Dinner eventually dissolves into something almost normal.
Plates are cleared, chairs scrape softly against the floor, and conversations break into smaller pockets of sound. No one rushes to leave. It's as if we're all clinging to this fragile pause in the chaos, pretending—for just a little while—that the world isn't tilting on its axis.
The men gather near the far end of the dining room, voices low and intense. Kieran stands at the center of them, shoulders squared, jaw tight as Dawson and David speak in quiet, clipped tones. I don't need to hear the words to know what they're talking about.
The Elders.
The threats.
The war is circling us like a patient predator.
On the opposite side of the room, I linger with the females, a glass of wine cradled loosely in my fingers. I sip without really tasting it, my thoughts drifting far from the present.
It's strange—how quickly everything changed.
The castle.
The truth about my parents.
The mark.
The crown I never asked for.
And Kieran.
My gaze betrays me, sliding back to him again and again. The way his hands move when he talks. The way his presence seems to command the room without effort. The way he keeps glancing back at me, like he needs to confirm I'm still here.
Still his.
My stomach tightens.
My mind drifts—dangerously—back to the moment outside the dining room. The heat of him. The way his hands never stopped touching me, like he was afraid I'd vanish if he let go. The kiss that had stolen my breath and my common sense. The way I'd whispered that invitation into his ear without fully realizing what I was doing.
My breathing picks up, subtle, but real.
Goddess, what possessed me to be that bold?
I take another sip of wine, my pulse fluttering as my thoughts spiral. His mouth. His voice. That low murmur at the table when he leaned close and told me to relax—told me he liked my dominance.
My thighs press together reflexively.
I bite my lip without thinking.
Fuck, I want him.
The realization lands hard and undeniable. His touch. His heat. The way he makes me feel grounded and unsteady all at once. The way he looks at me like I'm something precious and dangerous.
My chest tightens.
I'm so lost in it that I barely register the fingers snapping inches from my face.
"Earth to Sam."
I blink, startled, nearly sloshing wine over the rim of my glass.
Cameran is grinning at me like she just caught me committing a crime.
"Are you done mind-fucking Kieran yet?" she asks cheerfully.
My eyes widen. "What—Cameran!"
My face burns instantly, heat flooding my cheeks. "I was not!"
"Oh please," she scoffs. "You looked like you were about to grind the table."
Melanie bursts out laughing, clapping a hand over her mouth a second too late. Even Mayla turns away, shoulders shaking like she's suddenly fascinated by the wall.
I groan. "You're all impossible."
"Oh, you love me," Cameran says, bumping my shoulder lightly.
"I truly don't," I mutter, setting my wine down before I drop it.
Melanie sobers first, her smile softening. "I didn't mean to laugh at your… predicament," she says gently. "But she makes it impossible."
Cameran preens.
Then Melanie's tone shifts, turning serious. "I am sorry, though. For what you and Kieran are facing. It isn't fair. Fated mates shouldn't be separated—especially not by politics. If the Moon Goddess chose you, that should be the end of it."
Something warm settles in my chest. "Thank you."
Cameran's eyes light up suddenly. "Wait. That's actually a good idea."
We all look at her.
"What is?" Mayla asks cautiously.
Cameran straightens. "If there's going to be a war, there are sides. Why not expose the Elders? Publicly. Let the packs see what they're trying to do—defy the Goddess, force mates apart, manipulate the crown."
She gestures animatedly. "Lower-ranked wolves dream of finding their fated mates. You think they'll back the Elders once they realize that dream can be taken from them?"
The room goes quiet.
Melanie's eyes widen. "The acolytes would support that. The temples would."
Mayla hums thoughtfully. "If done carefully… it could work. Or it could explode. I'll bring it to Callen."
Before I can respond, one of the twins speaks from nearby.
"How about a run later tonight?" David asks. "Our wolves could use the air."
My stomach drops.
A run.
Shifting.
Fear coils tight in my chest.
I haven't shifted since the fire.
'You can,' Emma says softly.
I swallow. 'I don't know if—'
'Let's try,' she interrupts. 'For me. If it doesn't work, that's okay. But don't run from it anymore.'
Kieran speaks before I can. "Maybe another night. We're probably tired—"
"No," I say quickly.
Every head turns.
My heart pounds, but I lift my chin. "Maybe… maybe just a little while."
Kieran's smile is gentle, proud. Like he'd support me whether I ran or stayed.
Dawson nods. "We'll meet out back in a few hours."
Staff begin guiding us through the pack house. The halls are warm and lived-in—less luxury, more comfort. Soft lighting. Worn rugs. The scent of wood and earth.
