Chapter 23
Rennick
The space feels too small for the lie we’ve crammed into it.
I stand in the middle of the lodge while the spectacle unfolds around me, and it takes everything I have not to claw my way out of my skin.
The music hums low, dressed up to sound refined.
The decorations catch the late-morning light, gleaming like everything here isn’t just a sparkly bow knotted around something rotten.
Since the moment Cathal and his entourage rolled through my gates, the diplomat’s mask I don has felt like something stitched on in a hurry and far too tight. Every pleasantry has been a chore, each word a scalpel dragged down my throat. All of it another cut I don’t have time to bleed from.
I’ve kept moving since the party started.
Not to avoid confrontation, but to stop myself from inviting it.
If I stand still long enough for Cathal’s smug condescension or Talis’s sugarcoated bullshit to find me, I’ll ruin everything.
I’ll blow up the careful choreography I’ve spent all this time shaping just for one moment of self-serving gratification.
But this isn’t about me.
It’s about her. Noa needs to see this. Needs to know that every word, every calculated move, it’s a performance I’ve planned for with her in mind. She’s the only audience member that matters.
True to her word, Seren’s been at home working both literal and figurative magic to save the plan I’d envisioned for today.
She even roped Siggy into it, asking her to tell one small, necessary lie to get Noa through those doors.
The younger omega didn’t hesitate. Her devotion to Noa runs bone-deep and is unflinching. The same kind Noa gives in return.
Canaan’s been helping me orchestrate this circus since the beginning, and his mate joined the chaos this morning when our guests arrived.
After I rejected Noa, I thought I’d lost both Canaan and Rhosyn—their friendship, their trust, their belief that I was an Alpha worth following.
But they didn’t walk away. Not for good, anyway.
They held me accountable first, tore into me when I deserved it.
And then they came back. That’s what makes Seren’s words from this morning about chosen family stay with me.
Blood doesn’t guarantee loyalty. People’s hearts do.
I twist the stem of the untouched champagne flute in my hand.
The drink’s gone warm, bubbles long dead, but I don’t put it down because it gives my fingers something to do.
I twist the stem until my knuckles cramp as I let my eyes drift across the crowd.
The portion of my pack in attendance mixes with two dozen McNamara wolves.
Who think they’re here to witness their princess’s big moment.
It’s almost funny. They’re wrong, and they’re so smug in their wrongness.
My spine stiffens when I realize my evasion efforts have finally failed.
Cathal pushes through the press of bodies with a swagger that doesn’t fit the man.
There’s nothing impressive about his build.
Thick in the middle. A soft layer where his alpha genetics should provide him muscle.
Skin flushed to match the rust of his hair.
He reminds me more of a greedy farm pig in an expensive suit than a wolf.
The thought pulls at the corner of my mouth and I let the near smile live long enough to ease the initial burn of fury at his arrival.
He stops before me and drags his gaze down my frame like I’m a product he’s looking for faults in.
I return it with all the boredom I can muster and let my wolf rise high enough to peer out.
The sound that builds in my chest isn’t loud—a low vibration of warning—and the air between us thickens, heavy with competing dominance.
Cathal lifts one brow, smirking like he’s won something. He takes a sip of his scotch and lets out a quiet, unimpressed scoff. The sound grates and I bite back the growl that wants out.
“I hear you’ve taken in some refugees, Fallamhain,” he drawls, trying for casual but failing. “A pack of she-wolves and a coven of witches. Heard some of them are even staying in your home. How delightfully…charitable of you.”
I don’t take the bait. “That so?” My tone stays even, almost dull. “And where’d you hear this?”
This is a question I really do want an answer to. If there’s a leak in my ranks, I need to know. Cathal takes his time swallowing his mouthful of liquor and just stares at me over the rim. I know he won’t tell me a thing.
“I was also told,” he continues, round face hardening and his fake charm finally faltering completely. “That the wolfless girl was one of them.”
My wolf surges at the spiteful moniker. Wolfless girl. He hates hearing his mate referred to in such a way. So do I. Especially since I now know the truth about Noa’s caged wolf.
