"Evelyn Hart," Mirella said without preamble. "We weren't informed of this arrangement."
Her voice carried the weight of centuries of tradition. Of rules I'd been taught to respect since childhood. Of power that had once seemed absolute before I'd learned just how political—how human—the Council truly was.
I stood slowly. "I wasn't either."
My cloak slipped from my shoulders as I rose, pooling on the bed behind me. I didn't reach for it. Didn't try to wrap myself in its protection. Let them see me as I was — not the obedient healer they'd trained, but the woman who had survived their teachings and grown beyond them.
Thorne stepped forward. His eyes flicked around the room, noting the details that made it clear this was no ordinary guest chamber. "You were placed under the protection of the Council. No Alpha has the right to override our authority in cases of magical awakening."
His words carried a subtle warning.
"Well," came a familiar voice from behind them, cold and steady, "it seems one just did."
They turned.
Kael stepped into the room like a storm forming in the doorway.
He'd changed since our confrontation in his office. The formal attire was gone, replaced by simple black pants and a dark gray tunic that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. His hair was damp, as if he'd just bathed. But his eyes — they were the same. Storm-gray and intense. Focused.
He didn't look at me. Not yet.
His eyes were locked on the Elders — cold, unreadable, glinting with restrained dominance.
The bond between us hummed with his anger, controlled but potent. Not directed at me, for once, but at the intrusion. At the challenge to his authority within his own walls.
Mirella's lips thinned. "Alpha Blackthorn, this is a matter beyond Crescent jurisdiction."
She used his title formally, a subtle reminder that his power, while significant, had limits. That the Council existed precisely to check Alphas who believed their dominion absolute.
"The Council granted temporary sanctuary to Healer Hart during her... adjustment period. That arrangement was never intended to be permanent." She spoke as if I weren't in the room, as if this were simply a matter of territory boundaries and political chess.
Thorne nodded in agreement. "Her abilities are still unstable. The training must continue under neutral supervision."
Kael took another step into the room. His movement was fluid despite his inability to shift, a predator in human form. "She is mine."
That one word silenced the room like a snapped chain.
Not romantic.
Not soft.
Just… true.
A declaration that brooked no argument. That referenced laws older than the Council itself. Laws of blood and bond and magic that even they couldn't deny.
I felt the claim like a physical touch. Like fingers closing around my heart. My wolf responded without my permission, a warmth spreading through my limbs, a recognition I couldn't suppress despite everything that had happened.
He turned his gaze to Mirella. "You and I both know the bond still exists."
His words laid bare the truth we'd all been dancing around.
The bond remained — wounded but unbroken. A tether neither of us could sever despite our best efforts.
Thorne bristled. "But it is corrupted."
"Which is why she should be nowhere near you," Ren added.
The youngest Elder stepped forward, his hand moving subtly to the silver dagger at his belt. Not a threat — not quite — but a reminder of his readiness to enforce the Council's will if necessary.
Kael didn't flinch.
Didn't reach for a weapon of his own.
He didn't need to.
Even without his wolf form, even with his power diminished, he radiated authority that made Ren's posturing seem childish by comparison. This was the man who had united three fractured territories under a single banner. Who had brokered peace with the eastern clans after decades of bloodshed. Who had faced down challengers twice his age and emerged victorious before he'd turned twenty-one.
"You came here to inform me of your disapproval?" he asked coolly. "Or to take what doesn't belong to you?"
Mirella stepped forward. Her eyes flicked to me briefly before returning to Kael. "She is developing power beyond known control. Her presence must be monitored."
There it was. The real reason they'd taken me in. Not out of concern for my wellbeing. Not out of compassion for a woman fleeing a broken bond. But because they feared what I was becoming. What I might do if left unchecked.
What I might discover about them if given freedom to explore my gifts.
"She is being monitored," Kael replied, his voice deceptively calm.
"In a neutral location," she corrected.
Neutral. As if their compound with its wards and restrictions had been anything but a prison dressed in nicer clothes. As if their "guidance" had been anything but control. As if the tests they'd subjected me to—pushing my abilities to breaking point and beyond—had been for my benefit rather than their understanding.
Kael's expression didn't change. "This is neutral."
"This is your home."
"She is in my territory."
His territory. The lands he had inherited through bloodline and earned through combat. The forests and mountains and valleys that bore his mark, that responded to his will. The places where his word was law, where his protection was absolute.
Thorne tried again, more gently. "Kael, be reasonable. You didn't even inform us—"
"I don't have to."
His voice dropped to a near-growl.
