Chapter Five — Eira

Eira’s POV

The council hall always feels colder than the rest of the packhouse, like the stone itself remembers every argument, every accusation, every alliance forged under duress. Today is no different. The air hums with the low growl of gathered alphas, and the tension sticks to my skin like static.

I stand behind my father’s left shoulder, the position reserved for an heir—not a child, not yet an adult, but the bridge between what the pack is and what it will become. My eighteenth birthday is six days away. Six days until everything changes, or implodes, or both.

Across the room, Kalen Draven enters the hall with the kind of calm authority that ripples outward. I hate that people notice him first. I hate more that I do too.

Veyla shifts beneath my skin, ancient and alert, like the air thickens whenever he’s near.

Not him, I warn her.

She doesn’t answer. She only watches.

My father’s voice draws my attention back to the table. “We are here to discuss the increasing cross-border attacks on our patrols. Whoever is orchestrating them is skilled—and bold.”

My mother sits on his right, her posture straight but calm, radiating Luna strength. Her gaze slides briefly to me, steady and reassuring.

But the alphas from the visiting packs—Duskpine, Silvershore, Bloodfell—are less controlled. They mutter, posture, glare. Every one of them wants influence, answers, power.

A representative from Bloodfell leans forward. “And what of the rumors?” he demands. “That an ancient wolf walks again?”

The room stills. My heart stops.

My father’s expression does not flicker. “Rumors,” he says flatly. “No more.”

Kalen’s eyes, however, cut toward me. Sharply. Intentionally. Not accusing—calculating. Like he’s piecing together a puzzle he didn’t know he was working on.

Veyla prowls under my skin.

He senses something, she murmurs.

He shouldn’t.

But he does.

I inhale through my nose, keeping my face blank. If anyone realizes my wolf awakened four years early, war wouldn’t just be likely—it would be inevitable.

The meeting drags on, tense and brittle. Accusations of rogue activity. Border disputes. Questions no one here seems able—or willing—to answer.

But Kalen speaks only once.

“The attacks aren’t random,” he says, voice quiet but iron-steady. “Someone wants the packs unbalanced. Distracted. Divided.” His eyes sweep the hall, landing on mine for a heartbeat too long. “Someone wants us looking in the wrong direction.”

A ripple of unease spreads among the alphas.

Because he’s right.

My father studies him with a mixture of irritation and reluctant respect. “You have information to share?”

“Not yet.” Kalen’s jaw tightens. “But I will.”

The meeting ends with no agreements and even fewer allies. The room empties quickly, leaving only echoes and the fading scent of too many dominant wolves in one space.

I turn to leave, but Kalen steps into my path.

He doesn’t touch me—he doesn’t even lean in—but his presence feels like a hand around my pulse.

“You felt it too,” he says softly.

I school my face into neutrality. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Alpha Draven.”

His eyes narrow, studying, dissecting. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Heat crawls up my spine. “And you’re a guest in my pack,” I snap quietly. “Don’t forget yourself.”

His expression shifts—somewhere between anger and something else. Something I don’t want to name.

But then—

A flicker.

A flash in my mind.

Not mine. Veyla’s.

Fourteen years old, cold ground beneath my knees, pain like my bones were turning molten silver. My mother holding my face, whispering, Don’t shift, baby, not yet, please—

Kalen’s gaze sharpens as if he felt the pulse of my memory across the air like a heatwave.

“I knew it,” he murmurs.

Panic spikes through me. “Knew what?”

He leans closer—only an inch, but it feels like a cliff edge. “That you’re not what you pretend to be.”

My throat goes dry.

Veyla growls softly in my mind. He smells the truth.

I step back fast, pulse racing. “Stay out of my way.”

Kalen doesn’t stop me as I push past him. But his voice follows, low enough only I can hear.

“I can sense a storm when I’m standing in the middle of it.”

I don’t look back.

I can’t.

But Veyla whispers one last thing as I leave the hall.

He is tied to our fire, Eira. Whether you want him to be or not.

And that terrifies me more than anything.