"A summons may come dressed in wax and seal, but sometimes it's not duty that calls—it's destiny refusing to be ignored."
By the time I pulled up to the cabin, the night had swallowed the forest whole. Pines loomed like dark sentinels, their branches whispering in the wind, and the gravel crunch beneath my boots was the only sound as I walked to the front porch. Elias's place was the definition of "leave me the hell alone," a sturdy log cabin tucked deep in the woods, curtains drawn, one light on in the living room like he was trying to pretend civilization did not exist.
I knocked once and then twice.
"Elias, open. It is me."
A muffled curse came from inside. The door creaked open a few inches, revealing Elias in sweatpants, hair a disheveled mess, a glass of whiskey in one hand. He looked like someone who had declared war on society and was winning.
"You'd better have a good reason for coming over, Juno," he muttered. "Because if this is about the quarterly reports, I'll set fire to them and then set fire to you."
I pushed the envelope against his chest. "Better than reports I bring to you, Royal summons."
He blinked at it, then at me, then back at the envelope like it might explode. Finally, he tore it open, his eyes scanning the neat, practiced handwriting. I watched his face shift from mild irritation to disbelief, and finally, to the kind of fury that could level buildings.
"No. Absolutely not." He said and raised his hands defensively.
"That's not exactly optional," I said carefully, stepping past him into the cabin before he could slam the door in my face.
Elias tossed the letter onto the table and stalked after me. "The King of the Northern Shifter Kingdom thinks he can just what? Snap his fingers, and I will come running? Like, I am some obedient guard dog? Fucking unbelievable."
"You own a security firm," I reminded him, lowering myself onto his couch. "Technically, you are in the business of running when summoned."
He shot me a look that could have cut glass. "Don't get cute."
I raised both hands. "Not trying. Just saying, this is the King. Kings get what they want and It is their whole thing."
Elias paced, running a hand through his hair. "And what he wants is me. Don't you see? This is not about Blackthorne Security, Juno. It is about Alaric playing games again and using his crown, his council, his fancy wax seals to drag me into his world."
I tilted my head. "You say that like it's the worst thing in the universe."
"It is." Elias whirled on me, eyes blazing. "I built this life, Juno, away from all that. Away from politics, power struggles, ridiculous marriages, and scheming royals. I am not about to become some pawn in King Alaric's little chess match."
I almost laughed, because the way he said "Alaric" was less hateful and more, let us call it unresolved something. It clung to his words like smoke.
"You sound very passionate for someone who doesn't care," I drawled.
"Don't." He pointed at me like a weapon. "Don't even start with your insinuations."
"Not insinuating. Just observing." I leaned back on the couch, smirking. "You are glowing when you curse his name. Most people do not get that worked up unless there's history."
Elias's glare deepened, but the tips of his ears betrayed him with the faintest flush. He turned away, pouring himself another glass of whiskey.
"I hate him." He cursed.
"Sure," I responded.
"I do." He asserted
"Definitely."
"I mean it, Juno." He downed half the glass in one gulp.
I shrugged. "Hate, love, both are obsessions, and at least you are consistent."
He groaned, dragging his hand down. "This is a nightmare."
"Well," I said lightly, "look on the bright side. At least he did not show up at your doorstep personally. Imagine the scandal if your neighbors saw a King knocking at your cabin in the woods."
Elias turned back to me, exasperated beyond belief. "You think this is funny?"
"Kind of," I admitted. "Watching you unravel over one letter is more entertaining than most dramas on television."
He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "traitor" under his breath and dropped onto the armchair across from me. The letter still sat on the table between us, its royal crest gleaming under the lamp. "Do you even understand what this means, Juno?" he demanded. "If I set foot in that Kingdom, I will be under their scrutiny. Under his scrutiny, and every council member, every wolf, every spy will be watching. I will lose the last shred of anonymity I have managed to cling to."
I considered that, and he was not wrong. Elias Blackthorne was good at hiding in plain sight, at burying the storm that lived under his skin. Dragging him into the center of shifter politics was like throwing gasoline on a fire, but still, "You also might finally get answers," I said softly.
Elias froze. "Answers to what?"
"You know what."
His jaw tightened, eyes flashing. For a moment, I thought he would hurl the glass at me. Instead, he let out a long, slow breath. "You should go."
I arched a brow. "Kicking me out already?"
"Yes. Before I say something, I regret." He whispered.
"Too late," I teased. "You already admitted you hate the King with suspiciously romantic levels of passion."
"Get. Out."
I stood, grinning despite myself. "Fine, fine. But do not shoot the messenger, Elias. This summons is not going away. You have a week to figure out whether you want to walk into the lion's den or let the lion come find you."
He did not answer, just stared at the fire like it held the solution to his problems. For the first time, I saw past the irritation to the fear under it. Not fear of Alaric, but fear of himself. Fear of what might happen if the two of them collided again.
I left him there, with the letter and the whiskey and the storm brewing behind his eyes.
And as I stepped back into the night, I could not help but wonder which would burn brighter in the end: Elias's fury… or whatever it was he refused to admit he still felt for Alaric.