Vel Soul POV:
He pushed open the heavy oak door of Alaric’s castle council chamber, and a chill wind followed him inside. Dust motes whirled in the torchlight, and the scent of burning pine resin and damp stone mingled with the coppery promise of blood.
His Night Wolves filed in behind him, charcoal-leathered figures with silver lupine runes across their chests. He stood at the head of the column, 6′9″ of lean muscle, long dark hair brushing his shoulder blades, storm-grey eyes sweeping the room. He shifted his weight; the claw scar across his abdomen tightened with the movement.
He took the chair of honor at one end of the long, scarred oak table.
His beta Virex stood to his left, shoulders squared, every muscle coiled like a wolf ready to spring. Tapestries of lupine battles hung from the stone walls, and the hearth fire crackled low, casting flickering shadows over ancient carved runes.
A few minutes passed before Alpha Alaric of the Dixon Pack strode in, robes of forest green brushing the flagstones, bronze claw-shaped clasps gleaming. His beta, Rodrick, followed, eyes sharp as a hawk’s, scanning for threat. Next, Alaric’s two favored daughters glided in; the eldest in silks embroidered with deer-antler charms, the younger trailing laughter.
Last, you entered quietly, skirts pinched between bruised fingers, the cut on your lip and purple bruise on your cheek stark against your otherwise smooth skin.
When he saw you, he felt a tug at his core, as ancient as the moon’s pull on the tides. He had come with no care for which daughter might seal this peace—now he knew he wanted only you. He would accept no other.
Alaric settled opposite him at the table, his gaze cool. He cleared his throat.
“Alpha Vel, our packs have bled over these hunting grounds for seasons. Your wolves stray past the river’s bend—”
He leaned forward, elbows pressing firmly on the table as he cut him off.
“Your wolves,” he corrected, voice low and steady, “trespass on land that has fed Night Wolves long before Dixon hunters arrived. When they pressed us back, your cubs were killed in the crossfire. Then your retaliation set my den ablaze, and my pack’s pups perished in the flames. I will not have you shift all the blame.”
Rodrick shifted, hand brushing the hilt of his dagger. The torches flickered, and distant thunder rumbled. Alaric’s lips curled as if Vel were something bitter in his mouth.
“That is why we are here. To bring peace and bind our packs,” he said, “I offer my second daughter. Elena. She is the eldest after my mate bore her following my claim of her mother.”
Vel arched a brow. “Your second daughter? Why not the firstborn, as custom dictates?”
Alaric’s gaze drifted to where you stood with your head bowed. “She,” he said dismissively, “is the bastard of a woman I cast aside. My mate despises her. I will not dishonor our lineage by offering a child not born of my Luna and mate. These two carry the true Dixon blood.”
He rose, boots scraping the stone floor, muscles taut with anger he could barely control. “I will have your firstborn as custom, or there will be no treaty. You need this peace as much as I do. Give her to me as part of the accord.”
Silence crashed over the chamber. The hearth’s flames leapt higher, shadows dancing over carved wolf heads on the walls.
Alaric’s jaw clenched; his growl vibrated through the room, but Vel didn’t budge. He would have you one way or another.
Finally, Alaric exhaled, voice laced with reluctant fury. “So be it. Take her, then. May the bastard prove more worthy than her blood.”
He drew in a long breath and gave him a sharp nod in agreement.
With deliberate calm, he stepped around the table and offered you his hand patiently.
Your eyes flicked between him, Virex, and your family, who wouldn’t even look at you.
“It’s okay. Just come with me, and on my honour, you’ll never be hurt like this again.”