Page 6

"Members of another pack crossed our northern border again last night." James tosses the report onto my desk, where it joins dozens of others. "Third time this month. Cheslem or not, whoever it is, they’re getting bolder. We’ve lost their scents, but we should send out trackers anyway.”

I lean back in my chair, studying my inner circle gathered in my office.

These pre-meeting strategy sessions have become a ritual since I took over as Alpha.

There’s great benefit to them, I’ve found—to gather the hand-chosen, my closest inner circle, in a space free of Elders allows us all to think clearly.

Just me and the rest of the new blood of Silvercreek’s leadership, the young and hungry, those who fought tooth and nail for positions of authority at my side.

Andrew stands by the window, hair unkempt but eyes sharp, tablet in hand, one earpiece in.

Elisa perches on the arm of a leather chair, her slight build balanced by sharp intelligence and the kind of grit half of my wolves wish they could aspire to.

Thomas, my eternal right hand, leans against the doorframe, our head enforcer radiating quiet strength.

And James... well, James sprawls in his chair like he owns it, but his eyes are serious.

I know him well enough to see the gleam of grim determination there.

"Show me," I say, and Andrew projects a map onto the wall. Red dots mark incursion points, forming an unsettling pattern.

"They're testing our defenses," Thomas observes. "Looking for weak spots."

"Or trying to distract us from something else," Elisa adds. She's earned her place in these meetings through keen tactical insight. "The timing can't be coincidental. With the lottery approaching—"

A knock interrupts her. Elder Victoria enters without waiting for response, her silver hair gleaming in the morning light. My grandmother has always had perfect timing when it comes to her dramatic entrances.

We all know why she has been particularly invested in this affair. It’s how she was Chosen for my grandfather, half a century ago. Now, he is long dead, but she has retained her authority. If anyone knows the power of a lottery, it’s her.

"The pack is gathering," she announces, her eyes sweeping our group. "Shall we begin?"

I resist the urge to growl at the interruption.

Victoria may have stepped down from an Alpha’s affiliate to serve the Council when my grandfather died, long before I was born, ceding a good amount of power, but she still wields considerable influence as High Elder, and her power is important to her.

And lately, she's been hinting at knowledge she won't fully share.

"We'll continue this later," I tell my team. They file out, though James lingers.

"You okay?" he asks quietly. "With... everything?"

He means Luna. We both know it, but neither of us says it. "I'm fine."

"Sure you are." He claps my shoulder. "Just remember—you're not just Nic anymore. You're their Alpha. Act like it. I know you can.”

As if I could forget what I must do. As if I have a choice.

The weight of responsibility sits heavy in my gut as I make my way to the great hall, the lower chamber of the pack building, the only space large enough for all of us.

Pack members part before me, offering respectful nods.

Six months, and I'm still not used to this—the deference, the expectation, the way every eye tracks my movement.

But I've learned to wear authority-like armor, to project the confidence they need to see.

The great hall fills quickly. Tentative afternoon sun streams through stained glass windows, casting colored shadows across the gathered pack.

Centuries of tradition echo in the carved wooden beams, the stone floors worn smooth by generations of feet.

I take my place on the raised platform, Victoria and the other Elders flanking me.

And then she walks in.

Luna moves like she's expecting an attack, spine straight and chin high.

She's changed from when I last saw her yesterday, wearing a deep blue, flowing dress that hugs every curve, reminding me exactly why my control always fractured around her.

My wolf surges forward, drinking in the sight of her—the way the fabric clings to her hips, how her copper hair catches the light, the subtle sway of her walk that used to drive me crazy during pack gatherings.

Used to? Who am I kidding? It still does.

Five years haven't dimmed my wolf's recognition of what he, wrongly, considers our mate—if anything, the separation has made him more desperate.

He catalogs every detail: the confident set of her shoulders, the slight flush in her cheeks, the way her dress shows just enough skin to be professional but still makes my mouth go dry.

She's gained a poise she didn't have before, wearing her curves like armor instead of trying to hide them.

Mine, my wolf insists. What are you waiting for?

