Page 8

JACE

J ace sat at the end of the long oak council table, arms crossed, jaw set, the weight of old magic pressing down like a second skin.

The council chambers of Celestial Pines weren’t grand. No glittering chandeliers or marble floors. Just stone walls covered in living moss, a table older than the town itself, and ward runes etched in every wooden groove—glowing faintly with the heartbeat of the Veil.

Hazel Fairweather, dryad elder and unofficial oracle of bad timing, leaned forward with flowers blooming from her braid and worry blooming in her gaze. “Ezra’s wolves were spotted again near the northern ridge. This time closer. More confident.”

“Let them circle,” Jace said evenly. “We’ve fortified the wards. They won’t get through.”

“Confidence like that gets people dead,” muttered Marciel Drake, the town’s oldest vampire and unofficial tavern therapist. “And Ezra Wolfe’s not one to bluff.”

“He’s not a fool either,” Jace replied. “If he wanted to fight, he’d have done it already.”

Hazel frowned. “He’s doing something worse. He’s planting seeds.”

Jace didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, the carved wolf heads at his elbows cool under his hands. Every word Hazel said carried truth, but he couldn’t show concern. Not now. Not here.

He wasn’t just Jace in this room.

He was Alpha Montgomery .

“Ezra’s been circling this town for three years,” he said at last, tone clipped. “We haven’t bent. We won’t start now.”

Hazel’s green eyes narrowed. “He’s not circling anymore, Alpha. He’s stalking.”

The room fell quiet.

And Jace couldn’t stop the echo of her voice from yesterday, Lyra’s voice, breathless and confused after he’d pulled her from the wards.

You saved me. How did you know where I was?

He hadn’t answered then. He couldn’t. Because the truth that he felt her was too dangerous to admit, even to himself.

Not when Ezra Wolfe had a nose for blood and weakness, and right now, Lyra Ravenshade was both.

After the meeting, Jace stalked through the Keep’s back corridor, jaw even tighter, breath shallow. The scent of cedar oil and old parchment followed him, normally grounding, but now it just prickled.

Ezra.

Damn him.

He’d once called Ezra brother. Not by blood, but bond.

The way only alpha-born shifters could, raised alongside one another in rites and training.

They’d fought side by side in the Old Trials, bled together in the Echo Glen skirmishes when the wards faltered.

Once, they’d even laughed under starlight with matching bruises and broken ribs.

But Ezra had always wanted more.

More control. More power. Less diplomacy. Less peace.

When Jace’s father vanished and the mantle passed down, Ezra had shown up within a month—smiling, smooth, full of suggestions about how to “strengthen the Pack” by dissolving the Moonlit Pact and claiming surrounding territories by force.

Jace said no.

Ezra smiled, nodded… and left.

The following year, shifters began disappearing. Rumors of rogue gatherings. Symbols burned into trees. Tensions in the council. Ezra’s shadow stretched longer with every full moon.

Now, he was circling again. Like a vulture.

And the timing couldn’t be worse.

Because now… Jace had something Ezra could take .

He turned the corner toward the main hall just in time to hear laughter echo down from the courtyard.

He froze. He’d recognize that laugh anywhere.

Lyra .

He moved on instinct, barely thinking, boots silent against the old stone floor. Through the arched window, he saw her near the central fountain, head thrown back, curls bouncing as she laughed at something Luca , one of his younger enforcers, was saying.

Jace’s wolf snarled.

Luca was leaning in too close. Smiling too much. His hand brushing her elbow like he had a right.

Jace stepped outside before he could talk himself out of it.

“Luca,” he said flatly.

Both of them turned. Lyra’s smile faltered slightly, and Luca stiffened like he’d just been caught sniffing the alpha’s mate.

Not that she was. Not officially.

“Alpha,” Luca said, nodding.

“You’ve got patrol rotation in fifteen.”

Luca looked at the sky, blinked. “Thought that was later?—”

“Do you want me to make it ten?”

Luca mumbled something about checking gear and practically sprinted off.

Lyra raised a brow. “Well, that wasn’t subtle.”

Jace exhaled through his nose. “He shouldn’t be distracting you.”

“From what? My job reorganizing scrolls that bite and sorting through magic-induced complaint forms?”

His lips twitched. Just barely. “Still.”

She tilted her head. “You always growl when you’re jealous?”

He stiffened. “I wasn’t jealous.”

She smiled, small and knowing. “You sure about that?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t trust himself to.

Because the truth was, watching Luca laugh with her had lit something volatile in his chest. A primitive thing that didn’t care about diplomacy or politics or the Moonlit Pact. It only cared about her .

Her laughter.

Her being his.

But she wasn’t.

Not yet.

Not unless he claimed her. And claiming her would mean pulling her into the storm Ezra was conjuring at the border.

It would mean vulnerability. Risk.

And Jace Montgomery didn’t do risk when it came to hearts. Not anymore.

“Stay away from the northern ridge,” he said suddenly. “Until further notice.”

Her brow furrowed. “Because of Ezra?”

He didn’t confirm it. Couldn’t.

“I’ve heard the rumors, I can han–”

“Just do it. Please.”

She searched his face for something he didn’t know how to give.

Then she nodded, slowly. “Alright.”

He turned to leave, but she spoke again, softer this time. “You don’t have to protect me from everything, you know.”

“I’m not.”

She stepped toward him. “You are. But you don’t have to lie about it.”

Jace swallowed hard. “Go back inside, Lyra.”

He walked away, because if he stayed—if he saw the look in her eyes a second longer—he might do something reckless.

Like tell her the truth. That his heart had already claimed her.

And his wolf had known it from the moment she’d smiled and said, Hi, I brought muffins.