CHAPTER 9: THE COUNCIL BARES ITS TEETH

The corridor beyond Lyra’s chamber was carved from black stone and moonlit silence.

Torches flared to life as Ares walked beside her, his presence commanding the fortress to wake. Every step echoed authority. Every shadow bowed.

Lyra kept her chin lifted, even though her pulse thundered loud enough she was certain the walls could hear it.

She could feel the eyes on her.

Not curious.

Assessing.

Judging.

The High Council chamber stood at the heart of Nightbane territory. Ancient. Circular. Built long before Ares had been born… long before Lycans had agreed to kneel to a king instead of the Moon alone.

The doors opened without a sound.

Six figures waited inside.

All male. All Lycan. All powerful enough that the air itself seemed heavier around them.

Lyra’s breath caught.

They sat on raised stone seats arranged in a half circle. Not thrones… but not far from it. Each wore the mark of old bloodlines… silver bands etched into their skin, glowing faintly beneath torchlight.

High Councilors.

Their gazes locked onto her like blades.

Ares stopped walking.

Lyra felt it instantly… the shift in him. The way his body subtly angled toward hers. The way his arm hovered close enough to shield, to strike, to claim.

“She is smaller than expected,” one of the Councilors said at last, voice dry as bone.

“And breathing,” another added. “Which is unfortunate.”

A low growl rippled through the chamber.

Ares didn’t move… but the sound came from him.

“She stands under my protection,” he said calmly. “Choose your next words carefully.”

The Councilors exchanged looks.

One of them leaned forward, eyes glowing pale gold. “You brought a human into the inner wing of Nightbane Fortress.”

“She is not human,” Ares replied.

Lyra stiffened.

The Councilor’s gaze slid to her. “She doesn’t look like a threat.”

Ares turned his head slowly.

“She called me across half the kingdom with her blood,” he said softly. “She survived a rogue attack without claws. Without fangs. Without fear.”

He took a step forward.

“She is a threat.”

Silence followed.

Then laughter.

Cold. Amused. Disbelieving.

“The Moon hasn’t chosen a human mate in centuries,” another Councilor scoffed. “You are mistaken.”

Lyra felt something stir deep in her chest.

Not fear.

Anger.

She stepped forward before Ares could stop her.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she said clearly. “I didn’t ask to bleed. I didn’t ask to be brought here. And I certainly didn’t ask for your judgment.”

The Councilors turned fully toward her.

Ares’s hand snapped around her wrist.

Not painful.

Possessive.

“Lyra,” he warned.

She didn’t look at him. “You talk about bloodlines like they belong to you. Like people are weapons to be buried or unleashed. But I am standing here. Breathing. Alive.”

Her voice shook… but she didn’t stop.

“If the Moon made a mistake,” she continued, “then punish the Moon. Not me.”

The chamber went dead silent.

Ares’s grip tightened.

Slowly… dangerously… he smiled.

Pride burned behind his eyes.

One of the Councilors rose to his feet.

“You speak boldly for someone who does not understand what she is,” he said.

Lyra met his gaze. “Then explain it to me.”

The Councilor studied her for a long moment.

“You carry Moonblood,” he said at last. “The last echo of a lineage that once rivaled Lycan kings. Women whose blood could bind… awaken… or destroy.”

Lyra’s stomach dropped.

Ares went utterly still.

“That line was eradicated,” the Councilor continued. “By our ancestors. Because they were too dangerous to exist.”

Lyra’s breath came shallow. “You killed them.”

“We protected our kind,” the Councilor corrected.

Ares’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

“You slaughtered women and called it balance.”

Power rippled outward from him. The torches flared violently.

“No,” the Councilor said calmly. “We prevented chaos.”

Lyra’s hand trembled in Ares’s grip.

“So you’d kill me too,” she whispered.

The Councilor’s silence was answer enough.

Ares stepped fully in front of her then.

The air cracked.

“Touch her,” he said quietly, “and I will burn this Council to the ground.”

“You would choose her over your kingdom?” another Councilor challenged.

Ares didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

The word echoed.

Absolute.

Unyielding.

Lyra’s chest tightened painfully.

The Councilors watched him carefully now.

“You are bound,” one of them said. “Whether you want it or not.”

Ares turned his head just enough to look down at her.

His expression softened.

Just a fraction.

“She is not a curse,” he said. “She is not a tool. She is not your sacrifice.”

His thumb brushed her wrist slowly… grounding… claiming.

“She is mine.”

The Moonlight surged through the chamber.

The Council recoiled slightly, instincts screaming.

“The bond is forming,” one of them muttered. “Too fast.”

Ares’s jaw clenched.

Lyra felt it then… the pull tightening. The heat coiling low in her belly. The awareness of him becoming unbearable.

His scent wrapped around her.

Forest. Fire. Night.

“Take her away,” the head Councilor said sharply. “Before this becomes irreversible.”

Ares turned without another word and led her from the chamber.

The doors sealed behind them.

The moment they were alone… the tension snapped.

Ares backed her against the stone wall, one hand braced beside her head, the other gripping her waist.

“Do you understand how close that was?” he growled.

Her breath shuddered. “They want me dead.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re angry because…?”

“Because you spoke,” he snapped. “Because you challenged them. Because you made them see you.”

Her voice softened. “You wanted me silent.”

“No,” he said. “I wanted you alive.”

She searched his face. “Would you really choose me over everything?”

His forehead dropped to hers.

“I already have.”

Her hands trembled as they pressed against his chest.

The heat between them surged… thick… intoxicating… dangerous.

His breath brushed her lips.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he murmured.

“Like what?”

“Like you belong here.”

Her pulse jumped. “Do I?”

His grip tightened.

“That question,” he said hoarsely, “is why I’m losing control.”

The bond pulsed violently.

Lyra gasped softly.

His mouth hovered a breath from hers… close enough she could feel his restraint shaking.

Then he pulled back abruptly.

“You need to rest,” he said, voice rough. “And I need to remember how to be a king.”

She nodded… though every part of her screamed to stay.

As he escorted her back toward the inner wing, Lyra realized something terrifying.

The Council wasn’t her greatest danger.

The Moon wasn’t either.

It was the way Ares Nightbane looked at her… like he was one breath away from surrender.

And once he did…

The world would burn.