"He didn't touch me. He didn't need to. His voice alone told the room who I belonged to."
The silence after I left Kael's office wasn't comforting.
It followed me through the stone corridors like a shadow I couldn't shake — thick, expectant, heavy with words that hadn't been spoken. I hadn't turned back, hadn't looked at him again, but I felt him watching me until the door clicked shut behind me.
The feeling lingered on my skin like a physical touch, like fingertips trailing down my spine. My wolf paced anxiously within me, torn between relief and disappointment. She'd expected more from that confrontation. So had I, if I was being honest with myself.
Something uneasy settled in my stomach. A room within his territory meant he wanted me close. Accessible. Under his watchful eye. Whether that was for my protection or his control remained to be seen.
The young woman leading me kept her eyes forward, never quite meeting my gaze. Her shoulders were tense under her simple gray tunic, and she walked with the careful precision of someone trying not to make a mistake. She had been given a task by her Alpha, and failure wasn't an option.
"The east wing has been prepared for your arrival," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. The words seemed rehearsed, as if she'd practiced them on the way to Kael's office. "Alpha Blackthorn was... specific about the arrangements."
Specific. The word hung in the air between us. I wondered just how specific Kael had been.
Two guards joined us at the main staircase—both male, both wearing the silver-gray colors of Kael's inner circle. Both watching me with expressions that mixed curiosity with wariness. The wolf pendant each wore at their throats marked them as warriors who had earned their place through blood and loyalty.
Neither spoke as they flanked us, one ahead, one behind. A protective detail, or prison guards? The line between the two had always been thin in Crescent Hall.
I walked in silence beside them, every footstep echoing against the cold stone floors of Crescent Hall. My boots left faint impressions in the ancient dust, marks that would be gone by morning. Nothing permanent remained in this place, not unless Kael willed it so.
The torches lining the walls cast dancing shadows across the stone, illuminating the history carved into every surface. Battles won, treaties signed, alliances forged and broken—all recorded in the intricate detailing that transformed what could have been a fortress into something approaching a palace. Generations of Blackthorn Alphas had added their mark to these walls, but none had reshaped them as thoroughly as Kael had in his five years of rule.
Unlike the Elder Council's eastern compound — all sterile runes and ceremonial rigidity — this place felt... alive. Ancient magic laced the corners. The walls whispered with heat and memory.
This wasn't a place where rules lived.
It was a place where power ruled.
And Kael was the one who made the rules here.
I could feel traces of him everywhere — in the carefully positioned lanterns that cast pools of amber light across our path, in the tapestries depicting ancient wolf legends that hung on walls he'd personally restored, in the layout that spoke of a mind constantly planning, constantly improving. Even weakened, even unable to shift, his presence saturated every stone.
We passed the great hall where pack gatherings were held, its massive doors standing open to reveal the cavernous space beyond. A fire burned low in the central hearth, and shadows moved around the perimeter—servants preparing for the night meal, or perhaps warriors discussing strategies away from prying eyes. Someone was playing a low, haunting melody on a string instrument I couldn't identify, the notes carrying through the still air like ghosts.
I tried not to notice the curious glances from other pack members as we passed. Tried not to hear the whispers that followed in our wake. They knew who I was. What I had been to their Alpha. What had happened between us. The story had spread through every territory by now, growing more distorted with each telling.
Each murmur was a blade between my ribs, sharp and twisting. My chin lifted instinctively, my spine straightened. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me flinch, of knowing how each whispered condemnation landed like a physical blow.
The girl seemed to sense my discomfort. Her steps quickened slightly, leading us away from the more populated areas of the hall and down a narrower corridor. The gray stone here gave way to polished wood paneling, the ceiling rising to vaulted arches supported by beams carved to resemble intertwined branches. Moonlight filtered through high windows, casting silver patterns across the floor to mingle with the golden glow of the lanterns.
We passed closed doors carved with symbols I didn't recognize. Some pulsed faintly as we walked by, responding to my energy — or perhaps resisting it. I couldn't tell. My fingers brushed against one as we passed, and a sharp jolt of energy traveled up my arm, making me gasp.
"Don't touch them," The girl warned, glancing back. "They're keyed to recognize pack members only. Anyone else gets... discouraged."
A polite way of saying the wards would likely have sent a more powerful shock had I pressed my palm flat against the symbol. I withdrew my hand, flexing my fingers to dispel the lingering tingle of foreign magic.
