Chapter 22 - Reeyan
The war room smells like coffee and bad decisions.
I spread the latest scout reports across Oren’s table while pack leaders from three territories crowd around.
Dorian’s voice crackles through the video feed from Ambersky, his face pixelated but his concern clear.
Wyn leans against the wall with his arms crossed, and Oren studies the maps with the kind of focus that comes from knowing lives depend on getting this right.
“Thornridge has fifty confirmed operatives positioned here.” I tap the eastern border markers. “Another twenty-three along the northern approach. They’re not hiding anymore.”
Oren traces the positions with one finger. “They want us to know they’re there. Psychological warfare. Make us panic.”
“It’s working,” Dorian states. “My scouts report movement in the western corridor, too. They’re coordinating across multiple fronts.”
I pull out another map, this one marked with the ceremony location. “We’ll be vulnerable during the ritual.”
“Then we make that location a fortress.” Wyn joins us at the table. “Triple perimeter. Enforcers on the outer ring, Alphas on the inner. Nobody gets through.”
“What about suppressors?” Ash speaks up from her seat beside Oren. “Thornridge used them on Sera before. If they deploy those during the ceremony—”
“Veva’s working on counter-measures.” I shuffle through my notes until I find her technical specifications. “She can’t prevent suppressor deployment entirely, but she can dampen their effectiveness enough that we’ll still have partial shifting capability.”
Oren straightens and looks at each person in the room. “We need to assume the worst-case scenario. Thornridge attacks during the ceremony with full force. How do we keep Sera alive long enough to break the curse?”
The question settles in the space between us. I’ve been asking myself the same thing for two days straight.
“We don’t give them a target.” I point to the ceremony site.
“The ritual happens at the border between Grayhide and Llewelyn territories. Natural barriers here and here.” I trace the rock formations with my index finger.
“We position sharpshooters on the high ground. Enforcers create a moving perimeter that shifts based on threat assessment. And we keep Sera in the center where the most protection exists.”
“What about Matriarch Lydia’s delegation?” Dorian asks through the screen. “How many Llewelyn wolves are we expecting?”
I checked the message Lydia sent this morning. “At least twenty. She’s bringing her council and some of the elders. Sera’s family will be there, too.”
Wyn catches my eye. “Her family. That’s going to be interesting.”
“Interesting” is one word for it. I’ve been trying not to think about meeting Sera’s parents while we’re all standing around watching me claim their daughter in front of multiple packs.
The Llewelyn don’t exactly have a reputation for warmth toward outsiders, and I’m the Grayhide wolf stealing one of their omegas.
“Security for the Llewelyn delegation?” Oren prompts.
“They’ll have their own warriors. We coordinate with them, but don’t interfere. The last thing we need is territorial posturing during a crisis.”
We spend another hour going through contingencies. What happens if Thornridge breaches the perimeter. What happens if the suppressors work better than Veva anticipates. What happens if the curse fights back harder than expected and Sera can’t complete the ritual.
That last one keeps me up at night. Evangeline warned that breaking a binding this old could kill the person attempting it. The magic doesn’t want to be destroyed. It will fight to survive, and Sera will bear the worst of that fight.
By the time we finish planning, my head pounds and my coffee has gone cold. The other leaders file out with their assignments, leaving me alone with Oren.
“You know this could go wrong in about a hundred different ways,” he declares.
“One hundred and thirty-seven. I’ve counted them all. Give or take a few, I probably haven’t thought of yet. But Sera made her choice. I’m supporting it. Whether I like how dangerous it is doesn’t matter.”
Oren moves to the window overlooking Grayhide territory. “When Ash and I got married, it was political. A way to unite our packs and prevent more bloodshed. I didn’t expect to fall for her. Didn’t plan on caring what happened to her beyond her role as luna.”
“But you did anyway.”
“Yeah. And now watching her put herself in danger for pack business makes me want to lock her in our house and never let her leave. I suspect that’s what you’re feeling right now. The mate bond makes you want to protect her at any cost. Even if that cost is her freedom to make her own choices.”
The words hit too close to home. I’ve been fighting that instinct since the moment I recognized Sera as mine. The urge to control everything about her environment, to eliminate every possible threat, to keep her safe even if she resents me for it.
I stack the last of my documents. “She deserves better than that.”
