Sifting through Ashes

Ace

The flame wavered, dancing lazily above the metal lip of my lighter. I flicked it open and closed with rhythmic ease, the metallic click grounding me in the silence of the forest clearing. Smoke curled around my fingers— warm, familiar, alive.

There was something about fire that felt… right. It was chaos you could hold.

Fire behaved for me.

I’d learned that early.

Unpredictable, sure— like me. But it listened, even if only for a second. Wolves didn’t. People definitely didn’t. But fire? Fire answered.

I loved arson.

Legally.

Illegally.

What can I say? Danger excites me. And I never did know how to behave.

Behind me, through the trees, the den sat quieter than it had any right to be. Too quiet.

Like the forest after a gunshot.

Pack’s been playing normal since her birthday. No one’s winning an academy award for it.

I know the pack remembers.

Can feel it in my ass like that random sharp pain after shitting too hard. There was no laughter. No sparring. No Greyson pretending he wasn’t watching Halei like she might crack down the middle if he blinked too long.

He’d been hovering a lot lately.

At first I thought he was just bored. Or lonely. Or being dramatic— as he so often was. But now that I think about it… he hasn’t let Halei out of his sight for more than ten minutes at a time.

Like a nervous aunt who thinks the niece might burn the entire house down by trying to bake.

Huh.

Maybe I should’ve clocked that sooner… keep that in the to-do list to ask him when I get the chance.

I look down and hold my palm over the flame. It never burned me, never hurt me or wished me ill. Never threw a pillow at me or hit my chest when I made a joke—

“Ace.”

The voice cracked through the clearing like a thrown blade— stiff, clipped, and heavy with that I’m-your-alpha-and-you-better-listen tone Neale was so good at. Anyone else would’ve snapped to attention.

Not me.

My best friend? A golden retriever in Alpha clothing.

I didn’t even flinch. I just moved my palm and then kept flipping the lighter, watching the flame roll like it was trying to whisper secrets only I could hear.

“Neale,” I replied smoothly, finally snapping the lighter shut with a sharp click. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He stepped into view, backlit by moonlight filtering through the trees. The shadows clung to him like jealous lovers. Hair tangled, jaw clenched, shoulders tight enough to shatter steel— classic Neale in full brooding mode.

He looked tired.

Not physically.

Bone tired.

The kind that settles behind your eyes and never quite leaves.

“We’ve got to talk,” he said.

My wolf stirred, restless, like he’d felt the tension before I did. Didn’t matter. This was just the Neale experience.

“Lemme guess— your homicidal other half is running again?” A smirk curved my lips before I could stop it. It was reflex, a weapon I wielded to hide how fast my pulse had just jumped.

Because if she was running again, that meant she wasn’t sleeping. And if she wasn’t sleeping, that meant Neale wasn’t either.

“She needs help, Ace.” His voice was low now, tight with something close to desperation. “And she’s too stubborn to ask.” He ran a hand through his hair, dragging tension across his scalp like he could pull the worry out by force.

The moonlight caught on the scar near his knuckle— pale, thin, unmistakable.

I remembered that night.

The look in Halei’s eyes when she’d realized what she’d done. The way Neale hadn’t flinched.

He never lets it fade fully.

I don’t know if that’s devotion or penance.

“Hm,” I hummed, leaning back on my elbows like this wasn’t serious. “I wonder who else is like that—”

“Fuck off.”

“Oh! You wound me.” I clutched my chest with mock agony, collapsing dramatically into the moss. “Bleeding, Neale. Bleeding out.”

His glare could’ve cut trees, but I caught the ghost of a grin before it vanished under all that Alpha weight. “Ace, I’m serious. Have you gotten a chance to really talk to her? Or even be around her for more than five seconds?”

“Mostly just to joke around. Or stop her from committing accidental murder during sparring.” I shrugged, flicking the lighter back on. “Why?”

Because sparring had been… intense lately.

She hit harder.

Faster.

Ever since that day, it’s like she’s been training against ghosts only she can see. The first week after her birthday, no one wanted to spar with her at all. Not after the ground cracked. Not after the trees bowed like they were afraid of her. Now we act like it didn’t happen. Like she didn’t nearly tear herself apart from the inside out.

Wolves are real good at pretending the bloodstain is ‘rustic décor.’

But they all remember.

The way the sky went wrong. The way that whatever that was, had attempted to emerge like it was being ripped out of her ribs. The way half the pack dropped to their knees without meaning to.

I’d laughed through it. Cracked jokes. Kept it light.

But I didn’t sleep for three nights after.

He hesitated. Just long enough to make my stomach twist. “Have you…” he started, then looked away. “Caught the shift in her scent?”

“Neale,” I scoff. “I don’t go around sniffing her like you do.”

