"Some debts are paid in coin. Others in blood."
— Pack Lore
018.
They stepped through the door, and the smell hit Seyra first. Cheap perfume, cigarette smoke, and underneath it, the faint musk of wolves who hadn’t shifted in a long time. It clung to the walls like it had soaked into the wood itself.
A man sat behind a worn counter, a toothpick between his teeth, his sleeves rolled up over thick forearms.
When his eyes landed on Mira, something in his posture shifted, a slow, predatory stillness, the kind a wolf got right before it decided whether something was worth chasing.
Mira went rigid beside her.
"Well, well." He pulled the toothpick from his mouth. "Look who finally crawled back, Roan."
A second man stepped out from behind a curtain in the back, wiping his hands on a rag. He was broader than the first, his eyes a pale, washed-out gray that reminded Seyra of a winter sky.
"Garrick," Mira said, her voice smaller than Seyra had ever heard it. "We’re just here to deliver invitations from the palace."
"Two years." Garrick came around the counter slowly. "Two years, and you didn’t think to stop by and say hello. That hurts, little thief."
Seyra stepped forward before she could stop herself. "She’s here on the Alpha’s business. We both are."
Garrick’s gaze slid to her, taking in her uniform and the silver hair the whole pack seemed to whisper about. His nostrils flared, catching her scent, and something flickered across his face—confusion, maybe curiosity—before it smoothed back into indifference.
"Don’t matter whose chambers you serve," he grunted. "This one still owes a debt. Pack law is pack law. A she-wolf without a mate belongs to the pack and by extension, the motel, until her debts are paid, one way or another."
"That was settled," Mira said. "Ophelia took me. You let her."
"I never agreed to anything." His voice dropped, low and rough, almost a growl. "She just walked in here and took what wasn’t hers to take."
Seyra kept her chin up, though her heart was hammering. "We have more rooms to deliver to. If you’ll let us pass."
Garrick studied her for a long moment, then jerked his head toward a hallway. "Rooms three through eight. Go on. But this little thief stays here. I still have a lot to discuss with her."
"She comes with me," Seyra frowned.
"She stays." His eyes narrowed. "You’ve got a job. Go do it."
Mira’s hand brushed against Seyra’s arm. "It’s fine," she whispered, though her eyes said the opposite. "Go. I’ll be right here."
Everything in Seyra screamed not to leave her. But Garrick’s jaw was tight, and Roan had started cracking his knuckles, and she didn’t want to be the reason this turned violent before she’d even tried to get help.
It was better she obeyed so she and Mira could walk out of here in one piece.
"I’ll be quick," Seyra said, holding Mira’s gaze like she could keep her safe just by looking hard enough. "Don’t move from this spot."
Mira gave her a small, trembling smile. "Where would I go?"
Seyra forced her legs to carry her down the hallway. She knocked on doors fast, shoved envelopes into the hands of tired, hollow-eyed women who barely glanced at her twice, their scents thick with exhaustion and something worse underneath it, something that made Red stir uneasily in the back of her mind.
"Something’s wrong." Red murmured. "I can feel it."
"I know," Seyra whispered back.
By the time she reached the last door, her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She didn’t wait to see if the woman inside had even taken the envelope. She turned and ran.
The front room came into view, and her stomach dropped straight through the floor.
Roan had Mira’s wrist twisted behind her back. Garrick stood in front of her, blocking the only way out, his arms crossed and his expression carved from stone.
He was holding a dagger.
"You don’t walk back in here after two years and think you owe nothing," Garrick flipped the dagger and gave Mira a sardonic smile.
"I don’t have anything," Mira gasped. "Please, I don’t—"
"Then you’ll work it off. The way you should have from the start," He tapped the dagger on her cheek. "They would pay a lot for a night with you. After you’re done paying down to the last coin, you can return to the palace."
"No!" Mira shook her head.
Garrick snickered. "No?" he looked at the dagger then back at her as if sending a warning. "You know how it works here. Disobedience leads to brutal consequences."
"Let her go," Seyra said, stepping into the room.
Both men turned.
"I already told you." Garrick’s voice was quieter now, and somehow that made it worse. "This isn’t your business."
"She’s under the Alpha’s protection." Seyra’s voice came out louder than she meant it to, shaking despite herself. "Touch her, and you’re touching something that belongs to him. He won’t let you off the hook."
For half a heartbeat, something like hesitation flickered in Garrick’s eyes.
Then it hardened.