“Good. Because forcing her hand didn’t work out well the first time, and doing it again would be stupid. The ceremony is tomorrow. You ready?”
Am I ready to marry a woman who still questions whether the mate bond is real or just supernatural coercion? Ready to watch her risk her life breaking a curse while enemies amass at our borders? Ready to become a husband when I’ve spent my whole life avoiding that kind of vulnerability?
“No. But we’re doing it anyway.”
Oren claps me on the shoulder once before heading for the door. “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be hell.”
He leaves me alone in the war room with my maps and fears. I should go home. Check on Sera and make sure she’s handling the pressure. Should probably eat something that isn’t cold coffee and anxiety.
Instead, I pull out my journal and start writing. Documenting everything we’ve planned. Recording contingencies and backup plans, and all the ways this could fall apart. If something goes wrong tomorrow, someone needs to know what we tried and why.
The sun sets while I write. Shadows stretch across the room until I’m working by lamplight. My hand cramps from gripping the pen too hard, but I keep going. Keep recording. Keep planning.
***
The ceremony site looks like a battlefield waiting to happen.
I arrive at dawn to find enforcers already positioning themselves along the perimeter.
Wyn coordinates the security teams with the efficiency of someone who’s done this a hundred times.
Ash works with the Hysopp witches to prepare the ritual space, and Evangeline directs the placement of various magical components I don’t pretend to understand.
The location itself sits at the border between the Grayhide and Llewelyn territories. Natural rock formations provide defensive advantages, and the open space in the center gives us clear sightlines in all directions. If Thornridge comes, we’ll see them approaching.
When, not if. I’ve stopped pretending they won’t attack.
Oren finds me checking weapon positions for the third time. “Relax. We’ve got this covered.”
“Thornridge has fifty operatives out there. We have thirty enforcers and maybe a dozen Alphas. They could overwhelm us through sheer numbers.”
Oren scans the perimeter and replies, “We’ve got home territory advantage and motivation. They’re fighting for conquest. We’re fighting for survival. Big difference.”
Movement near the northern approach catches my attention. A group of wolves approaches—all female, all moving with the characteristic grace of Llewelyn warriors. At their center walks Matriarch Lydia, silver hair braided back and her face set in the neutral expression her pack favors.
“The Llewelyn delegation.” Oren straightens his posture and adds, “Time to play nice.”
We meet them halfway. Lydia inclines her head in formal greeting, and I return the gesture with as much respect as I can manage while my nerves scream at me to check on Sera.
“Matriarch Lydia. Thank you for coming.”
“I wouldn’t miss my niece’s mating ceremony,” she replies.
I gesture toward the prepared ritual space. “Evangeline has everything ready when you are.”
Lydia doesn’t move. “Where is Sera?”
“With Raegan. They’ll arrive when the ceremony begins.” I keep my voice steady despite wanting to go find Sera myself. “As is traditional.”
“Traditional.” Lydia’s mouth quirks in something that might be amusement. “You’re marrying my niece to break a curse in front of hostile enemy forces, and you’re concerned with tradition?”
“Some things matter regardless of circumstances.”
She studies me for another moment before nodding. “Good answer. Come. I’ll introduce you to Sera’s family before they arrive and judge you without meeting you first.”
The Llewelyn delegation includes at least twenty wolves, most of whom regard me with varying degrees of suspicion. Lydia guides me to a cluster of three people standing slightly apart from the others.
“Reeyan Hale, this is Maude Thornwick—Sera’s mother. Jorran Thornwick, her father. And Caelan Thornwick, her sister.”
Maude looks like an older version of Sera, with the same silver-blonde hair and pale blue eyes. Her face holds the familiar Llewelyn reserve, but something harder lurks underneath. Disapproval, maybe. Or anger that her daughter chose this path.
Jorran stands tall and silent beside his wife. A man of few words, based on how he nods once in acknowledgment without speaking. But I don’t expect much else from a man within a matriarchal society.
Caelan is younger—nineteen or twenty—with darker hair than her sister but the same fire in her eyes. She steps forward first and offers her hand.
“You’re the historian who saved Sera from Thornridge.”
I shake her hand. “I am.”
“Thank you for that.” She glances at her parents. “Even if the rest of my family isn’t ready to admit it yet, we are grateful.”
Maude’s voice comes cold and clipped. “We would be more grateful if saving her hadn’t led to this.”