Goddess Of The Underworld (Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 113

Chapter 113

93%

Tommy dusted off his hands and crouched beside Elliot, the big, battle–rough beta somehow managing a smile that didn’t make the room feel any heavier.

“Alright, little terror,” he said, tone gentle beneath the tease. “What you did out there? That was brave, controlled, and fast. You kept your head and you protected your people. That’s pack.”

Elliot ducked his chin, shy. “I just… didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“That’s the point.” Tommy tapped two fingers lightly against Elliot’s sternum. “Heart first, always. If you want it, you can start coming to my junior training sessions. We’ll make a

spot just for you, age–appropriate drills, control work, team tactics. No heroics, no pressure. We go slow, we go safe, and we do it together. Deal?”

Elliot’s eyes flicked to me, a silent question. I brushed my knuckles over his cheek and nodded. “If you feel up to it.”

“I do,” he whispered, nodding hard. “Deal.”

“Good.” Tommy pushed to his feet and looked over the common room.

A rap at the back door cut him off, followed by the holy scent of melted cheese and garlic. Someone cheered. Two of the older teens hustled in with stacked pizza boxes and paper cups; caretakers swooped, turning the chaos into a tidy distribution line with the kind of battlefield logic only orphanage staff know. Blankets were spread, a movie flickered onto

the old projector, and the youngest pups started to settle, wide–eyed, red–cheeked, safe. Macey tugged Elliot to the end of a blanket and plopped down, patting the spot beside her

like a queen granting a throne. He hesitated, glancing at me again, and I gave him a little shooing gesture. Go on. He went, shoulders finally relaxing as Macey handed him the first slice like an award. Layah padded over and curled protectively at their backs, a living shadow keeping watch. The room’s sound shifted, less frantic, more human. Children whispering over toppings, caretakers counting heads, the comforting clink of cups and plates.

Haiden squeezed my hip as he passed me a slice. “Extra cheese for the Luna.”

Levi ghosted in behind him with bottles of water, setting them within reach of the kids

3

1

1/4

|||

<

93%

Chapter 113

before crouching to check a scraped knee. Noah stood at the door, scanning faces and windows in that slow, methodical way that made my bones loosen. Xavier returned from a quick sweep of the yard, met my eyes, and gave a brief nod: clear.

I knelt between Macey and Elliot. “Two bites and a drink,” I said softly. “Then I’ll pop to the packhouse for a bit. You’re staying here with the caretakers until we get back.”

Elliot chewed, then swallowed, then leaned in so only I could hear him. “You’ll come back?”

“Always,” I said. I kissed his temple, then Macey’s hair for good measure. “You two are on blanket duty. No crumbs on the floor or Layah will file a formal complaint.”

Macey giggled and fed Layah the tiniest pepperoni in history. Layah accepted it solemnly like a signed treaty.

Tommy clapped once, drawing the room’s attention without raising his voice. “Warriors

on rotation, two at each exit, one roaming interior.”

“Haiden,” Xavier said, shifting into alpha cadence, “leave three with the caretakers, cycle

fresh pairs every fifteen minutes. I want eyes on the treeline and the service road.”

Haiden nodded, already assigning with quick chin lifts and hand signs. Noah handed the

last toddler a cup of water, then met me at the doorway.

“Ready?” he asked.

I looked back once more, Elliot shoulder–to–shoulder with Macey under a blanket, Layah a

We slipped out. The late afternoon sun slanted across the yard, gilding the broken fence where the rogues had forced their way in. Warriors were already mending it, stacking fresh boards and setting iron posts with rune–etched caps. The smell of sap and sawdust cut through the old blood. By the time we reached the packhouse, the war room was already lit. Maps of our territory stretched across the central table, corners weighted with river stones. Tommy stood at one edge with Aleisha, markers in hand; Dad was at the head, the quiet gravity of a man who’d led too many battles, too many years.

3

93%

an hour before the push.”

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify