Chapter 8 A Pack Without Its Heart
By the second morning without Tria, Silvercrest had begun to sound wrong.
Delvan noticed it before he let himself name it.
The hall was too loud where it should have been quiet. Too quiet where laughter should have carried. Wolves moved in clusters, speaking low until he passed, then falling silent as if his shadow had weight.
He hated that.
He hated the way their eyes dropped.
Not in respect.
In avoidance.
At his side, Selene walked with careful grace, her pale hand resting on his arm. She wore soft blue, gentle as morning mist.
Chosen.
He had chosen her.
So why did every step beside her feel like walking over cracked ice?
A child’s voice cut through the entry hall.
“Where is Luna Tria?”
Delvan stopped.
The boy could not have been more than six, half-hidden behind his mother’s skirt. His mother went white.
“Hush,” she whispered.
Too late.
The question hung in the hall like smoke.
Selene’s fingers tightened on Delvan’s arm. A few wolves looked away. One old healer closed her eyes.
Delvan’s jaw locked.
“She has left Silvercrest,” he said.
The words came out colder than he intended.
The child’s lower lip trembled. “Is she coming back?”
No one breathed.
Delvan felt the answer before he gave it.
No.
He had ordered it.
By dawn.
Exile.
His wolf shoved hard against his ribs.
Wrong.
Delvan forced it down. “That is not your concern.”
The mother flinched as if he had struck her.
Selene leaned closer, her scent sweet and delicate. “Children become confused when adults cling to old habits,” she murmured. “They will learn.”
Delvan told himself she was right.
They would learn.
The pack had spent years looking to Tria for everything. Comfort. Permission. Blessing. Direction. Of course they would stumble when asked to stand without her.
That did not mean he had been wrong.
It meant they resisted change.
That was all.
A young runner approached with a stack of petitions. His eyes flicked to Selene, then Delvan.
“Alpha. The morning petitions.”
Delvan took them.
The stack was thicker than usual.
“Why were these not sorted?”
The runner swallowed. “Luna Tria usually marked the urgent ones before breakfast.”
Selene went still.
Delvan’s grip tightened until the top page bent.
“Selene is Luna now.”
The runner paled. “Yes, Alpha.”
Selene smiled too sweetly. “Leave them on the council table. I will review them.”
The boy hesitated.
Only a breath.
Delvan saw it.
So did Selene.
When the runner fled, her smile faded.
“You see?” she whispered. “They do not want me to succeed.”
Delvan looked down at the bent petition.
Extra grain from the west quarter.
A widow requesting to move before winter.
A complaint between two hunting families over an old boundary.
Small things.
Endless things.
Tria had handled them like breathing.
He pushed the thought away.
“She made them dependent,” he said.
Selene’s gaze lifted. “Perhaps not intentionally.”
The kindness in her voice made the accusation easier to accept.
Delvan nodded once.
Yes.
That was what had happened.
Tria had been too good at being needed. The pack had forgotten its Alpha because his fated mate had made herself indispensable.
A sour taste rose in his mouth.
He did not like that explanation.
He liked the alternative less.
By midday, the hunting dispute had reached the courtyard.
Two brothers from the northern line stood snarling at a cousin from the western dens. Their families gathered behind them, scents sharp with anger. What should have been settled in a chamber had spilled into public view.
Delvan stood on the lower council step with Selene beside him.
“Enough,” he ordered.
The wolves bowed their heads.
Their anger did not fade.
One brother lifted a rolled map. “Luna Tria promised to review the old boundary markers. She knew our grandfather’s claim.”
The western cousin snapped, “She also knew your grandfather lied when it suited him.”
Growls rose.
Delvan’s Alpha command pressed outward. “I said enough.”
Silence fell, brittle and forced.
Selene took the map with delicate fingers. “Surely this can wait until everyone has calmed.”
“It has waited three seasons,” the northern wolf said.
Delvan’s eyes cut to him.
The man lowered his head.
Too late.
Tria would have known the grandfather’s name. She would have remembered the hunting injury, the raid debt, the old insult buried beneath the claim. She would have separated pride from need before either family realized she had done it.
Selene looked at the map as if lines on parchment should explain blood.
“They should split the disputed ground,” she said.
Three wolves began arguing at once.
Delvan’s temper flared.
“Enough!”
This time, command cracked through the courtyard. Several wolves dropped their eyes. A pup began to cry.
Delvan heard it.
His wolf heard it too.
Wrong.
Selene’s cheeks flushed. “They are testing us.”
Us.
The word should have steadied him.
Instead, it sat strangely in his chest.
He dismissed the families until council review. No one looked satisfied. The northern brothers left stiff-backed. The western cousin spat into the dirt once he thought Delvan was not watching.
He was watching.
