Chapter 42 #2
Eyes closed, I find her instantly, seemingly right beneath my skin, and reach for her.
I imagine my fingers brushing through her fur, a quiet offering for her to come.
She continues to pace back and forth, but her movements are unhurried, her presence only patient and watchful now.
That anxious and desperate need to be freed that I’ve grown accustomed to isn’t there anymore.
And I don’t know what to make of its absence.
I try to coax her forward. Silently pleading with her as I wait.
Nothing happens.
After another long moment, my eyes pop open again and a frustrated sound builds in my throat.
My friends are still watching, quietly waiting.
“Maybe she just hasn’t found the right motivation,” Seren offers lightly.
Rhosyn’s grin turns conspiratory. “Yeah. Go find your man. Have him hunt you through the woods for a bit. See if that motivates her.”
My heart stutters.
And somewhere inside, my wolf lifts her head, intrigued.
The thread in my chest, made up of strands that make us us, now braided strong and unbreakable, pulls tighter and brightens the closer I get to the conference room door.
When the snow started coming down, we left the firepit and headed inside.
At first, I really did try to make a conscious effort to not search him out.
I knew he was busy and didn’t shut himself away with Canaan and Rook all afternoon for the solitude.
What they’ve been working on matters, and hovering at his side would only get in the way.
This reason held until I reached the main floor of the house.
Then my feet started moving without conscious thought, carrying me down the long hallway that leads to the offices on the administrative side of the house.
And now, with every step, the itch to be near him digs deeper.
I make it to the closed door and stop. Light spills out from underneath it and voices seep through the wood, low and serious. My hand hovers near the handle, then I pull my fingers back at the last second as reason snaps back into focus. I really shouldn’t interrupt.
I manage to take half a step back, getting ready to force myself to turn around.
But then…
Come here, little mate.
His voice slides into my head like it belongs there, warm and steady, laced with that quiet dominance that never fails to leave me a little unmoored.
He felt me, the bond carrying my presence and my uncertainty straight to him, giving me away before I could choose my next step.
I freeze in place, spine snapping straight the way it does when you know you’ve been caught red-handed.
Blowing a slow breath, I push the door open.
The room is fuller than I expected, and the sudden attention hits me all at once.
Rook and Canaan are here, just as I knew they would be, but pack enforcers join them where they lean over the long glass table.
Cerys stands near the far end, arms crossed, her purple faux-hawk sticking up like she’s been taking her nervous energy out on it.
Amara is here too, both palms braced on the table.
The glass surface is buried beneath pictures, plans, and territory maps. Lines drawn and redrawn over and over on them. Symbols I don’t understand marked strategically. I don’t need everything explained to understand what I’m looking at. Patrol routes. Wards. Defensive points and spell locations.
My gaze lifts to the far wall and my steps faulter.
It’s been converted into a grid of television screens I’m certain weren’t here the last time I stepped foot in this room.
Every one of them is on, each streaming live footage from somewhere out in the territory.
Hunting cameras, if I had to guess. Equipped with night vision and motion sensors.
Holy shit. This isn’t a meeting room anymore. It’s a command center.
Every set of eyes is on me as I take it in.
Heart skipping, I’m suddenly very aware of myself, of how out of place I must look in this room that smells of tension and too many long, stressful hours.
Without breaking eye contact, Rennick straightens and steps back from the head of the table. Wordlessly, he holds his hand out to me, palm up, a silent invitation that quiets the urge I have to turn on my heel and leave.
I cross the room to him and take it.
The second I’m close enough, he folds me into his side, the familiar and comforting weight of his arm coming down around my waist. His head dips and he presses a kiss into my hair, the gesture private even with the room watching.
“There you are,” he murmurs against my head, meant only for me, even though I know every shifter in the room hears it. “Hi, sweet one.”
“Hey,” I tell him back under my breath as my attention bounces between each person standing around the table. “I’m sorry,” I tell them all. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Didn’t you? the voice in my head whispers because, clearly, it’s not on my side at all.
Amara, already gathering her things, waves me off.
“We were just finishing up.” She looks at me a second longer than necessary, all her sharp edges easing just enough for a faint smile to appear.