The air in the room thickened with his power. Not magic, not exactly, but something more primal. The essence of Alpha that transcended his current inability to shift. That reminded everyone present that his authority wasn't granted by council or committee, but born of blood and sacrifice and the ancient laws that governed our kind.
"I am the Alpha of this land. I don't answer to you before making decisions regarding my territory. Or my mate."
He finally looked at me then.
Our eyes locked across the room, across the gulf of betrayal and pain that separated us. Across a bond that pulled taut between us, vibrating with tension and something deeper. Something neither of us wanted to name.
The word hung between us.
Mate.
Not omega.
Not guest.
Not inconvenience.
And he'd said it in front of the Elders.
Something inside me trembled.
Not from fear.
From recognition.
From the terrible, wonderful knowledge that despite everything — he still claimed me.
The Elders didn't leave right away.
They turned to me, ignoring Kael for the moment.
As if I were the real target. As if I were the one they'd come to persuade. Or threaten.
"You will continue your progression alone, then," Mirella said coldly. "Without our protection."
Protection. Such a pretty word for what they'd offered. For the tests and trials they'd put me through. For the ways they'd tried to channel my growing power into forms they could understand. Could control.
"You were never protecting me," I said, voice even. "You were containing me."
Her expression tightened. A flicker of something — not quite fear, but close — crossed her features before she schooled them back to impassivity. "You don't understand what you carry."
What I carried. Not who I was. Not what I could do. But what lived inside me now, growing stronger with each passing day. The thing they feared more than they feared Kael.
"Maybe not," I said. "But neither do you. Or you wouldn't be so scared of it."
The truth hung in the air between us, sharp as a blade. They didn't understand what was happening to me. None of us did. But unlike them, I wasn't afraid of it anymore. Couldn't afford to be.
Ren spoke now. "If you experience uncontrolled surges or magical instability, we expect to be notified immediately."
His hand had moved from his dagger, but the threat remained. Unspoken but clear: they were watching. Waiting for me to fail. For the power within me to prove too much to handle.
For an excuse to take me back by force if necessary.
Kael stepped in front of me, just slightly.
It wasn't dramatic.
It was deliberate.
A subtle positioning that placed his body between me and perceived threat. That signaled his intent without needing to draw a weapon or bare teeth. That reminded everyone in the room of the basic, primal truth at the heart of all our politics and power games:
An Alpha protects what is his.
"Try to take her from this place," he said softly, "and you will leave with more than disappointment."
It wasn't a threat.
It was a truth.
A promise written in the steady gaze he leveled at each Elder in turn. In the controlled stillness of his posture. In the subtle shift of energy in the room as his will pressed against theirs.
Even wounded. Even diminished. Even unable to shift.
He was still Kael Blackthorn, Alpha of the Crescent Territories. And within these walls, his word was law.
The Elders didn't argue.
Didn't press their case further.
They knew when a battle was lost. Knew when to retreat and regroup. Knew that while they might have greater collective power, here, now, they were outmatched.
But their eyes warned me.
Don't trust him.
Don't forget us.
Don't think this is over.
Mirella was the last to leave. At the threshold, she paused, turned back. Her gaze found mine over Kael's shoulder. "Remember what we discussed, Evelyn. About power. About bonds. About the price of breaking what was never meant to break."
Then she was gone, the door closing quietly behind her.
When the door finally closed behind them, I didn't move.
Neither did Kael.
The silence crackled again — not with anger this time.
With something else.
Possession.
Restraint.
The echo of words he didn't take back.
He'd called me his mate.
Not in apology.
In claim.
And I hadn't corrected him.
Hadn't denied it in front of the Elders or after they'd gone. Hadn't thrown the word back at him like the weapon it could have been. Hadn't reminded him of all the reasons that word should have been buried alongside everything else we'd lost.
The room seemed smaller now, with just the two of us in it. The fire in the hearth burned brighter again, casting his shadow long across the floor until it nearly touched my feet. The bond between us hummed, no longer painful but alert. Waiting.
Outside, an owl called into the night. Once, twice, three times — an omen of change, according to the old stories. A herald of truths soon to be revealed.
Kael still hadn't turned to face me.
His back remained to me, shoulders rising and falling with each measured breath. His hands were loose at his sides, but I could see the tension in his fingers. The effort it took not to clench them into fists.
Or reach for me.
The choice hung between us, fragile as spun glass. To acknowledge what had just happened. To ignore it.
Or to burn the remnants to ash once and for all.
I waited for him to speak.
He said nothing.
Just stood there, a silhouette cut from shadow and firelight, as unreachable as the moon outside my window. As familiar as my own heartbeat.
And I realized, with a clarity that stole my breath, that this was his answer. This silence. This waiting.