Chapter 61: All Night Long

Gunshots cracked through the trees.

Roan stood on the packed-dirt range behind the pack house with a rifle tucked into his shoulder, ears angled forward, the last brass still bouncing near his boot. He dropped the spent mag, slammed a fresh one home, and only then turned his head.

Stark and Khepri had come up behind him and stopped just outside the firing line.

Roan lowered the rifle. “If you two walked all the way out here, it is not about lunch.”

Khepri’s ears flicked. He glanced at Stark, then committed. “We’ve decided. We want to join the pack.”

Stark nodded once. No speech. No decoration. “Officially.”

Roan studied them over the rifle’s receiver. The woods were quiet except for crows and the fading ring in his ears.

“You know what that means.”

They did.

“Midnight to noon,” Roan said. “Tonight. The two of you orally worship your Alpha. Only mild breaks, within reason. That is the rite. You do not kneel for twelve hours by accident.”

Khepri swallowed and still looked sure. Stark’s ears tipped, thoughtful rather than scared.

Roan slung the rifle. “Then all three of us sleep during the day. It is going to be a long night.”

The house found out before lunch was over.

Kiran lit up like somebody had handed him tickets. “Twelve hours. That is not a rite, that is a holiday.”

Cass snorted into his coffee. Zariel actually smiled, small and sharp. Remi tried not to look interested and failed.

Kiran leaned toward him. “You want to watch?”

“No,” Roan said, from the kitchen doorway, before Remi could answer. “Nobody watches. And the link stays shut. Period. This is not content. This is pack.”

Kiran raised both paws. “Fine. I will just imagine it very loudly in my own head.”

“Do it behind a shield.”

They drifted into the living room anyway, the weight of the decision claiming the whole evening.

Stark would be the one in the chair. That was already obvious. Deer did not bounce back like wolves and foxes. Prey species rarely regenerated at all. What they had instead were the old gifts, the species-specific ones, elk and deer walking roads most predators never saw. Strategy. Sight. The kind of work that kept other people alive.

“I am not a front-liner,” Stark said, calm about it. “I know that. I would rather be useful than impressive.”

Khepri shrugged, tail giving one small wag. “I am support. Video. Editing. The channel. Mild help if a fight spills into the yard. I am not Zariel and I am not trying to be.”

Roan liked both answers. He did not say so in a speech. He just nodded and let the pack pick at it.

Cass asked if this made them seven or eight. Remi immediately said he still was not pack. Lir, from the corner, said nothing and looked like he preferred it that way. Kiran asked whether a twelve-hour blowjob counted as cardio. Zariel told him to go outside.

The day wore down in pieces. Naps, Kiran stretched out over Zariel on the couch like usual. Dinner. Someone closing the blinds in the master bedroom. Roan slept on his back with one arm over his eyes like a soldier stealing hours. When he woke, the house had gone quieter, that late-night hush that meant the jokes had run out of runway.

He found Stark and Khepri waiting in the hall, both of them showered, both of them looking more serious than they had on the range.

Roan checked the clock.

“Eleven fifty-six,” he said. “Let’s head upstairs, boys.”

The door shut and the awkwardness came in with them.

Roan did not pretend otherwise. He stripped without ceremony, lay back still sheathed, and spread his legs on the big bed like this was work and welcome at the same time. The room felt too quiet after the jokes downstairs. His frame, beautiful carved yet soft, strong Alpha wolf, laid out waiting for two muzzles.