Memories assault me: how she felt pressed against me in my cabin, the taste of her skin, the way she used to gasp my name. I shift uncomfortably in my chair.

Focus, I tell myself firmly. But it's hard when she's right there, close enough to smell her unique blend of herbs and magic.

Close enough to see how the years have refined her beauty, turned the girl I desired into a woman I desperately want.

The soft curves I used to trace with reverent hands have grown more lush, more womanly.

Her face has lost its last traces of youth, replaced by elegant bone structure that makes her look like some kind of forest goddess.

My wolf preens at how stunning his presumed mate has become, even as guilt churns in my gut. I lost the right to think of her this way when I chose duty over love. When I broke both our hearts for the sake of pack politics, that now seem archaic and meaningless.

"Half-breed has some nerve showing up..."

"Can't believe they included her in the lottery..."

"Probably used magic to rig it..."

My wolf snarls at the whispers, wanting to silence every voice that dares criticize her.

The urge to defend her wars with the need to maintain my professional, authoritative distance.

I grip the arms of my chair hard enough to make the wood creak, forcing calm.

Luna finds a spot near the back, beside that human bookstore owner she used to be friends with.

Ruby something. At least she has one ally here, even if that ally is almost as sneered upon as her.

I watch her through Victoria's opening speech, unable to keep my eyes away.

The sunlight streaming through the stained glass catches in her hair, creating a halo effect that makes my chest ache.

She stands perfectly still, but I can sense the magic humming beneath her skin.

My wolf remembers how that magic felt during our intimate moments—wild and passionate, responding to his energy in ways that defied pack lore about hybrids being less powerful.

"These trials will test not just physical strength," Victoria continues, her voice distant in my ears.

I'm too busy noticing how Luna's dress rises slightly when she breathes, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of calf.

"But loyalty, wisdom, and spiritual connection to pack and territory.

As it has been since the first wolves claimed this land—"

"Excuse me." Luna's voice cuts through the formal speech like honey over gravel. Heads turn, shocked at the interruption. Even now, she has the power to command attention effortlessly, though I’m not sure she even realizes that about herself. "I have a question about the obligations to be entered."

My wolf preens at her boldness, even as my conscious mind rebels. No. Don’t put a target on your back, Luna. We both know they’ll rip you apart.

Victoria's eyebrow rises. "Yes?"

"The old laws state that entry is determined by 'dedication to pack values and bloodline purity.’" The words roll off her tongue with careful precision.

She's practiced this, I realize. Planned her challenge carefully. "Given that several candidates, myself included, come from mixed magical heritage, surely our exclusion would make more sense? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but if one of us was to be drawn, it wouldn’t help matters in that regard.”

When she’s finished speaking, she raises her chin, eyes intent and clear.

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. She's right, though her motives are obvious. She’s not trying to hide her position as a worm trying to wriggle off a hook. But challenging us publicly, in front of the whole pack...

"The interpretation of pack law evolves with time," I find myself saying, drawing every eye in the room. Including hers. Our gazes lock, and electricity crackles through the air. The blue of her dress makes her eyes seem impossibly green, like sunlight through spring leaves. "The lottery’s decision can indicate unlikely solutions to our present problems—that’s what it’s there for.

It’s true that blood purity is a pack concern, but old law decrees the inclusion of all of those eligible, and if a non-Shifter were to be drawn, compliance would be trusted to yield favorable results for the pack. ”

They trust the lottery, I would say, if we were alone. The elders trust that it will choose someone worthy. And they think it’ll avoid you at all costs.

Something flickers across her face—surprise? Faint approval, respect? Her lips part slightly, and for a moment, I'm lost in memories of how those lips felt against mine, how she used to whimper my name when I...

I force the thoughts down. She quickly looks away, but not before I catch a hint of vulnerability beneath her confident facade.

Victoria watches this exchange with knowing, slightly critical eyes. Has she guessed how much Luna still affects me? How hard it is to maintain my Alpha composure when all I want to do is cross the room and claim what my wolf still considers ours?