Chapter 15: The Weight of the Crown (Continued)
The heat in the cottage eventually settled into a soft, glowing warmth as the fire burned down to embers. Wolfie lay asleep, her head pillowed on my chest, her breathing a rhythmic lullaby that kept the darkness at bay.
I lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling. I shifted slightly, feeling the play of power and muscle across my torso. I looked at my hands—the hands of a man who had been raised to hold a glass of wine at a gala, now calloused from the forest and stained with the memory of a fight.
Drayan's Reflection
I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her, and stood before the tall, silver-framed mirror in the corner. In the dim light, my reflection looked like a stranger's. The "City Boy" was gone. My shoulders had broadened, my muscles were harder, more defined from the constant tension of protecting my territory.
But it was my eyes that had changed the most. They no longer held the hollow, wandering gaze of a refugee. They were the eyes of a predator who had found his pack. I realized then that I wasn't just staying in Redpaveley because I had to. I was staying because for the first time in a century, I felt whole.
"You're staring again," a sleepy voice murmured.
I turned to see Wolfie sitting up, the furs draped around her. She smiled, and in that moment, I knew I would burn the city to the ground before I let anyone take this away from me.
The Grand Union Dinner
The following evening, the Great Longhouse of the Silvermoon Pack was transformed. This wasn't just a pack meeting; it was the first official family dinner since the wedding.
The air was a thick, intoxicating mix of scents. There was the heavy, iron-rich aroma of the rare steaks the werewolves favored, clashing with the delicate, floral notes of the blood-wine my father had brought from our private cellar.
The table was massive, carved from a single oak tree. On one side sat the Silvermoon Elders—Wolfie's Grandma Martha, a sharp-eyed woman with silver hair who looked like she could take down a bear with her bare hands, and Grandpa Silas Senior, who sat in a wheelchair but still carried the aura of an Alpha.
On the other side sat Drac, looking every bit the high-society vampire lord in his velvet coat, and a few of our distant cousins who had traveled from the city outskirts to see the "miracle" of the alliance.
"So," Grandma Martha said, her eyes fixed on me as she tore into a piece of bread. "I heard you threw Marcus into a pit. My grandson-in-law has a bit of a bite, doesn't he?"
Wolfie turned bright red, reaching for her water, but I just smiled, my hand resting possessively on the back of her chair. "He was in the way, Martha."
"Good!" she barked, a wicked grin on her face. "The boys in this village have grown soft. They need a city boy to show them what a real man looks like."
The dinner was a chaotic, beautiful mess of cultures. Grandpa Silas was busy arguing with my father about the best way to track a rogue in the mountains, while my vampire cousins were fascinated by the werewolves' ability to eat their weight in meat.
The sensory details were overwhelming—the clinking of silver forks against rustic wooden plates, the booming laughter of the pack, and the elegant, low-toned conversation of the vampires. It was a symphony of opposites.
At one point, Wolfie leaned over and whispered, "Look at them, Drayan. They aren't fighting. They're... talking."
"It's a start," I whispered back, my hand sliding under the table to find her hand . I squeezed her fingers, the moonstone on her hand catching the firelight.
But as the night went on, the atmosphere shifted. My father, Drac, stood up, raising a glass of dark crimson wine.
"A toast," he said, his voice silencing the room. "To the House of Drac and the Silvermoon Pack. Many said this union would bring war. Instead, it has brought a future. But we must be careful. The city does not like secrets, and they certainly do not like losing their 'prince' to the wild."
The room went quiet. Even Grandma Martha stopped eating. We all knew what he meant. Bianca's departure wasn't the end; it was the trigger.
"Let them come," Silas Senior growled from his chair, his eyes flashing amber. "We have a Vampire-Alpha leading our youth now. I'd like to see the city try to take him back."
I felt a surge of pride, but also a chilling realization. This dinner was a celebration, yes—but it was also a council of war. I looked at Wolfie, who was looking back at me with a fierce, unwavering loyalty.
We weren't just a couple anymore. We were the bridge between two worlds. And if the city wanted to break that bridge, they would have to go through every single person at this table.