CHAPTER ELEVEN: Wolves in Suits

The boardroom smelled like wolf and war.

Leather chairs. Diamond-cut glasses filled with bloodwine. Suits stitched with spells. Power didn’t just hang in the air—it stalked it.

Zara stood at Maxim’s side as the heavy obsidian doors shut behind them, sealing them inside the territory of wolves who built empires with fangs and ruled courtrooms with claws. She’d known tension before. Finals, court prep, press ambushes. But this was something else.

This was raw, ancestral.

This was a battlefield in silk.

Five Alphas sat around a crescent-shaped table carved from blackstone. Ancient sigils pulsed faintly across the surface like veins. Each Alpha was flanked by advisors, bodyguards, mates—wolves of prestige and bite. And every single one of them was staring directly at her.

The outsider.

The human.

The mate who wasn’t supposed to be here.

Maxim didn’t blink. Didn’t shift. His hand rested at the small of her back like a silent command. Stay calm. Stay close.

“Head up, Zara,” he murmured under his breath. “They smell doubt faster than blood.”

Zara straightened, though her pulse thundered in her ears. The scent of polished wealth didn’t hide the undercurrent of menace in this room. These weren’t business executives. They were Apex predators in thousand-dollar suits.

The Alpha of the Eastern Claw leaned forward, tapping an onyx ring against the table. His eyes were golden and cold. “Maxim Vale. We expected you to arrive alone.”

“I don’t walk into traps alone,” Maxim replied.

“You think this is a trap?”

“I think the wolves who once backed my father now question his son—and I think fear makes even ancient wolves stupid.”

There was a rumble. A few advisors growled low in their throats, but none of the Alphas moved. Not yet.

“And the girl?” said the Northern Alpha, older and crueler. “You bring a mate untrained. Unproven. She has not survived our customs. Our laws. She has not bled for the Circle.”

“I’ve bled enough,” Zara said before her brain could stop her mouth.

Silence fell like a sword.

The Alpha turned. “Speak again, girl?”

Zara’s heart threatened to kick out of her chest, but she held his gaze. “I said I’ve bled enough. Just not on your terms.”

The air vibrated with the low chorus of hostile amusement. Someone snorted. Another raised a brow.

But Maxim’s pride burned beside her like a second sun.

“She bears my mark,” he said, calm and certain. “She withstood the Bloodmoon flame. Stood trial under oath and shadow. She has earned more than most consorts born in power.”

“She has no wolf,” the Alpha of the Western Spine said. “She has no lineage.”

“She has fire,” Maxim answered. “And loyalty. And teeth.”

Before anyone could respond, a new voice slid through the room like silk over steel.

“Yet she still flinches.”

Zara turned slowly as Victor Vale stepped into view.

Immaculate. Poised. Deadly. His obsidian suit clung like shadow. A silver tie pin in the shape of a fang gleamed at his throat. His smile was razor-thin.

Victor Vale.

Brother. Challenger. Viper in a tailored coat.

“Little brother,” he said, sounding pleased, “you’ve made quite the show of things lately. Fires. Announcements. Marking ceremonies in the middle of old courts. Bold.”

“Get to your point,” Maxim growled.

Victor's gaze moved to Zara and lingered. “The Council doesn’t just judge strength, Maxim. It judges control. Stability. Presence.”

He paced the curve of the table, casual as a lion before a kill.

“And what does it say about your control,” he continued, “that your precious mate was nearly assassinated in your own building? That she’s still visibly shaken standing in this room?”

Zara’s mouth opened, but Maxim beat her to it. “Careful.”

Victor raised a hand innocently. “I speak only truth. And if the Council truly seeks leadership, then weakness—even poetic, romantic weakness—shouldn’t wear the crown.”

Zara stepped forward.

Maxim touched her arm, a silent warning, but she shrugged it off. “I flinch,” she said clearly, “because I still have a sense of survival. Any sane person would flinch in a room like this.”

She scanned the table. “But I’m still standing. Which is more than your last three mistresses managed.”

That got a few quiet laughs. Even the Northern Alpha cracked a ghost of a grin.

Victor, however, had gone still.

Maxim smiled like a storm rolling in. “She’s not just my mate. She’s the reason I haven’t razed half the city.”

“Not yet,” Victor said softly. Then, with a sudden pivot, “I’m challenging.”

Gasps rippled. Even the Western Alpha's eyes flared.

“You what?” Maxim’s voice dropped to a warning.

Victor stepped to the center of the room. “I’m invoking Blood Legacy. By ancient law, I challenge your right to claim leadership.”

Zara’s stomach sank. The words were ancient, binding.

He wasn’t just talking politics now.

He was invoking war.

The Alphas looked to one another. The Eastern one spoke first. “You realize this forfeits your seat at the Council if you lose?”

Victor gave a half-smile. “I’m not planning to lose.”

“And your brother?” the Northern one asked. “What do you think, Maxim?”

“I think my brother was always better at chess than combat.”

Victor reached into his coat and drew a ceremonial dagger. Its blade was etched in crimson sigils, its hilt carved from wolfbone. He tossed it onto the glowing obsidian table. It spun once before settling, still and ominous.

“Let’s see,” Victor said, “what kind of Alpha you really are.”

Zara felt Maxim’s energy shift. The beast inside him surged, cracking through his calm mask. She stepped close, hand brushing his.

“Not here,” she whispered. “Not yet. They want a monster.”

He took a breath. Held it. Nodded.

Then Zara did something that made even the Western Alpha stand.

She walked to the table. Picked up the dagger. Its weight anchored her. She turned, meeting Victor’s gaze without a blink.

“If you want to draw blood,” she said, “start with me.”

Maxim’s breath caught. “Zara—”

But she wasn’t done.

“I’m not your mistake. I’m not his weakness. I’m the reason he hasn’t burned you alive yet. So if you really want to find out what he’s willing to protect…”

She held the dagger out.

“…be ready for what he’ll destroy.”

Maxim took the blade.

And for the first time all night, Victor didn’t smile.