Chapter 9

The red silk sways as my carriage halts before the frontier general's den. My heart pounds like a war drum, fingers clutching the handkerchief in my lap.

In my last life, I only heard tales of Jason—cold, unyielding, a lone wolf who shunned she-wolves and fell in battle. Now, I'm to be his mate.

The curtain lifts, and a calloused hand reaches in. "We're here," comes a deep, gravelly voice.

I hesitate, then place my hand in his. The rough texture of his palm, scarred from years of wielding a blade, sends a shiver through me.

As I step out, a gust of sandy wind whips up, tugging at my veil. I squint, but before it hits, he shifts, shielding me with his broad back.

"The frontier's windy. Watch yourself," he says.

I look up, meeting eyes dark as midnight, sharp yet calm, with a depth I can't quite read.

"General," I say softly.

Jason nods, guiding me over a brazier and into his den. The place is stark—bare walls, weapons glinting coldly on racks, a courtyard of disciplined soldiers who roar in unison as we enter: "Hail the general's new bond!"

The shout rattles me, my fingers twitching. Jason notices, leaning close. "Don't worry. They're just loud."

The binding ceremony is simple, solemn—no lavish Yates pomp, no fawning guests, just the raw, honest cheers of frontier wolves.

Afterward, Jason escorts me to the bridal chamber. Red candles glow, the bed draped in crimson silk, a tray of ceremonial wine on the table.

He stands before me, his towering frame almost swallowing mine. "The joining wine," he says, voice low, offering a cup.

I take it, our arms entwining as we drink. The liquor's sharp, burning my throat, my eyes watering.

He frowns slightly. "Frontier wine's strong. Go slow."

Then he pulls a wooden box from his coat and hands it to me. "For you."

Curious, I open it to find a snow-white tiger-tooth hairpin, the word "Peace" carved into its tip, the strokes bold, like him.

"What's this?" I ask.

"Tiger I hunted. Carved it myself," he says plainly. "The frontier's dangerous. Wear it. It'll keep you safe."

My fingers trace the carving, my heart stirring. In my last life, I made Shawn countless sachets and handkerchiefs, only for him to toss them to servants. Now, this stranger, this wolf I've just met, gives me something he crafted with his own hands.

"Thank you, General," I murmur.

He watches me, silent for a moment, then says, "You're here now. You're my mate."

His voice catches, rough. "The army's strict. It'll be tough on you. Rest tonight. I'll sleep outside."

He turns to leave, but I stop him, surprised. "You're not staying?"

He pauses, back to me, voice low. "We've just met. No need to rush."

I realize he's giving me space to settle in. The so-called ruthless war god of the frontier has a gentleness I never expected.

"General," I call softly. "We're mates now. We should share a bed."

He stiffens, then turns slowly. In the candlelight, his eyes churn like a stormy sea, pulling at my heart.

Finally, he says, "Alright."

But that night, he lies beside me, fully clothed, a hand's width between us, never crossing the line.

I glance at him in the moonlight, his sharp features softened in sleep, and something in my chest shifts.

Maybe, just maybe, this life, I'll find my true home here.