51. You have a problem with her, you have a problem with me.
He remembers me.
Fuck.
The relief hits me harder than I expected, loosening something tight in my chest.
"Leader." Maz's voice, muffled through the wood.
My fingers tighten on his arms instinctively.
"Call the Council," he says without looking away from me. "Full assembly. Now."
He pulls back slightly, his forehead coming to rest against mine.
Neither of us moves.
"You're still in a towel," he says.
"I'm aware."
"You should probably get dressed."
"You're still holding me."
He glances down at his hands on my waist, as if he'd forgotten they were there. His fingers flex against my skin before he forces himself to loosen his grip.
"Why are you summoning the Council?"
"I want to discuss the situation. The possible escalation, the threats from the humans, and—"
"Leader." Maz again. "The Council is waiting."
He exhales slowly. "I want you there."
"At the Council meeting?"
"Yes."
"They'll love that."
"Doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does. Don't you think they have enough reasons to—"
"A pack is only as strong as its leader. A leader is only as strong as his pack." His jaw tightens. "But I am only as strong as I am with you. My mate. By my side." His eyes search mine. "So yes, I want you there. If you're willing."
"They hate me. Actually, you hated me about twenty minutes ago, if you can remember."
A growl rumbles low in his chest, and he shakes his head.
"Don't remind me." He pauses, then corrects himself. "Forget that. You can remind me—as long as you want. Hopefully for the rest of my life."
His voice drops, rougher now. "But that doesn't change what you are to me. And anyone who has a problem with it is going to have to take it up with me." His gaze hardens. "Believe me. They won't."
The finality in his tone leaves no room for argument. Still, doubt coils tight in my chest.
He releases me before I can stop him and strides toward the door. He pauses with his hand on the handle. His grip tightens on the wood, knuckles whitening, and he exhales slowly—like it's taking everything in him not to turn around.
"Get dressed. I'll wait outside."
"Wai—"
But he's already gone.
The door clicks shut behind him.
Cool. Fun. Can't wait.
Nothing like a council meeting with a hundred wolves who'd love to rip my throat out.
At least the wardrobe has clothes that actually fit. Simple—dark pants, a soft grey shirt—but clean. I get dressed quickly, rolling the pants up at my ankles so I don't trip over them. Still a little big, but it'll do.
I run my fingers through my almost dry hair, start braiding it out of habit—and realize I have nothing to tie it with.
Where even is my hair tie? Did I even have one?
I try to remember. I can't.
I let the braid fall apart again and open the door.
He's leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed. There's a quiet confidence in his posture, an easy assurance in every line of his body. Maz is mid-sentence beside him—something about the Council—but he isn't listening. Not even pretending to.
His eyes find mine the moment I step out.
Something about the way he looks at me calms me immediately. I struggle with my anxiety more often than I'd like to admit, but his presence somehow makes me feel more in control. Maybe it's because I know he'll always have my back.
I've never had that before—someone so fiercely loyal, so unwavering. Never thought it was possible. And twenty minutes ago, I thought I'd lost it before I even had the chance to understand what it was.
It's almost like he can hear what I'm thinking. His expression softens, just slightly—enough that only I would notice—and a small smile curls at the corner of his lips. Something warm flickers in his eyes, a silent reassurance meant only for me.
I feel his calmness spreading through my chest, settling somewhere deep beneath my ribs.
I lean against the doorframe and hold his gaze.
Maz trails off. Looks between us. Sighs. His eyebrows climb higher the longer neither of us speaks."Should I... leave again? Come back in an hour? A year?"
He pushes off the wall. "Ready?"
He stops in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head to look at him. His hand finds my chin, tilts it up.
"You're good Communicator."
He can read me so well now—my doubt, my insecurity, all of it. I breathe in deeply. But he's right. I've walked into worse and I'm still standing.
We start walking, and Maz falls into step beside him, clearing his throat loudly before launching into a status report. Border patrols. Supply routes. Guard rotations.
"And the Miller woman?" he asks.
"Secure. Won't stop asking questions, though." Maz shakes his head, seeming grateful for the change of subject. "Every time I check on her, she's got something new to say. She's... persistent. I'll give her that."
My attention keeps snagging on other things as we walk.
The way wolves we pass flatten themselves against the walls to let us through. The way their eyes track me.
A woman with dark braided hair stops mid-conversation when she sees us. Her companion—older, grey at his temples—physically pulls her back against the stone wall.
"Human," she mutters. Not quite under her breath.
I turn my head. Find her eyes. Hold them.
She looks away first.
I keep walking. More tunnels. More wolves pressing against walls, watching me with suspicion or outright hostility. I feel their stares like physical pressure against my skin.
