"The rival Alpha wasn't finished with me."
The crimson wax seal stared back at me from the polished oak table, its crest sharp in the flickering candlelight. Not just any crest-a wolf's head, jaws thrown wide in a perpetual snarl, surrounded by curling vines of iron that seemed to writhe in the dancing shadows. The Wicke family mark, ancient and arrogant, carved deep into the blood-red wax.
My wolf stirred uneasily beneath my skin, hackles rising at the sight of it. Even in this small token, Gideon's presence felt invasive, predatory. The scent of the scroll itself carried traces of his territory-pine smoke and something sharper, metallic, like the taste of blood on winter air.
The Elders shifted in their seats, the leather creaking softly as they leaned forward with barely concealed interest. Elder Vera's nostrils flared delicately, reading the pheromones rolling off the parchment. Elder Thorne's fingers drummed once against the table, a nervous habit I'd noticed earlier.
Headmaster Aldric broke the seal with deliberate care, the wax cracking like breaking bones. The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the heavy silence of the chamber. He unrolled the parchment slowly, his weathered hands steady despite the tension radiating through the room.
His eyes moved across the elegant script, and I watched his expression shift from neutral curiosity to something darker. A muscle in his jaw tightened. His scent sharpened with the acrid tang of wariness.
When he finished reading, his gaze lifted to find mine across the table. The weight of his stare felt like the moon itself pressing down on my shoulders.
"It seems that Alpha Wicke has extended an invitation." The words fell like stones into still water, each one creating ripples of unease through the assembled wolves.
The word invitation tasted like poison on my tongue before I'd even spoken it aloud. In the world of pack politics, invitations from rivals were rarely what they appeared to be.
Without ceremony, the Headmaster slid the scroll across the table toward me. The parchment whispered against the wood, and my hands trembled faintly as I unrolled it. The paper was expensive, thick and cream-colored, with the kind of weight that spoke of old money and older power.
The words were written in bold, sweeping strokes that managed to be both elegant and somehow threatening. Every curve of the letters was a performance, designed to impress and intimidate in equal measure.
To Miss Elara Bennett,
You are formally invited to the Wicke family estate, under the sacred banner of peace and parley. It has become clear that the events of recent days require discussion between us-frank words spoken without the interference or observation of Academy authority.
Let this meeting serve as the first step toward resolving what the moon herself has set into motion. There are matters of honor, territory, and blood that demand attention.
I await your response with great anticipation.
-Gideon Wicke, heir to the Wicke territories
The formal language couldn't mask the underlying arrogance. I could practically hear his voice in the elegant script-silky and controlled on the surface, but with that familiar edge of barely restrained violence underneath.
Peaceful talks. Right.
"Elara." Celeste's voice cut through my concentration like a blade. She'd been reading over my shoulder, and her sharp intake of breath told me she understood the implications as clearly as I did. "It's a trap. Of course it is. You can't seriously be considering this."
Her words hit the chamber like a thrown stone, ripples of reaction spreading through the assembled Elders. Some leaned back in their chairs, suddenly wary. Others seemed almost intrigued by the possibility of drama unfolding.
Elder Marcus cleared his throat softly. "The Wicke estate is... formidable. Ancient territory, well-defended. If young Gideon means harm..."
"He always means harm," Elder Vera said dryly. "The question is whether he's bold enough to act on his own lands, under his family's protection."
Before I could formulate a response, another voice joined the conversation-steady, loyal, uncompromising.
"If she goes, she won't go alone."
Caleb stepped forward from where he'd been standing near the chamber doors, moving into the circle of candlelight with that quiet confidence I'd come to rely on. His presence was like an anchor in stormy seas, solid and reassuring when everything else felt uncertain.
"I'll be there," he continued, his gaze meeting mine steadily. "Whatever this is, whatever he's planning-you don't face it without backup."
Warmth flickered in my chest, gratitude mixing with something deeper. Caleb's loyalty was the quiet kind, not given to grand gestures or flowery declarations. But when it mattered-when the chips were down and the wolves were circling-he was always there.
The decision wasn't simple, though. If I accepted Gideon's invitation, I'd be walking into his stronghold, his family's ancestral territory where every tree and stone would be aligned against me. There would be no neutral ground, no Academy protocols to provide even the illusion of safety. Every step would be weighted in his favor.
But if I refused-if I stayed safely behind Academy walls-it would brand me as weak. Afraid. And in the brutal calculus of pack politics, weakness was a luxury I couldn't afford. Not with whispers already painting me as unstable, dangerous, a rogue element that didn't belong.
The Council remained diplomatically silent, but their attention was its own kind of pressure. They wanted to see what I would choose, how I would handle this first real test of my resolve. Every Alpha hopeful faced moments like this-crossroads where the safe path and the right path diverged sharply.
That's when another voice cut through the chamber like lightning splitting the night sky.
"He dares?"
Darius burst through the doors with barely controlled fury radiating from every line of his body. He was still marked by bruises from our earlier duel-a split lip that hadn't quite healed, discolored skin along his jaw, knuckles raw from where they'd connected with my defenses. But none of that mattered now.
His golden eyes locked on me first, then swept to the scroll in my hands. When he recognized the Wicke crest, his lips curled back in a snarl that was more wolf than human.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. The Elders sat straighter in their chairs, suddenly alert to the dangerous energy crackling between us. Even the candle flames seemed to flicker in response to his barely leashed aggression.
"You won't go." His voice was steel wrapped in silk, sharp enough to cut. "You won't walk into his hands like some naive pup. I'll forbid it if I have to."
Something snapped inside me at that word-forbid.
My spine stiffened, chin lifting as I met his blazing stare without flinching. "You don't control me, Darius. Not now. Not ever."
The mate bond surged between us like a live wire, painful in its intensity. My wolf strained toward him even as my pride recoiled from his presumption. I could see the war playing out across his features-the instinct to protect warring with his understanding of what his words had cost him.
His jaw clenched, fists tightening at his sides, but something in my expression must have warned him off pushing further.
"Elara, please." Celeste's hand found my arm, her grip urgent. "Don't do this. It's too dangerous, too isolated. If something goes wrong..."
"Then let me come with you," Caleb said quietly. "If you're determined to walk into this, at least don't do it alone."
The voices swirled around me-concern, anger, loyalty, fear. Each person pulling me in a different direction, each convinced they knew what was best. But in the end, the choice was mine alone.
I closed my eyes for a heartbeat, weighing pride against prudence, strength against safety. When I opened them again, the decision crystallized with perfect clarity.
"I'll go."