Chapter 9 - Sera
The Grayhide pack hall looms ahead like a fortress carved from desert stone.
I’ve been here before—during the whole Bastian debacle, for Raegan’s wedding, for inter-pack gatherings—but walking through these doors today feels different. Every wolf we pass turns to stare, and their eyes track me with curiosity mixed with wariness.
A Llewelyn woman in Grayhide territory without an official delegation is unusual enough. One being escorted by their historian to a council meeting is practically unprecedented.
“Ignore them,” Reeyan mumbles from beside me. “They’re just curious.”
“They’re wondering what I’m doing here.” I keep my spine straight and my expression neutral, the way I was taught. Llewelyn women don’t show discomfort. “Wondering if I’m a threat.”
“You’re under my protection. That makes you a guest, not a threat.”
The words should comfort me. Instead, they remind me how precarious my position really is. The guest implies temporary. Implies I’m here by choice rather than coercion, dressed up in treaty language.
We enter the main hall, and I’m struck again by how different it is from Llewelyn’s council chambers.
Where ours are austere and cold—designed to emphasize functionality over comfort—this space is filled with warmth.
Rich wood panels line the walls, and the afternoon sun streams through high windows to paint everything in golden tones.
The long table at the center is worn smooth from decades of use, surrounded by chairs that look comfortable rather than formal.
Oren Blacklock stands at the head of the table, speaking with Ash. He looks up when we enter, and his expression shifts from concern to something more welcoming.
“Sera.” He crosses the room to greet us properly. “I’m glad you’re safe. When Wyn told me what happened on that road, I wanted to send a full security team to escort you here.”
I manage a small smile as I reply, “That wasn’t necessary. Reeyan handled the situation.”
“So I heard.” Oren glances at Reeyan with something that might be approval or might be a warning. Hard to tell with alphas sometimes. “Three Thornridge operatives. Impressive work.”
“They were threatening my—” Reeyan cuts himself off so abruptly I almost get whiplash. “They were threatening someone under our protection. I did what needed to be done.”
“Well, we’re grateful you were there. Please, both of you, sit. We’re waiting for a few more council members, and then we’ll establish the connection with Matriarch Lydia.”
My stomach clenches at my aunt’s name. I sent her a message this morning explaining I was safe and would provide more details during the council meeting, but I know she’s furious. The controlled kind of fury that Llewelyn women perfect over lifetimes.
Reeyan guides me to a seat near the middle of the table. Ash settles across from us and offers me a sympathetic smile that somehow makes everything feel worse. Pity from Oren’s wife means the situation really is as bad as I think it is.
“How are you feeling?” Ash asks quietly. “Raegan told me about the suppressor.”
“Better. My wolf is back fully now.” I flex my fingers under the table, grateful for the solid presence in my mind that I’d taken for granted until it was gone. “I saw the healer before I came here. I’m told everything will heal just fine.”
“Physical injuries usually do.” Her blue eyes hold understanding that goes deeper than fleeting concern. “It’s the other stuff that takes longer.”
Before I can respond, the doors open again.
Dorian and Kira Fields enter, and I recognize them immediately from previous inter-pack meetings.
Dorian moves with the quiet confidence of someone who’s led his pack through hell and come out stronger.
Kira stays close to his side as she scans the room with a clairaudient’s awareness of everything unseen.
Dorian takes a seat beside Oren. “Sorry, we’re late. Traffic through the border territories was heavier than expected. Thornridge has everyone on edge.”
“Which is exactly why we’re here.” Oren pulls out a tablet and sets it on the table. “Before we begin, I want to establish the video connection with Matriarch Lydia. She’s waiting at the neutral meeting point we arranged.”
My heart pounds harder. Neutral territory, just like Reeyan promised. My aunt isn’t in Llewelyn lands, which means the vision’s warning doesn’t apply. Technically.
The screen comes to life, and Matriarch Lydia’s face fills the display.
She’s positioned herself in what looks like a simple room with stone walls—probably one of the waystations maintained along the border routes for exactly this kind of meeting.
Her silver-blonde hair is pulled back in the severe style she favors, and her pale blue eyes—so similar to mine—watch the assembled council with characteristic reserve.
