My Second Chance Mate is a Barbarian (Sera and Fenris) novel Chapter 89

Sera

The Great Hall was deafeningly loud.

It was the next morning. Hundreds of warriors sat at the long wooden tables, tearing into roasted meat and slamming iron cups down against the wood. The thick grey smoke from the fire pits stung my eyes.

I sat at the High Table, directly to Fenris’s right. My spine was perfectly straight. My hands rested flat on my thighs under the table.

I was terrified.

Fenris sat perfectly still beside me. He held his iron cup, his grey eyes sweeping over the crowded hall. He looked relaxed, but I could feel the dense, coiled heat radiating off his body. He was just as tense as I was.

We were waiting for him.

The heavy black iron doors at the far end of the hall pulled open.

Bram walked in.

Except it wasn't Bram. My mother’s dark magic had been absolutely flawless. It was Kael. The broad, thick-chested elder walked down the center aisle. He had the exact same heavy brow, the same deep wrinkles around his mouth, and the same dark, splotchy skin.

Bram didn't just wear the face; he wore the man. He dragged his left foot slightly across the stone floor, perfectly mimicking the old hunting injury I heard Kael always complained about. He didn't look around the room with a guard's vigilance. He walked with the arrogant, entitled swagger of an elder.

He climbed the three stone steps to the dais.

My heart hammered violently against my ribs. The visual disguise was perfect. But wolves did not just rely on their eyes. They relied on their noses. If Chief Vane caught even a faint whiff of Bram's natural scent under that stolen face, the illusion would instantly shatter. Vane would know it was blood magic. He would know Kael was dead. The entire pack would erupt into open rebellion right here in the hall.

But my mother had anticipated that.

Before we burned Kael’s body, Irina had taken a dagger and scraped the heavy, dried sweat and blood from the collar of Kael's ruined tunic. She threw it into a boiling iron pot with crushed pine ash, a bitter local root, and a heavy scoop of the rendered animal fat I brought from the kitchens. She boiled it down into a thick, dark paste.

She had handed the small clay jar to Bram and told him to rub the paste aggressively into the pulse points on his neck, his wrists, and behind his ears.

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