“Aeceen!” His voice snapped— sharp, sudden. “Can you be fucking serious for once, please?”

The smirk fell off my face. That tone meant something was wrong. Like, actually wrong.

I sat up straighter.

“Fine. What is it you scent?”

He paused— longer this time. Then he spoke, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it. “She smells like someone who’s with child.”

Silence swallowed the clearing whole.

The lighter slipped from my fingers, landing in the moss with a dull thud. Heat licked up my palm— too fast, too sharp. Not a burn. More like static.

I stared at my hand.

Did the flame just—

No.

“What?” I said, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.

“I’m saying she’s pregnant, Ace.”

He dropped down in front of me, crouching like the weight on his shoulders had finally gotten too heavy to bear standing.

“She hasn’t been keeping anything down. She’s shaking all the time. Sleeping less. It’s like her body’s trying to scream something she won’t say.”

I stared at him.

At the hollow behind his eyes. At the way his hands curled into fists like they couldn’t find a weapon strong enough to fix this.

Pregnant.

Neale had a mate.

Neale was going to have a child.

Volt had never once nudged me toward someone like that. Never growled possessively. Never stilled in recognition. Just… silence.

Some of us get forever.

What’s left of us get fire.

“How far along?” I asked, throat dry.

He didn’t look up. “The last time we… it was before her birthday.”

“Awe fuck,” I breathed. “That’s like… what, six months?”

“Close.” His voice broke on the word. “She’s not even showing. Not really. But I know. My wolf knows.”

Six months since the birthday that felt more like a funeral. Six months since Neale carried her inside like she might shatter if the wind hit too hard. Six months of slapping duct tape over a fault line and calling it renovation.

Six fucking months.

Greyson’s hovering.

Her not keeping food down.

Her hitting like she was fighting ghosts.

Oh.

Well shit. That’s why he’s been acting like a nervous aunt.

I exhaled through my teeth, running both hands through my hair. “Dude. You’re fucked.”

But my chest felt tight when I said it. Because if she breaks again, I don’t know if Neale survives it.

Or any of us for that matter.

“Don’t you think I know that?!” His growl vibrated the ground around me and crawled its way through me. Nearby creatures scrambled away, leaving us in deafening silence.

My wolf bristled beneath my skin, hackles raised. Volt didn’t like this— didn’t like the way Neale’s control was fraying. I was one of the few who could stand against him if he snapped. And I hated that I was already calculating it.

Distance between us.

Wind direction.

How long before claws.

Where to hit first if I had to drop him fast.

I’ve known him long enough to know exactly how much force it takes to stop him without breaking him. That’s not something you learn in peaceful packs. You learn it when dominance fights break out during dinner. You learn it when Alphas throw teeth instead of words.

You learn to laugh while wolves bare theirs at you.

Finally he huffed a sigh. “I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know what to do.” The anger drained as quickly as it came.

That’s the thing about Neale. He burns hot, but he burns for something.

Scraping the ground, I gathered the lighter back into my hand before cutting it open. The flame steadied immediately, curling obediently.

Fire didn’t panic.

Fire didn’t hesitate.

Fire listened.

“We go to Rose.”

His head snapped up like he’d seen a damn ghost. “You think it could be that serious?”

“This is Halei we’re talking about— everything’s serious with her.”

The fire licked at my palms as I twisted its sheath between my fingertips.

I never feared being burned.

Guess that’s what I get growing up the way I did. Pack politics that felt like war without uniforms. Alphas who ruled with teeth. Brothers who learned to duck before they learned to talk.

I didn’t mind bloodshed either— if it had good cause.

And if anyone threatened that child she holds—

I’d burn this entire forest to ash before I let Halei look like she did on her birthday ever again.

“I don’t even know how she’d react to being around magick.” He ran a hand through his unruly hair, curls getting caught.

“It’s better than going to a human doctor. Or even a pack one. Love the mint-eyed beauty, but I think Elle could go without Halei’s craziness for a day.”

“You know Eeleina wouldn’t have a problem with helping Halei—”

“You weren’t there when Halei was going crazy about you kissing her.”

That shut him up instantly, but I noticed the tinted red skin appearing just above his shirt.

Got ‘em.

I smirked and continued to play with my fire. But the smirk didn’t feel as solid as usual. Because while Neale gets panic and fatherhood and forever— I get to stand outside the door and make jokes.

Volt stirred once. Quiet. Neutral. Still no pull. No recognition. No destined anything.

Figures.

“Fine,” Neale muttered. “I’ll convince her to be seen.”

I snorted. “Good luck.”

The flame flickered again. Just once. Too sharp. Too quick. Like it didn’t like the word luck.

I stared at it for half a second longer than I should have.

Fire always behaved for me.

Right?