"Traitor," someone whispers.
I find the voice. A woman, middle-aged, standing in a doorway. I hold her gaze until she presses her lips together and looks at the floor.
His hand closes around my wrist. Pulls me closer to his side.
I glance at his face. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping. His eyes pale.
Pale blue, almost white.
We pass under a massive stone archway carved with more of those symbols. The tunnel opens up into a vast chamber—high ceilings supported by thick pillars.
The Council Chamber.
It's chaos.
Voices overlap from every direction. Wolves stand in clusters around a central stone table, arguing, gesturing, talking over each other. Some are in what looks like formal clothing—deep colors, structured cuts. Others wear the same tactical uniforms I've seen on the guards.
The Leader stops just before the entrance. His hand slides from my wrist down to my hand, fingers threading through mine.
The moment we enter, the noise falters.
Then it surges back, louder than before.
"—she can't be here—"
"—what is he thinking—"
"—look at his eyes—"
"—this is unprecedented—"
The Leader walks forward, and I walk with him. He doesn't raise his voice. Doesn't rush. Just moves toward the center of the chamber with a steady, unhurried pace, my hand still in his.
The crowd parts for us. Wolves step back, pressing against each other to make room. The noise begins to die—not all at once, but in waves, spreading outward from wherever his gaze lands.
By the time we reach the central table, the chamber is silent.
Mera appears at my other side. I didn't even see her approach. She doesn't say anything, just stands there, her shoulder almost touching mine.
"His eyes," someone nearby whispers. "Look at his eyes."
"Quiet." A woman in deep red robes—Council, I assume—silences them with a sharp gesture.
He speaks.
"A lot has happened in the past few weeks. I'm sure you all want to know what happened to me, and what the plan for the pack is." He pauses. "But before we discuss any of that—from now on, you will treat our Communicator with respect and... kindness."
Silence.
His voice drops lower. Harder. "It doesn't matter if I'm not there. It doesn't matter if I don't remember anything."
His pale eyes sweep the room. "It doesn't matter if I am dead. You will treat her with respect. That is not a request."
Someone in formal robes stands. An older woman, her grey hair pulled back severely from her face.
"It is forbidden."
The Leader doesn't move.
"A human and a wolf," she continues, her voice ringing through the chamber. "It is forbidden."
"Yes, it is." His tone is calm. Confident. "But there is one exception."
He turns to face her directly.
"She is my mate. There is no rule that stands above a mated couple. None."
Silence again.
A man steps forward—younger than the first Council member, but wearing the same formal robes. "And to whom is she loyal?" His eyes find me across the chamber, the hatred palpable. "Who will you fight for, human?"
"Obviously with her mate, when it comes to it," someone mutters.
"Can she even fight?" another voice calls out.
"She's a Communicator. They don't fight. They talk."
"Talking won't save us when Miller attacks."
"Let her answer." A woman with sharp features leans forward. "She's been awfully quiet."
Before he can speak or answer for me, I step forward.
They deserve an answer. If they are to respect me, they need to know where I stand.
"I always believed that communication is the only solution for mankind and wolves." My voice comes out steady. "That violence just leads to more violence."
Someone scoffs.
"But even I can see the great injustices happening against wolves in this world. The humans I worked with experimented on your kind. Treated you like animals. Still, I know that sometimes truth lies between two sides."
I look around the chamber, meeting eyes where I can. "You have all lived in one reality, while humans lived in another. You are taught, from when you're young, that humans are liars. Filthy. Weak. Brutal. Ignorant to anything but themselves."
I take a breath.
"And humans are taught the same about you. That wolves are dangerous. Evil. Wild."
The chamber is completely silent now. Not the hostile silence from before—something different. Something almost like attention.
"When I was a child, a wolf killed my mother. She didn't attack him. We were just walking, hand in hand. He killed her, then looked at me and said it was punishment enough, being human. That I should live on without my mother."
My voice wavers slightly on the last word.
"My mother always told me to listen. Really listen—to humans or wolves. Always. She told me to respect and be kind. She told me to always defend what's right, but not with violence. With words."
I lift my chin.
"I will always pick the side of peace. I will always be loyal to those seeking it.
I will support this pack, and still be true to myself.
I will not kill for you. Or for anyone.
It is not in my power, or in my position, to decide who will live and die.
But I will always support your freedom and your peace, with all I have. "
I pause.
"That is to say—most of all, and foremost—with my voice."
The silence stretches.
He moves until he's standing beside me again. His hand finds mine again, fingers threading through, and he squeezes once.
"You heard her," he says to the chamber. "That is my mate. And anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with me."
No one speaks.
"Good." He turns to the Council table. "Now. Let's discuss what actually matters."