CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Council Of Fangs

Zara’s heels struck the marble in sharp defiance as she followed Maxim through the obsidian hall. Gone was the masked luxury of Silver & Vale. This place was older, colder, carved from stone and silence. A different world—feral beneath the polish.

The Council Chamber loomed ahead, doors twice her height engraved with shifting crests. One symbol pulsed faintly—the Vale sigil. A fang curled around a crown. It shimmered when Maxim passed.

Zara hesitated. “Is this where they—”

“Pass judgment. Wage political war. Make monsters kings,” Maxim answered, without glancing back.

He didn’t offer his hand. He didn’t need to. She matched his stride.

Inside, the Council of Fangs had already begun to stir. Twelve thrones circled a sunken arena of black stone, each seat occupied by a high-ranking Alpha or heir. A murmur swept through the chamber at their arrival. Not because of Maxim. Because of her.

“She brought the human again.”

“Not human. Not anymore.”

“Does she wear his mark?”

“She wears his blood.”

Zara resisted the urge to tug at the collar of her silk blouse. Beneath it, Maxim’s crescent sigil still faintly burned on her skin. Not ink. Not magic. A promise. A warning.

They descended into the circle. Kade Duskbane sat reclined on a throne of bone and ash, expression unreadable. His cousin, the Alpha of Blackspire, studied Zara with faint amusement.

From across the room, a woman with moon-silver eyes leaned forward. “Maxim Vale. You are early.”

“We were summoned,” Maxim replied. “I don’t disrespect summons.”

“Yet you brought an outsider.”

“She has as much stake in this as anyone.”

That earned a rumble of disapproval from one of the older Alphas. His voice was gravel wrapped in disdain. “The Trial was not meant for attachments. She is not a mate yet.”

Zara bristled. Maxim spoke before she could.

“She was targeted in the last assassination attempt. Someone used council blood to try to end her. That makes it council business.”

Silence. A dangerous, collective inhale.

Then the Elder Chair, a wolf older than memory, raised his voice like a gavel. “Very well. Let it be heard. Maxim Vale’s claim: That council blood was used in an unsanctioned attempt on his chosen’s life. Does he name a traitor?”

Maxim’s jaw tensed. “Not yet.”

“Then what does he offer?”

Zara felt every eye swing to her. Cold and speculative.

“I offer evidence,” Maxim said.

From his coat, he withdrew a single item—a dagger. Silver hilt. Ruby-stained blade.

He tossed it into the center of the ring. It clattered like a death knell.

“This,” he said, “was forged in the Vaults beneath Blackspire. Only ten of its kind exist. Every one was issued to a council heir.”

Kade’s lips curled. “You accuse me?”

Maxim didn’t blink. “I accuse the one who lost control of his weapons.”

Zara felt the shift before she saw it—Kade’s aura flickering with suppressed fury. His Alpha presence pressed outward, a cold slap of dominance. Maxim didn’t flinch. Neither did she.

“Don’t mistake my patience for guilt,” Kade said quietly. “I warned you what would happen if you dragged her into this.”

“You tried to silence her.”

“I tried to save you from her.”

Zara stepped forward. “You’re both acting like I’m a weakness to be exploited. I’m not. I’m a witness. I survived your sabotage, your poison gala, your cursed heir trials. And I’m still standing.”

The chamber rippled with energy. The silver-eyed woman smiled faintly.

“Well spoken,” she murmured.

The Elder Chair nodded once. “Then let her speak.”

Zara swallowed. She had no script. No briefing. Just truth—and fire in her veins.

“I don’t come from your world,” she began. “But I’ve seen enough to know this Trial is rigged. Maxim was ambushed. I was nearly killed. And every time we get close to uncovering who’s pulling strings behind the scenes, someone buries the truth deeper.”

“Do you believe the council is compromised?”

Zara’s gaze swept the circle. “I believe someone here is more loyal to power than to justice. And they’re using council resources to eliminate rivals.”

A silence. Then slow applause.

Victor Vale stepped into the chamber from a shadowed alcove.

He wore a black suit, no tie. Just power stitched into silk and venom in every smile.

“Bravo, Ms. Cole,” he said. “You’ve learned to play the game well. Almost like a Vale.”

Maxim’s body went still.

Victor approached the dagger and knelt beside it, running one finger along the dried blood. “You know, I never did like these knives. Too obvious. But poetic, in a way.”

“Why are you here?” Maxim asked.

“I was invited,” Victor replied. “This is, after all, my family’s legacy. Wouldn’t want to miss its disintegration.”

He looked up. “Though I must admit, watching my dear nephew parade his chosen before the council like a shield? That’s new.”

Zara stared him down. “You tried to have me killed.”

Victor shrugged. “Allegedly.”

The Elder Chair’s voice cracked through the air. “Enough games. If Victor Vale stands accused, we require proof. Not insinuation.”

Maxim’s hand flexed. Zara felt it—his rage. Coiled. Leashed.

Victor straightened and smiled at Maxim. “Go ahead. Tell them who gave you that knife.”

Maxim didn’t speak.

Because he didn’t know.

Because Victor wasn’t sloppy.

Zara’s mind raced. They needed more. Something the council couldn’t dismiss. Then she remembered—her phone. The audio file from the Gala.

She pulled it up, voice steady despite the burn in her chest.

“I have a recording,” she said. “From the Gala. A voice that matches Victor’s. Planning the attack.”

Victor’s gaze sharpened. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Zara pressed play.

The voice crackled through the chamber:

“…make it look like Duskbane’s dogs slipped. Blame it on their thirst for succession. Let the boy scramble while we gut the board.”

Silence.

Then chaos.

Chairs scraped. Alphas rose. The silver-eyed woman stood first. “That voice—belongs to a Vale.”

The Elder Chair slammed his hand down. “Victor Vale. You stand accused of treason against the Council.”

Victor laughed. “Treason? You want to talk treason? Half the people in this room owe their seats to my deals.”

He turned on his heel. “You think this ends here? You’re just lighting the match.”

Maxim stepped forward. “Good. Let it burn.”

Victor’s eyes landed on Zara one last time. Not fear. Not fury.

Promise.

Then he vanished into shadow.

The council chamber roiled with noise. But all Zara could feel was the war beginning. And Maxim at her side—jaw clenched, eyes wild with a quiet vow.

She’d just declared war on a Vale.

And this time, she wasn’t hiding.