Kieran takes my hand, and I let him.
Our room is simple, but spacious. A king-sized bed. A seating area. A bathroom tucked behind a wooden door.
I step inside, suddenly shy.
My thoughts spiral again—about him, about us, about what tonight might bring.
My nerves tighten the moment the door closes behind us. Kieran moves with an ease that comes from experience, from centuries of knowing exactly who he is and what he wants, and I'm painfully aware that I don't have that same confidence. The idea of being with him like that—of letting him see how inexperienced I am—makes my chest flutter with a mix of excitement and fear. What if I don't know what I'm doing? What if I disappoint him? I want him so badly it almost aches, but the vulnerability of it all settles deep in my bones, reminding me that this is one place where being strong, being fated, even being his mate, doesn't erase how exposed I feel.
Emma is not helping.
'You could just pounce on him,' she suggests helpfully, sending me a very vivid memory of Kieran naked in the woods.
I choke.
Kieran asks softly, "Are you okay?" brushing his fingers against my cheek.
I nod, even though my heart is racing.
Taking my hand, he guides me toward the sofa, his touch steady and grounding, like he's giving me time instead of taking it.
We sit close, knees brushing.
He asks about dinner. About the Elders. About Seraphina. About Valen.
Each name lands heavier than the last.
I answer honestly, my voice quiet, but steady, even though everything inside me feels anything but.
"I didn't know," I admit. "About any of it. About Valen. About what Jered planned."
The words taste bitter. Old wounds I never meant to reopen ache beneath my ribs.
"I'm sorry," he says, his voice low, rough with something that sounds dangerously close to guilt. "I should've protected you better."
My chest tightens. I shake my head slowly. "You didn't fail me," I told him. "They did."
I look down at my hands, fingers twisting together. "Seraphina…" The name alone sparks something ugly in my stomach. "She's taken so much from me already. My home. My sense of safety. Pieces of my past I can't get back." I swallow. "The thought of her trying to take you too—" My voice cracks despite my effort to control it. "It makes me feel sick. Like I can't breathe."
Jealousy burns hot and sharp, unfamiliar, but fierce. It scares me how deep it runs, how instinctive it feels. As if some part of me already knows he's mine—and the idea of losing him feels like a physical wound.
Kieran's hand lifts my chin gently, forcing me to meet his eyes.
"She will never have me," he says, absolute and unyielding. No hesitation. No doubt. "Not in this life or any other."
My breath catches.
"No other female will," he continues, his thumb brushing my cheek with quiet reverence. "I don't belong to the crown. I don't belong to the Elders." His gaze softens, but the promise in it only sharpens. "I belong to you."
My pulse stutters.
"I am yours," he says simply. "To command. To touch. To love. No one else gets that. Ever."
Something inside me settles at his words—like a storm finally finding its center. The fear doesn't vanish, but it quiets, wrapped in the certainty of him, of us.
His hand cups my face, warm and steady, thumb brushing softly along my cheekbone like he's grounding himself as much as me.
My heart stutters—once, twice—then starts racing. He leans in, slowly, deliberately, giving me time to pull away. I don't. I couldn't if I tried.
When his lips meet mine, it's nothing like the earlier kiss.
This one isn't rushed or hungry.
It's slow. Heavy. Charged with everything we haven't said.
His mouth moves against mine with careful intention, like he's memorizing me, like this moment matters more than breath itself. The kiss deepens gradually, unspooling something tight inside my chest. I feel it everywhere—the warmth spreading, the quiet ache curling low in my stomach, the way my knees threaten to give out even though I'm sitting.
I exhale into him without realizing I was holding my breath.
His other hand slides into my hair, fingers threading gently, not pulling—just holding me there, close, anchoring me. The world narrows to the feel of him, the solid warmth of his body, the faint scrape of stubble against my skin, the controlled restraint in the way he kisses me like he's barely keeping himself in check.
It makes my pulse flutter wildly.
I don't think anymore.
I feel.
I feel the promise in the kiss. The claim. The tenderness threaded through the heat. It's intoxicating—this mix of reverence and desire, of patience and barely restrained fire.
My hands find his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt like I need proof he's real, that this isn't something my mind conjured out of longing. His heartbeat is strong beneath my palm, steady and sure, and it sends a thrill through me knowing I can feel it.
Knowing he's feeling me too.
When the kiss finally breaks, it's not because either of us wants it to—but because we're both breathing harder now, foreheads resting together, the air between us thick and electric.
And I know, with dizzying clarity, that this isn't just want.
It's something deeper.
Something dangerous.
Something I already can't imagine living without.
Something, I desperately want more of.