn’t a decision for you alone, young Alpha.

The elders have shepherded Crescent Fang’s isolation for generations.

Many will question whether you—still establishing your authority among them—should be the one to potentially reverse Odin’s legacy. ”

Fenrir bristled at the implied challenge, a low growl building in Caleb’s throat before he swallowed it back.

“The council has allowed you latitude in small matters, but this decision...it touches our very foundation.” Erik’s voice took on the measured cadence of ancient ritual.

“But there’s another perspective to consider.

There’s a belief, long held in Crescent Fang, that Selene’s retreat wasn’t abandonment. It was preservation.”

“Preservation?”

Erik spoke with absolute conviction. “She withdrew to conserve Her strength, to prepare for a time when Her children would need Her most. A time when Her light would guide them home.” He straightened, chest out, chin lifted.

“Some believe that time is drawing near.” The scent of cedar and old leather filled the silence that followed, while Erik’s fingers drummed once—deliberately—against the worn wood of the table.

“I’m not the light,” Caleb blurted, shaking his head.

“No,” Erik agreed, a quiet snort softening his words.

“But perhaps Fenrir’s rebirth and participation at the summit is the beginning of something greater.

A spark.” Erik relaxed in his chair, tone shifting to something more practical.

“For now, your task isn’t to decide the Collective’s fate.

It’s to learn. Observe. Let them see Crescent Fang’s strength and faith, not through force, but through presence. ”

The tension eased from Caleb’s posture. This, at least, felt achievable.

Steam rose between them, carrying the earthy scent of herbs that tickled Caleb’s nose as Erik continued, “Answer their questions honestly, but don’t overcommit.

Leave doors open, but make no promises.” His tone grew firm.

“And whatever you do, don’t let their doubts shake your foundation. We know who we are, Caleb. Show them.”

Caleb felt his wolf’s approval rumble through his chest. His chin lifted, pride in his pack’s heritage straightening his spine.

The shifting sunlight sent shadows dancing across the walls as Erik’s expression grew thoughtful. Caleb leaned forward in his chair, recognizing the shift in his mentor’s demeanor that always preceded his most valuable insights.

“The packs you’ll meet... They’re like threads in a tapestry, each one distinct yet part of a greater whole.

Some you may recognize; others may surprise you.

” Erik reached for an old leather-bound book, its pages yellowed with age.

“Take Blackwater, for instance. They’re scholars at heart.

” A fond smile crossed his face. “In my day, they traded in knowledge like currency, listening more than they spoke. If you want insight into the archives, they’re the ones to seek. ”

Caleb nodded, mentally cataloging the information.

“Then there’s Redridge,” he went on, a soft smile forming.

“They were new to the Collective at the time—smaller, but unique. Their alpha and beta shared a mate—a fated trio.” He chuckled at Caleb’s raised eyebrows.

“It raised quite a few eyebrows back then too, but Odin recognized their bond for what it was. Genuine.”

A fated trio? Hope swelled in Caleb’s chest at the possibility that Selene could bless him and Asher with a similar fate.

Erik’s hand brushed over the book’s worn cover.

“Moonshadow was always known for its balance—walking the line between progress and tradition better than most. They blended modern innovation with devotion to Selene.” His expression grew serious.

“If you encounter them, you’ll find wisdom there—but don’t mistake their humility for weakness. ”

Fenrir’s ears perked beneath Caleb’s skin, snapping to attention. “You speak of them with respect.”

“I do.” Erik nodded earnestly. “Not every pack upheld Selene’s values, though. Ironclaw…” He shook his head. “They were never satisfied with what they had—always seeking more land, more power, more recognition. Their ambition made them dangerous, even among allies.”

“And our neighbors... Bloodstone?” Caleb asked, the cottage’s warmth evaporating as a chill crept up his spine at the mention of their powerful neighbors.

“Ah.” Erik’s face sharpened with memory. “Rahoul, Darius’s father, was a force of nature. His will was like a storm, driven by instincts he believed were Selene’s whispers. His influence in the Collective was immense, and his pack reflected that strength.”

He set the book aside and picked up his cup, draining the last drops before placing it down with the same careful precision he’d shown throughout their conversation.

“Remember these dynamics, Caleb. They may have changed in your time, but history often repeats itself. Learn from them, but trust your instincts.”

“And reintegration?” Caleb pressed. His wolf twitched with interest beneath his skin.

Erik’s hand found Caleb’s shoulder. His touch carried the wisdom of generations. “That’s not a decision to make lightly. It’s also not just yours. Heed Fenrir’s warnings, listen to Asher’s hope, consult with the council, and take your time, Alpha.”

Fenrir’s assent rumbled from the base of Caleb’s skull down his spine. “We go. We learn. We plan.”

“Listen to your wolf, your beta, and your heart,” Erik reaffirmed, easing from his chair. “The three together will never steer you wrong.”

Caleb stood, earlier nerves tempered by the elder’s wisdom. “Thank you, Erik. For everything.”

“Go well, Alpha.” Pride warmed Erik’s voice. “The summit will test you, but you’re ready.”

The air felt different as Caleb stepped outside.

The crisp chill no longer bit as harshly.

His gaze swept over the familiar landscape.

Uncertainty lay ahead, but a spark of purpose had kindled.

He would face whatever the summit held with faith, strength, and the unwavering support of those who believed in him.