Six

Ronan was still pacing his chambers like a caged animal when the knock came. Hard. Urgent. He’d barely slept since sending Lira away the night before, the bond still buzzing under his skin like a live wire he couldn’t cut. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Elias’s face, felt that unwanted heat from the dream, and it pissed him off all over again.

“Enter,” he barked.

Captain Garrick stepped inside, armor still dusty from the border, face serious. “My king. Emergency summons from the elders. They’re waiting in the Grand Court. Said it couldn’t wait.”

Ronan rubbed a hand over his face, the stubble there rough under his palm. “What the hell do they want now? Another lecture about producing an heir?”

Garrick shrugged, but his eyes were careful. “They didn’t say. Just that every alpha on the council is already there. Looks important.”

“Fine.” Ronan grabbed his heavy cloak and threw it over his shoulders. The last thing he needed was more politics on top of everything else tearing at him. The bond hadn’t let up. He could still feel faint echoes of… something from Elias’s side. Anger. Maybe pain. It made his wolf restless, clawing to get out and run straight toward vampire territory. He hated it.

The walk to the Grand Court felt longer than usual. Servants bowed low as he passed, but he didn’t acknowledge any of them. His mind kept drifting back to the battlefield, the way Elias had looked pinned under him, the way their bodies had reacted before either of them could stop it. He growled under his breath and shoved the thought away.

The massive oak doors to the court swung open. The room was packed. Elders from every major pack sat around the long crescent table, their faces carved with age and old scars. Torches burned low along the stone walls, throwing long shadows. The air smelled of pine, smoke, and the faint musk of wolves who’d been arguing for hours.

All eyes turned to him as he entered.

“Alpha King,” Elder Thorne said, rising slowly. The old man’s voice was gravelly but strong. He’d been around longer than most, seen too many wars. “Thank you for coming on short notice.”

Ronan dropped into the central chair reserved for him, legs stretched out. “You pulled me out of my chambers. Make it quick. What’s the emergency?”

A few of the elders exchanged looks. Elder Mira, a sharp eyed woman with silver streaks in her dark braid, leaned forward. “The Grand Celestial Ball is in two weeks. We need to confirm your attendance.”

Ronan stared at her. “That’s it? You summoned the entire council for this?”

“It’s not just any ball,” Elder Thorne cut in. “Every leader from every species will be there. Witches, vampires, demons, dragons, werecats, werefoxes, hybrids… the whole damn lot of them. Neutral ground. The Celestial Spire in the Heartlands. You know the rules as well as we do, no violence, no settling old scores. Everyone keeps their hatreds locked away for one night. It’s been that way for centuries. Breaking it means consequences from the old gods themselves.”

Ronan leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. He remembered the last one he’d attended. Stiff smiles, careful dances, everyone pretending they weren’t one wrong word away from ripping each other’s throats out. It had been exhausting. But missing it wasn’t really an option. Leaders who skipped tended to look weak. And right now, with the bond messing with his head, the last thing he needed was anyone thinking he was distracted.

“I’ll attend,” he said flatly. “Send the usual preparations. Extra guards, but nothing obvious. I don’t want it looking like we’re expecting trouble.”

Some of the elders visibly relaxed. Elder Mira nodded. “Good. The packs need to see their king strong. Especially after the recent losses on the border. There’s already talk....”

“I know what they’re saying,” Ronan interrupted, voice low and dangerous. “Let them talk. I’ll handle it.”

The meeting dragged on for another half hour. Questions about security, what gifts to bring, which packs should represent them, whether to push for any quiet alliances while everyone was forced to play nice. Ronan answered mostly in grunts and short sentences, his mind elsewhere. The bond tugged again, sharper this time, like Elias was thinking about him too. He shifted in his seat, jaw tight.

By the time the elders finally dismissed, the sun was dipping low outside the tall windows. Ronan stood and headed for the doors without another word. Garrick fell into step beside him in the hallway.

“You alright, sire?” the captain asked quietly once they were far enough away.

“Fine,” Ronan lied. “Just tired of everyone breathing down my neck.”

He dismissed Garrick at the entrance to his private wing and kept walking alone. The palace felt too big tonight, too empty. He poured himself a drink from the decanter in his study, strong whiskey this time, not wine, and stared out the window at the darkening forest beyond the walls.

Two weeks until the Grand Celestial Ball.

He took a long swallow, the burn welcome. Every species would be there. Witches with their glowing runes, dragons in their human forms trying not to look bored, demons slinking around looking for deals. And vampires.

Elias would be there.

The thought hit him harder than he expected. Ronan’s grip tightened on the glass until it creaked. He could already picture it, Elias in some elegant black outfit, moving through the crowd with that cold grace, crimson eyes scanning the room. Would the bond react even stronger in the same space? Would they be able to stay away from each other with every leader watching?

Ronan drained the rest of the glass and set it down hard. Part of him wanted to skip the whole damn thing. Another part, the part that was still angry and aching from the dream and the failed night with Lira wanted to go just to see how Elias would react. To stand close enough to smell him again. To test how far this cursed bond could push before one of them snapped.

He ran a hand through his hair, muttering a curse. Even now, miles apart, he could feel the faint echo of Elias’s presence. Anger. Confusion. Something hotter underneath.

The ball was supposed to be neutral ground. A place where hate stayed buried for one night.

But Ronan already knew the truth in his bones. With Elias there, nothing about that night was going to be peaceful. Not for him.

He stared out into the growing dark, the moon just starting to rise above the trees, and wondered how the hell he was going to survive two weeks and then an entire night in the same room as the one person he wanted to kill and claim at the same time.