JAMIE
I shouldn't have been there.
But I was.
The perimeter of the training grounds still smelled of cold metal and frosted earth. I hid within the shadows between the trees, close enough so as not to be noticed, far enough to watch.
I reminded myself that it was just a walk. A breath of fresh air. A way to escape the pressure that had been brewing in my chest since the Hall. Since Andrew looked at me and dismissed me like I was nothing to him.
That was a lie.
I'm here because I missed him.
Although I couldn't stand beside him, I couldn't stand to be far away, either.
He was practising alone. Each movement was a swift cut of precision and rage, like he was trying to cleanse himself of something gnawing inside him. I'd never seen him like this—this coiled, this barely holding on.
He hadn't even noticed I was observing. Or maybe he had and just didn't care anymore.
Then Cassian appeared.
Naturally, it had to be him. Strutting out onto the field like a thundercloud with a sneer. He and his pack members—shadows cut from the same cruel-hearted fabric. What was exchanged between him and Andrew was biting, even across the space. I couldn't quite make out everything they said, but I didn't have to. I knew Cassian's kind. I'd spent half my life under their scorn.
He said something that froze Andrew in place.
Then his eyes flashed in my direction.
Cassian smiled. That awful, toxic smile.
And for an instant, Andrew lost it.
He closed the space between them so fast I didn't have time to catch my breath. Slammed Cassian like he was going to murder him.
But Caroline stepped in first.
Her voice shattered across the field and splintered whatever storm was forming. Andrew did not hit, though I could feel how close he had drawn. The power still emitted from him like warmth.
And then, his gaze found mine.
A moment. One second only.
But it destroyed me.
Because, for all the bewilderment, all the quiet and disarray, he still looked at me like I was present.
He came closer. Not all the way. Close enough to speak, voice low but filled with something primal.
"I have to speak to you," he said. "Tonight. Treehouse."
No apologies. No explanations.
Just that place. That place.
The memory came unbidden—the treehouse he used to take me to, hidden far in the woods beyond the lake. One night, we ran from the Elders' patrol and ended up tangled in moonlight, surrounded by wolfsbane, and gasping with laughter. He claimed it as his—some long-forgotten thing someone had built and left behind. A place to hide.
A place that had felt safe.
For a time.
I did not answer him.
Not then.
But I didn't go either.
*****
COUNCIL HALL – LATER THAT DAY
The Council Hall stank of smoke, wax, and thinly disguised motives.
Stone pillars lined up around the circle where the Elders sat, cloaks in piles around their feet like fallen silhouettes. Alpha Jackson stood in the middle, unflinching and uncompromising, while the newest reports droned on—border activity, scout rotations, supply shifts.
Then came the silence. The breath before the storm.
Maelin cleared his throat. "With respect, Alpha, we've yet to address a matter that concerns the future of this pack."
Jackson raised a brow. "Speak plainly."
"It's your son," Maelin said. "There are whispers."
Oona leaned in beside him, her voice smoother than silk drawn over a blade. "Why hasn't Andrew chosen a mate? It's been almost a year since the Choosing ceremony."
The room shifted. Quietly. Sharply.
"You know the law," Maelin continued, his voice still controlled. "No heir may assume the Alpha throne without a bonded mate. It's tradition—and safeguarding. For all of us."
Jackson did not waver. "You question his leadership?"
"Only his stability," Oona said before Maelin could add anything. "He is powerful. But power alone is not enough. Without the balancing force of a bond—of a mate—he is. Vulnerable. Loose."
Jackson's silence grew icy.
"And let's be practical," Oona said, folding her hands together. "You've ruled long and well since Mira passed on, Alpha. But even you must admit, it's nearly time to step down."
Maelin nodded deliberately. "The pack needs surety. Not just power, but lineage. Clarity."
That name—Mira—hung in the air.
Jackson's voice, when he made it, was soft. Measured. But filled with ice.
"Mira died protecting my daughter from a rival pack. She fought off five wolves and left her last breath watching over her pup until help arrived."
Oona shifted. Maelin glanced down.
Jackson would not give an inch.
"If you think that the loss of my mate has weakened my line, then you've read us wrong."
He moved forward, his gaze cutting across the ring like ice.
"I know the law. I know the traditions. And I will not ignore them. But I will not be motivated by fear or dictated to by the intolerance of those who wait like vultures."
The next silence was absolute.
"My son will be in command. When the time is right. When he is ready. Not when you think he is."
He stood tall, quiet, resolute, Alpha with every breath.
"And if anybody here thinks my wife's death gives them a right to question the fortitude of this family again, you will not like my reply."
No bellowing. No threats.
Only truth, stinging and indomitable.
And then he left the hall—shoulders squared, boots clomping behind him like meat-made thunder.
Maelin and Oona held their peace.
But the warning had been sent.
And received.