It’s so rare on her face that I don’t know how to react.
“I’m relieved to see with my own eyes that you’re doing well, Noa.
” Her voice carries that maternal cadence she’s used with me before, and just as it did the first time I heard it, it takes me by surprise, even when it settles warmly inside me.
Then she’s walking to the door, Cerys mock-saluting me as she follows close behind.
The enforcers linger, shifting where they stand.
One of them stands noticeably straighter than the others, posture rigid enough to read as militant.
His face gives nothing away. I think his name is Mercer, if my memory from the first meeting here is right, though names were traded in a messy blur that day.
He could just as easily be a Frank for all I know. Two unfamiliar enforcers flank him.
Rennick’s arm tightens slightly at my waist as he looks at them. “Make sure the new patrol schedules and routes are passed out to all enforcer teams.”
Mercer inclines his head. “Alpha.” When he steps past us, his gaze catches mine and he dips his chin again. “Luna.”
I’m too flustered to offer him an appropriate response, instead, I’m fairly certain I just blink at the man.
Once. Then twice. Like a dork. Hearing someone in the pack other than Rennick use the title makes it land differently.
Because it’s no longer a hypothetical anymore, no longer am I “the rightful future Luna”.
I am the Luna and Mercer just recognized me as such.
Pack Luna.
Me.
My wolf, still residing just beneath my skin, lifts her head, tail flicking, and settles into the rightness of it immediately. Me? I’m going to take longer to adjust.
The rest of the enforcers file out after him, boots thudding against the hardwood floors, the door closing softly behind them.
The shift in the room happens fast.
Rennick exhales, the tension draining out of his shoulders now that he doesn’t have to be on. With just Rook and Canaan left, his closest friends, the weight of leadership settles differently in him. He doesn’t shed it entirely—he’s not wired for that—but he’s no longer wearing it as armor.
“How’s it going?” I ask, attention hopping between the three of them. They’re all running on the same edge, exhausted from hours of strategizing but wound tight in the same breath, ready to act at any given second if the call comes.
I feel that familiar instinct to take care of people rise and I’m already wondering when each of them last ate when Rook’s dry laugh cuts through my thoughts.
“Oh, we’re living the dream, beautiful,” he chirps, flashing a wolfish grin in my direction as he stretches his arms over his head.
“Nothing spices up a boring weekday like planning for a coven of fucking witches to crash the party. And if they’re anything like your witch friends, we’re all at risk for some minor impaling. ”
I’m afraid to ask what he means by that, but I’m not given the opportunity to get any clarification.
A low sound in Rennick’s throat deepens as both of his arms lock around my body, pulling me fully into his chest and holding me there. He leaves absolutely no room to question who I belong to.
“Call my mate beautiful one more time, and I’ll feed you your foot.”
Rook isn’t deterred in the slightest. His brows, a shade darker than the blondish-brown hair on his head, wag in an exaggerated, suggestive motion. He’s almost impressive in his audacity. “Kinky. Didn’t think you had it in you, Saint Nick.”
Canaan huffs and folds his thick arms across his chest, taking a pointed step away from Rook, afraid to get caught in the possible crossfire. “You’re an idiot.”
Rennick’s friend just smiles.
And I take the opportunity to really look at him.
Everything about this future Alpha reads as casual and unbothered.
Even the confidence he wears is relaxed, but it doesn’t fool me.
It’s a practiced facade. I can sense something underneath.
Something darker, and far more authentic, just waiting for the moment it can be released.
Not interested in entertaining this alpha male pissing contest, I jab my elbow into Rennick’s ribs, forcing him to let go of me sooner than he’s ready.
I drift forward to the table, taking in the maps and printed pictures blanketing the surface. I scan them all slowly until one image stops me cold.
The triplets.
Malvina. Evara. Zephira.
It’s a grainy still pulled from a security feed, shadowed and imperfect, caught mid-motion. I don’t know where Rennick found it, and I don’t ask.
I lift my head, and with thin, foolish hope pressing against the back of my throat, I ask a question I already know the answer to before it leaves my mouth. “Do you really think they’ll come back?”
Rennick doesn’t let my question hover in the air for long.