CHAPTER 22: The Pack Meeting

The air outside the pack house was thick, too still, too expectant.

Even before Raymond reached the entrance, he could feel the hum of tension threading through the walls, the kind that came only before judgment or bloodshed.

The Moonlined pack house was nothing like the rest of the college. From the outside, it carried the same clean, deceptive architecture, white marble columns, trimmed lawns, tall windows reflecting soft afternoon light. But inside, it pulsed with something older, something powerful.

As Raymond pushed open the massive wooden doors, the murmuring ceased. Heads turned immediately.

Betas and high-ranking omegas, all dressed in their dark uniforms, sat in organized rows, their chairs arranged by rank. The highest circle was occupied by the pack council, wise, aged wolves with sharp eyes that saw far more than they said.

At the far end of the grand living room sat the Alpha’s chair, tall, carved from ebony wood, draped with deep blue velvet, and towering above all others.

The Chancellor, his father, Lancelot was already there.

His father didn’t need to speak to command attention. Power lived in the way he simply sat, one hand resting on the armrest, the other idly tracing a mark on the table before him. His aura was a steady hum of dominance, cold and controlled, pressing down on everyone in the room until silence felt like air.

Raymond’s steps slowed as he approached. Even now, after years of standing beside him in battle and beneath him in command, the presence of his father could still dig beneath his skin.

They shared the same blue eyes, though where Lancelot’s were calm and unreadable, Raymond’s often gave him away.

“Raymond,” Lancelot said, voice low but held power. “You’re late.”

“I came straight from the eastern dorm,” Raymond replied evenly, bowing his head just enough to acknowledge the Alpha’s authority. “You called for me.”

Lancelot nodded once. “Sit.”

The chair assigned to the Alpha’s heir was slightly smaller but still crafted to stand apart from the others. As Raymond took his place, the air thickened again.

No one spoke until Lancelot did.

“The reason we are here,” Lancelot began, voice like tempered steel, “is because there has been a breach.”

A few gasps rose. No one dared to interrupt.

He continued, gaze sweeping the room. “The barrier surrounding the college has weakened. A forbidden bloodline, rogues, have crossed our borders.” His jaw tightened slightly. “And two human males were found dead this morning near the northern dorm.”

A ripple of whispers broke through the silence. Someone muttered about exposure. Another cursed under his breath.

Lancelot let them murmur for a moment before he spoke again. “Their deaths are to remain within this room. The humans must not panic. We will control the story.”

An elderly Beta, one of the council, leaned forward. “Alpha Lancelot, about the humans’ deaths, if they were killed by rogues…”

“They were not,” Lancelot interrupted sharply. “They died of illness. That is what their families will be told.”

The finality in his tone was unyielding. His gaze flicked briefly to Raymond, not as a father, but as a leader measuring his successor’s reaction.

Raymond remained silent, though his jaw flexed once. He understood. Lies protected power. But beneath his calm, something restless stirred.

A soft voice cut through the room then, smooth but uncertain. “Alpha,” said one of the high-ranking omegas, a man named Daron, known for his loyalty and his nervous hands. “If the barrier has weakened, it can only mean one thing, the protector’s spell is failing.”

Several heads turned toward him.

“The pack protector’s family line was destroyed years ago,” a councilwoman said flatly. “There are no witches left who can renew the shield.”

“But perhaps,” Daron pressed, “perhaps we can find them. The last protector was a witch, and witches leave traces. A line that is powerful never disappears without leaving…”

Lancelot raised his hand, silencing him, but others had already begun to argue.

“If we don’t restore the shield, the rogues will overrun us!”

“The Moonlined Pack has always relied on its own strength, not on witches’ tricks!”

“And yet without those ‘tricks,’ you’d all be dead,” someone muttered.

The tension spread like wildfire. Voices rose. Chairs scraped against marble.

Raymond sat back, eyes narrowing, watching them all, the panic, the self-preservation, the fear. It was the same every time something threatened their illusion of control.

Until his father stood.

The movement alone silenced the room.

Lancelot’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. “Enough.”