The guards took me deeper into the east wing than I'd expected, past rooms. Past the library. Past the small courtyard. When we reached the far end of a quiet corridor, one of the guards stopped in front of a wide oak door. Unlike the others we'd passed, this one bore no runes, no markings. Just polished wood, simple iron hinges.
He opened it slowly and stepped aside.
"Your room."
I stepped through.
And froze.
The room was nothing like I expected.
It was... warm.
Not in temperature — in presence.
Soft lamplight cast golden glow across stone walls draped in deep velvet. A fireplace crackled in one corner, low and steady. The bed — massive, dark wood, dressed in silver and black — dominated the space, its sheets smooth and untouched.
But it was the details that stole my breath.
A small vial of lavender oil sat on the bedside table. Beside it, a copy of "The Wild Hunt's Daughter," A wardrobe stood to the side. When I carefully opened its doors, I found clothes that fit my frame perfectly. My fingers brushed against a soft blue tunic.
Shelves lined with books. A writing desk positioned near the window, stocked with parchment, ink, and quills. A chair by the window, positioned to catch the best of the morning light.
Heavy curtains that would block out the dawn when pulled closed. Thick rugs beneath my boots, woven in patterns that reminded me of the forests where I'd grown up. And across the fireplace mantel, a single vase of moon lilies — white and glowing faintly in the dim. Moon lilies. The flowers that only bloomed during the full moon.
He'd prepared it.
Kael.
Not servants. Not underlings. Him.
I didn't know how I knew.
But I did.
This wasn't a guest room. This was a decision.
A message written in objects instead of words.
My hands trembled slightly as I moved further into the space. Every object felt like a weapon — not aimed to hurt, but to remind. This wasn't the room of a prisoner or an unwelcome guest. This was the room of someone expected to stay.
The guards and the girl remained at the doorway, watching my reaction with wary curiosity. I schooled my expression, unwilling to let them see how deeply the sight of this room—this carefully constructed memorial to what had been—affected me.
"Will there be anything else you require?" The girl asked, her voice soft.
I shook my head, not trusting my voice to remain steady if I spoke. She nodded and slipped away, the guards following after a moment's hesitation. The door closed behind them with a soft click that sounded far too final in the quiet room.
I stood in the center of the space long after they had left.
Why had he brought me here?
To control me?
To protect me?
To remind himself what he'd rejected?
Or maybe…
Because even now, his wolf didn't want me anywhere else.
The thought sent a shiver down my spine. Made my wolf stir restlessly beneath my skin, eager and afraid all at once. She recognized his scent lingering in the air, faint but unmistakable. Pine and smoke and something wild that had once been as familiar to me as my own heartbeat.
I shook the thought away and crossed to the window.
Outside, the courtyard was draped in moonlight. Fog hung low over the grass, curling around the ancient oaks that had stood sentinel over Crescent Hall for centuries. Torches burned at regular intervals along the perimeter wall, their flames steady despite the gentle breeze that rustled through the leaves.
In the distance, beyond the walls, the forest stretched dark and deep—Blackthorn territory extending for miles in every direction. My wolf whined, pressing against the confines of my human form, wanting to join them. Wanting to feel earth beneath her paws again instead of stone beneath my boots.
Shadows moved in the distance — guards, maybe. Or Kael himself.
I didn't close the curtains.
Let him watch.
Let him see that I wasn't hiding. Wasn't cowering. That despite everything that had happened between us, despite the power he held within these walls, I wouldn't shrink from his gaze.
The sky was clear tonight, stars scattered like diamond dust across black velvet. The moon hung low on the horizon, not quite full. Three days until the peak of its power.
I was just sitting on the bed, undoing the silver pin of my cloak, when the knock came.
Sharp. Formal.
Not Kael.
This was three quick strikes against wood. Demanding. Insistent. A pattern I recognized from my time with the Council—their distinctive announcement, designed to convey authority before they even entered a room.
The door opened before I could respond.
Three figures entered — cloaked in deep gray, hoods down.
Elder Mirella, Elder Thorne, and Elder Ren.
The room suddenly felt colder.
Their presence brought with it a different kind of magic — sterile, controlled, ancient in a way that felt stifling rather than alive. The fire in the hearth dimmed slightly, as if responding to their disapproval.
"Evelyn Hart," Mirella said without preamble. "We weren't informed of this arrangement."