But Cathal daring to speak about her at all is enough to make my blood burn.
Cathal laughs, an ugly hacking sound. “But I told them that couldn’t be right. That you’re too honorable, too disciplined to embarrass my daughter—your future Luna—in such a public fashion. Not when you understand what’s at stake. Not when you still need my help, boy.”
The rope of my control burns through my palm as it slips.
He doesn’t see it, but I feel it, the surge of my wolf against my skin, desperate to get out and defend his mate’s honor.
The idea of anyone but Noa being referred to as his Luna is an unthinkable sin.
Noa’s bite is the only one he was destined to wear, and his mark on her skin is more important than ever.
What he learned this morning about how his bite is the only thing that can anchor her here with him proves that.
I draw in a slow breath, hold it until the urge to rip out Cathal’s throat passes, and lift one, unconcerned brow. “Do I?”
He blinks. “Do you what?”
“Still need your help.”
The red of his skin climbs his neck and settles in ugly splotches on his cheeks. Watching doubt carve itself into his features feels like a small victory.
“Last I checked, your omegas are still dying,” he spits. “Or did you forget the girl they sent back to you? Torn apart. Barely recognizable.”
Carly.
I’ll never forget her. The blood. The silence that followed. The way it broke only when her mother started screaming. The sound still lives in my head and always will. What they did to the omega is the kind of memory that slithers beneath your skin and then decomposes there.
“No,” I answer, my voice taking on a dangerous lilt. “I remember Carly.”
“Good,” he presses. “Then your memory is intact. Which means you should also remember the way I warned you about respecting my daughter.” He steps forward, like invading my space will intimidate me.
It fucking doesn’t. “You rejected that wolfless girl—made a spectacle of it—but still brought her home like a puppy fresh from a kill shelter. Tell me, how is doing this showing Talis the respect she’s due? ”
Reminding myself of what’s on the line today, I bite back my rising anger until I taste blood on my tongue,
The champagne glass swings lazily in my hand as I gesture at the room that sparkles like it’s trying too hard to impress.
“We’re standing in the middle of a party where she is the guest of honor.
” This is the truth, though not in the way Cathal thinks.
Not the way he wants it to be. “Grab a mini cupcake, toast the blushing bride, and stop wasting your breath by questioning me on how I run my territory or who I allow to breathe my air.” I step into his space the same way he tried to overtake mine, steady and unbothered.
The bravado on his face falters. Permanent smirk failing, he steps back half a step.
“Because if you keep questioning me while you’re standing on my land, I’ll haul you to the northern border and make it so you have to crawl home on your fucking knees. ”
The color drains from his face, then floods back twice as dark, twice as furious. His jaw tightens, ready to tear into me. The insult dies when I clap him once on the back and move away. The sound is sharp enough to echo.
“Enjoy the party, Cathal,” I offer over my shoulder. “It’s only just getting started.”
I leave him standing there, shaking with fury that smells a lot like humiliation.
And fuck if I don’t savor it.
The crowd splits like water when I push through. Conversations dip and recover as I pass. I don’t stop. I scan the buzzing space and find what I’m looking for.
Siggy stands pressed flat against the timber of the far wall, trying to make herself smaller than she is. The crowd is too much for her. I know that. She knows that. She’s here anyway. For Noa’s sake.
Brave omega.
Our eyes meet and I lift one brow. She dips her chin, the silent signal exchanged, and then she slips away, quick and quiet, off to do her part.
I drag in a breath and let it out slow, tasting the resolve in it.
My wolf’s pacing beneath my skin now, restless, aware.
He’s more present than he was after the creek yesterday and then last night, though he’s keeping a wall between us.
His punishment for once again betraying our mate.
Not by intent, but that doesn’t mean shit. To him or me.
Hang in there, I all but plead with him. Just a little longer.
I want to believe this, too. I’m all but clinging to the belief that once she understands—once Noa sees why I did this—she’ll know it wasn’t born from malice but from devotion twisted the wrong way. But if she doesn’t…if all she sees is more damage caused by my hands, then I don’t know what’ll do.