Not still. Not peaceful.
Just… quiet. In the way a cliffside is quiet before the rocks fall. The kind of silence that’s full of eyes, full of questions no one wants to say out loud.
I’ve stepped into this space a hundred times. Mud on my boots, blood on my knuckles, fire in my chest. It’s where decisions get made. Where we’ve planned battles and drawn blood over borders. But tonight, none of that feels important.
Tonight, the walls feel closer. The air tastes like metal. Like something’s about to break.
Because tonight, every one of them is staring at me like I’m not just the Alpha’s heir.
I’m the male who marked her.
Maya.
My mate. The Luna they didn’t expect. The Luna half of them are still trying not to flinch from.
The council’s in place, a carved U of dark wood older than any of us.
Calder’s slouched in his chair like none of this matters, ankle hooked over one knee. He’s one of the senior enforcers. A relic of theold pack ways, always half-bored, half-dangerous, and never far from the action when things turn bloody.
Marnie’s tapping a finger against her glass like it’s a countdown. Lights are low, fire crackling at the hearth, but it doesn’t take much to see the tension underneath their masks. Marnie, one of my father’s oldest advisors, rarely speaks unless it’s to cut through the noise. Sharp-eyed and sharper-tongued, she’s the kind of wolf whose silence is often louder than her words.
I should’ve gone to get her.
The thought hit me the second I crossed the threshold of this room without her. My wolf rattled his cage at the idea. Her coming here alone for the first time, to stand in front of these people, in this house. They don't all understand what she is to me. Not yet.
But my father made it clear—I wasn’t to leave the pack house before this meeting. “She walks into this herself, Bolton. They need to see her strength before they see yours beside her.”
It made sense at the time. Strategic. Measured. Like everything he does.
But now, waiting here, pacing the edge of old stone and inherited politics, all I can think is—I should’ve gone anyway.
Because she’s new to this world. Because some of them still see her as a threat. And because no part of me feels right when she’s not beside me.
I glance back toward the heavy front doors for the third time in five minutes.
She’s not late.
But every second feels like one.
I stop pacing long enough to plant a hand on the chair’s back, fingers tightening until the wood creaks beneathmy grip. No one speaks. No one dares to—not yet.
They’re waiting for her.
And I’m trying not to look like I’m one wrong breath away from tearing the door off its hinges if she doesn’t walk through it soon.
I can scent it.
They’re already forming their decision, but they’re pretending this is a discussion.
My father is on his feet at the head of the room. That alone tells me this isn’t casual. This is ceremony. This is deliberate.
“Son,” he says.
One word. One nod. But my whole spine straightens like it’s a command.
I nod back and step forward, but not all the way. I won't stand in the center until she’s here. Until we're both facing this.
“She’s on her way,” I say.