The word rolled across the room with the weight of command. The walls themselves seemed to absorb it.

“You will not argue in my presence like frightened pups,” he said, his gaze flicking from face to face. “We will find a solution. But you will remember, this pack has survived worse.”

His tone softened only slightly as he continued. “The humans will be told the deaths were caused by a sickness, one common in their world. The bodies will be buried before sunrise. No trace of this will reach outside these walls.”

The council members nodded reluctantly, though unease lingered.

Raymond finally spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “Father, there’s more.”

Dozens of eyes turned to him.

“I saw her,” he said. “This evening. The hooded girl in the eastern wing. She attacked near the human dorms. If it weren’t for Kevin…” he stopped himself, jaw tensing, “She would’ve killed someone.”

The air froze.

A few of the older wolves exchanged glances. Lancelot’s stare sharpened. “Did you identify her?”

“I have my suspicions,” Raymond said carefully. “But whoever she is… she used a scent mask. Clever. I couldn’t access her properly.”

Lancelot’s eyes narrowed. “Your suspicions?”

Raymond hesitated. Speaking against another pack member without proof was a dangerous line to cross. But the image of the hooded figure, the glint of gold beneath the cloak, the whisper of her laughter… it all pointed to one name.

“Natasha,” he said finally.

A ripple went through the room, shock, disbelief, curiosity.

Lancelot leaned back slowly, his fingers drumming against the chair’s armrest. “Natasha?”

“She’s been studying spells,” Raymond added. “I’ve seen her with old books from the archives. She’s the only one who would know enough about masking scent.”

One of the guards stepped forward. “Alpha, Natasha has been in her dorm most nights. We can confirm she hasn’t…”

“Fetch her,” Lancelot ordered, voice low but commanding. “Now.”

The guard hesitated only for a heartbeat before bowing and leaving the room.

The silence that followed was dense. The council exchanged whispers, some doubting, others fearful.

Raymond’s thoughts churned. He knew what he’d seen ,that aura, that malicious flicker, but part of him still wondered if accusing her outright had been a mistake.

When the heavy doors finally opened again, all eyes turned.

Natasha stepped inside.

She was dressed simply, a pale dress that contrasted sharply with her dark hair. Her expression was calm, almost delicate, but there was something in her eyes, a quiet confidence, a softness that disguised too much.

She bowed slightly before speaking. “Alpha Lancelot. You sent for me?”

Her voice was smooth, respectful. But even from across the room, Raymond caught the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

Lancelot gestured for her to step forward. “Sit.”

She obeyed gracefully, folding her hands on her lap.

Raymond’s gaze stayed fixed on her, searching for cracks, for anything that betrayed guilt. But Natasha’s calm never faltered.

Lancelot leaned forward slightly. “You’ve heard the rumors?”

Her brows knitted faintly. “About the deaths? Yes, Alpha. I was informed moments ago.”

“And where were you last night?”

“In my dorm,” she said without hesitation. “I haven’t been out in days. You may ask the guards who watch the halls, they’ll confirm it.”

A murmur spread through the room.

Raymond frowned. Her tone was perfect, sincere, steady, unflinching. It seemed like she didn't know about the fight that happened at the dorm today.

The guards who escorted her nodded. “It’s true, Alpha. She was in her room. We saw her lights until after midnight.”

Lancelot’s gaze sharpened slightly, suspicion flashing in his blue eyes, not knowing if she was pretending about not knowing about the recent fight. “You’re certain?”

“Yes, Alpha,” they said together.

Natasha smiled then, small, polite, and just a touch too pleased.

Something in that smile made Raymond’s instincts bristle.

Her gaze flicked toward him for the briefest moment, and he swore he saw it, the glint of satisfaction, the whisper of power behind her eyes.

Magic.

Faint, but there.

He said nothing. Neither did she.

But in the stillness, the air seemed to bend, ever so slightly, like heat shimmering on glass.

And Raymond realized, with a chill crawling down his spine, that the illusion she’d cast wasn’t just for the guards.

It was for everyone in the room.