“Alpha Oren. Council members.” Her gaze lands on me, and I feel the weight of her disappointment even through a screen. “Sera. I trust you have an explanation for leaving Llewelyn territory without authorization and lying to your sister about your whereabouts.”
“I do, Matriarch.” I force myself to meet her stare without flinching. “And I apologize for the deception. The circumstances were complicated.”
She settles back in her chair and waves a hand toward the screen. “Proceed with your explanation.”
Oren takes control of the meeting with the ease of someone who’s done this countless times.
“Three days ago, Sera experienced what we believe to be a prophetic vision. Due to the nature of that vision and because of a warning she received in it, she sought answers outside Llewelyn territory. While traveling alone to consult with Raegan about her experience, she was attacked by three Thornridge operatives who attempted to kidnap her using advanced suppressor technology.”
Several council members react with sharp intakes of breath. Matriarch Lydia’s expression doesn’t change, but I see her grip on the armrest tighten.
“Reeyan Hale, our pack historian and strategic advisor, intervened and eliminated the threat.” Oren nods toward Reeyan. “He’s been conducting research into the nature of Sera’s vision and has uncovered evidence that suggests a supernatural threat affecting the Llewelyn pack.”
“A supernatural threat.” My aunt’s tone could freeze water. “Elaborate.”
Reeyan stands, moving to a display board where he’s arranged copies of the historical documents we reviewed.
“Approximately three hundred years ago, around 1721, the Llewelyn pack underwent a significant change. Historical records from neighboring territories note a dramatic change in behavior—specifically among Llewelyn women, who went from being known for passion and fierce emotional bonds to adopting the reserve and independence that characterizes them today.”
He pulls up an image of the Hysopp Coven document. “This is from the coven’s restricted archives. It references a binding commission for emotional suppression on a massive scale. The timing aligns perfectly with the observed changes in Llewelyn culture.”
“You’re suggesting my pack is cursed,” Matriarch Lydia surmises. “That our entire way of life is the result of magical manipulation rather than cultural evolution.”
“I’m suggesting that Sera’s vision showed her something real. Women with chains wrapped around their hearts. Binding magic that suppresses emotion and creates the distance that defines Llewelyn. She saw what your pack has been living under for three centuries.”
“That’s quite an accusation based on one woman’s dream and some historical coincidences.”
“It’s not just Sera’s vision,” Ash speaks up for the first time, rising from her chair.
“I had a similar experience months ago. I couldn’t interpret it at the time, but I saw Llewelyn women standing frozen like ice sculptures, unable to move or feel or connect.
I thought it was metaphorical, but after hearing Sera’s description, I think we were both seeing the same curse from different angles. ”
Matriarch Lydia turns her focus to Ash. “You had visions about my pack and didn’t report them?”
“I had fragments that didn’t make sense until now.” Ash doesn’t back down from the challenge in my aunt’s tone. “Psychic abilities don’t come with instruction manuals. We interpret what we can and wait for context to fill in the gaps.”
Kira leans forward, adding her perspective.
“I’ve always felt something muffled about Llewelyn territory.
Like emotions, they are wrapped in layers of thick cloth.
I’m clairaudient—I hear what people feel even when they don’t speak it—but with Llewelyn women, there’s this barrier.
A dampening effect that I assumed was cultural training rather than magical suppression. ”
“Three psychics experiencing similar impressions about Llewelyn,” Oren counts them off. “That’s not a coincidence.”
My aunt’s face remains impassive, but I know her well enough to see the calculations happening behind those pale eyes. She’s weighing evidence against tradition, logic against the possibility that everything she knows about our pack might be built on a lie.
“What evidence do you have beyond visions and feelings?” She directs the question to Reeyan. “What concrete proof suggests this curse exists?”
“The Hysopp Coven’s documentation of the magical working.
Historical accounts from multiple packs note the change in Llewelyn behavior within a three-year period.
The consistent reports from psychics who interact with your territory.
” Reeyan pulls up more documents on the display.
“And Sera’s targeting by Thornridge. They knew where she’d be, when she’d be traveling alone, and they had suppressors ready to cut her off from her wolf.
Someone fed them information, and they wanted her—an archivist with newly manifested psychic abilities who can see through the curse. ”