"The Alpha isn’t here," he said. "And I doubt he cares about one maid who used to warm rooms for coin."
Roan shoved Mira forward, hard enough that she stumbled.
"Let go of me!" Mira cried, twisting against his grip.
Seyra lunged forward without thinking. "Stop! Let her go!"
Garrick’s arm swung out, fast, aimed straight at Seyra’s chest, enough force behind it to send her crashing into the wall.
Time slowed.
Mira wrenched free of Roan’s hold, and threw herself into the space between them.
The blow that was meant for Seyra landed against Mira instead.
She staggered back, her body twisting at an angle that made something in Seyra’s chest go cold, and her head struck the sharp edge of the counter with a sound that made Seyra scream.
"Mira!"
Seyra dropped to her knees, catching her before she hit the floor fully, blood already spreading warm and fast beneath her fingers.
"Get a healer!" Seyra shouted, her eyes snapping to Garrick and Roan. "Somebody get a healer, now! A doctor, anyone!"
Garrick didn’t move. Neither did Roan.
"We don’t have a healer here," Garrick said, his voice flat.
"Then a doctor! Anything!"
"There’s no doctor either." Roan’s folded his arms, his vice flat. "This isn’t the palace."
Seyra’s chest heaved. "Then what happens when someone gets hurt here? What do you do?"
"They heal on their own," Garrick answered simply. "Or they don’t."
Seyra stared at him, the words not making sense at first, then making too much sense all at once. What kind of sick place was this?
"Seyra."
Mira’s voice was so faint Seyra almost missed it. She turned back to her immediately, cradling her head, pressing her hands harder against the wound like pressure alone could hold her together.
"Am I going to die?"
"No." The word came out fast. "No, no, no, you’re not going to die. Nothing is going to happen to you. We’ll find a healer. I’ll take you back to the pack house, they’ll fix this, they’ll—"
She stopped herself, hearing how frantic she sounded, how much she was just talking to fill the silence.
"How long," she whispered instead. "How long can you hold on and heal on your own? Until we get there?"
Mira didn’t answer right away.
And in that silence, Seyra saw it. The way Mira’s shoulders had gone slack, like she had lost all hope.
Seyra’s eyes widened, realization dawning on her. "You don’t have a wolf," she shook her head and look around. "I need to do something. There has to be something I can do."
"It’s not your fault," Mira whispered.
"Don’t." Seyra’s voice cracked. "Don’t talk like that. We’ll find a way. There has to be a way."
"Tell Ruth I’m sorry." Mira’s breath was shallow now, each word costing her more than the last. "Tell her I’m sorry I never got to say goodbye properly."
"You’ll tell her yourself." Tears streamed down Seyra’s face, falling onto Mira’s cheek. "Stop talking. Save your breath. I’m going to carry you. The pack house isn’t far from here. I’ll get you there, and you’ll be fine, you have to be fine—"
"Thank you for standing up for me, Seyra," Mira murmured. "Just so you know, I have no regrets saving you."
"Stop it." Seyra was sobbing now, unable to stop herself. "Stop talking like this is goodbye."
Mira’s eyes began to flutter shut.
"No." Seyra’s hand flew up, holding her eyelids gently open with trembling fingers. "Don’t close your eyes. Please, Mira, don’t close your eyes. I beg you, in the name of the goddess, don’t close your eyes."
"I can’t," Mira whispered, barely audible now. "I can’t hold them much longer."
Seyra didn’t remember deciding to move. One moment she was on her knees, and the next she had Mira in her arms, pulling her up with strength she didn’t know she had, strength that came from somewhere desperate and wordless.
She ran out through the door, past Garrick and Roan, who said nothing nor did nothing to stop her.
She ran into the woods that bordered the road, her feet pounding against the dirt, branches tearing at her arms as she searched frantically, for anything, any herb or any plant, that might slow the blood soaking through her sleeves.
There was nothing.
The blood kept coming no matter how hard she pressed her hand against the wound.
She felt so helpless and useless.
Her legs gave out beneath her, and she dropped to the forest floor, Mira still cradled against her chest.
"I’m sorry," Mira breathed, so soft it was barely a sound at all.
Then she went still.
"No. No, please." Seyra’s knees hit the ground hard, Mira’s body limp in her arms, the woods silent except for the sound of her own ragged breathing. "Mira..."
Something inside her cracked open, wide and raw, and before she could stop it, a sound tore out of her that didn’t feel like her own voice at all.
She screamed.