He watched everything now.
Every lowered voice.
Every delayed bow.
Every empty place where Tria should have been.
By evening, the elders had refused Selene twice.
Not openly.
They simply postponed her suggestions. Requested further review. Said winter traditions could not be altered without consultation. Said an elder’s funeral rites had already been arranged by Tria before she left.
Before she left.
As if Tria had simply chosen a journey.
As if he had not carved her out.
Delvan left the council chamber with Selene at his heels, anger hot beneath his skin.
“They undermine me in my own hall.”
Selene closed the door behind them. “They undermine us.”
His wolf recoiled from the word.
Delvan turned away before she could see his face.
The mate bond ached.
Not like the first tear in the courtyard. Not like the white agony when Tria shifted and ran.
This was worse in its own way.
A constant rawness behind his ribs.
A pull with no answer.
He could feel her somewhere beyond him. Faint. Wounded. Farther with every hour.
Or perhaps that was imagination.
Perhaps guilt had a scent now.
Selene touched his arm.
His wolf snarled.
Delvan jerked away before he could hide it.
Selene went very still.
Pain flashed across her face, followed by something sharper before she buried it.
“I am sorry,” she whispered.
The softness made him feel cruel.
“It is not you.”
Her eyes shone. “It is always her.”
He had no answer.
Selene stepped closer, careful now. “The bond is old magic. It will fade. You said fate was not law.”
“I know what I said.”
“Then prove it.” Her voice trembled just enough. “Your pack is grieving because they were taught to worship what the Goddess chose. They will accept your choice when you stop letting their grief make you doubt it.”
Doubt.
Delvan stiffened.
“I do not doubt.”
Selene lowered her gaze.
Silence had its own accusation.
A knock interrupted them.
“Enter.”
Garian stepped inside.
His Beta did not bow deeply enough.
Delvan saw that first.
Then he saw Garian’s face.
Cold. Tired. Furious in a way that had settled past shouting.
“What now?” Delvan asked.
Garian closed the door. “We need to speak.”
Selene’s hand tightened on a chair. “This sounds private.”
“It is,” Garian said.
Delvan’s eyes narrowed. “Anything said to me can be said before my Luna.”
Garian looked at Selene.
Not with hatred.
With dismissal.
“She is not the one I swore to advise.”
Selene’s scent soured.
Delvan stepped forward. “Careful.”
“No.” Garian’s voice dropped. “You be careful, Delvan.”
Alpha command rose instinctively.
Garian did not bend.
“You publicly rejected your fated mate without council consent,” Garian said. “You stripped the pack’s Luna in front of children. You exiled the woman who has held half this place together since your father died. And now you wonder why the walls are shaking.”
Delvan’s hands curled.
“She is gone because I ordered it.”
“Yes,” Garian said. “That is the problem.”
The words hit too cleanly.
Selene inhaled softly.
“You forget your place,” Delvan said.
Garian’s jaw tightened. “I am remembering it.”
The room seemed to still.
“My place is beside the pack. Not beside your pride.”
Delvan’s wolf lunged so hard he nearly shifted.
For one wild second, all he saw was challenge. Defiance. His own Beta speaking like an equal.
Then the bond pulsed.
Tria.
Moonflowers scattering across stone.
Her voice, steady enough to break him.
I hope she was worth the pack you just broke.
Delvan looked away first.
Garian saw.
Of course he saw.
“The pack is grieving,” Garian said. “Grief makes weak borders. Weak obedience. Weak trust. You endangered us because you wanted to prove fate did not own you.”
Delvan’s voice came out low. “Leave.”
Garian held his gaze for one heartbeat longer.
Then he bowed.
Not to Selene.
Barely to Delvan.
“At dawn, the council expects answers about the hunting dispute, winter stores, and funeral rites. Tria had plans for all three.”
He opened the door.
Before leaving, he looked back.
“Find them.”
The door closed.
Delvan stood in silence.
Selene approached slowly. “He had no right.”
“No,” Delvan said.
But the word sounded hollow.
That night, Delvan did not go to the Luna rooms.
He slept alone in the Alpha chamber, though sleep came only in broken pieces.
When it finally took him, he dreamed of the forest.
Dark pine.
Wet earth.
Moonlight broken across the ground.
Tria ran ahead of him in wolf form, golden necklace tangled at her throat. Blood marked the leaves beneath her paws. He called her name, but she did not slow.
“Tria!”
She stumbled.
For one heartbeat, he thought she would turn.
Then he saw the wound.
Not on her body.
Inside her.
A torn, invisible thing bleeding through the bond.
Bleeding because of him.
Delvan woke with a gasp, hand pressed to his chest.
His room was dark.
Empty.
And somewhere far beyond Silvercrest, Tria kept running.