Chapter 9 Jace

Dinner in Blackstone territory wasn’t a meal, it was a ritual. The dining hall buzzed with low conversation, the clatter of utensils, and the quiet thrum of discipline that seemed stitched into the bones of the entire pack. There was no shouting. No reckless laughter. Just structure, sharp-edged and efficient.

Jace sat at a long wooden table near the far end of the hall, one hand wrapped around a mug of bitter tea, the other idly picking at a plate of roasted vegetables and smoked meat.

Across from him, Mira sat sideways in her chair, her plate nearly empty, posture relaxed but alert. She was laughing softly at something Kellen had said.

And it was that laugh, the rare, unguarded one, that punched straight into Jace’s chest. He hadn’t heard it before. It was quieter than he expected. Real. Warm. Like sunlight through a crack in steel.

She glanced his way once, catching him watching. He looked away, not fast enough. Smooth, Rowan. To his left, two Blackstone warriors discussed trail mapping and patrol rotations. To his right, members of the task force compared notes about terrain familiarity and pack-to-pack protocol differences.

The air smelled like cedar, firewood, and meat, but none of it felt as heavy as what sat between his ribs. The bond. It pulled whenever Mira shifted in her seat. It tightened when she laughed. It throbbed low and constant in the back of his mind, like a heartbeat just slightly out of sync with his own.

And worse—he was starting to sense her through it. Little flickers of emotion when she looked toward Rhett, or when she turned her shoulder just slightly toward Jace instead of away. The bond wasn’t just Mira’s anymore. It was theirs. A triad.

Unspoken, but undeniable and it terrified him; not because it felt wrong, but because it felt inevitable.

“Rowan,” a voice said across the table, pulling him back. Kellen Dax grinned at him over his drink. “You always eat like that?” Jace blinked. “Like what?” “Like the food’s poisoned and you’re waiting for confirmation before you commit.” Jace gave a faint smile. “Habit.”

“Soldier thing?” Kellen asked. “Survivor thing.” Jace responded. Kellen’s smirk faded just a little, respect flickering behind his brown eyes. He was younger than Jace, maybe mid-twenties, but had the lean, hardened edge of someone who’d seen real combat. Delta-ranked from the Moonshadow Pack. A last-minute replacement for a liaison who’d gone rogue.

He’d been quiet during transit, observant since arrival. Jace had pegged him immediately as a cynic with a decent moral compass, sharp tongue, and a bone-deep need to prove himself. Jace liked him so far.

“Well, if you drop dead,” Kellen said, “I call dibs on your boots.” Mira snorted. “He’s got better jackets than boots.” “Fair point,” Kellen said, winking at her. Something subtle twisted in Jace’s chest. Not jealousy. Not quite. More like a tether pulling taut.

He could feel the bond reacting to Mira’s smile. To her amusement. To her turning her attention anywhere else, ans beneath it, like an echo, he felt the edge of something else.Not from Mira.

From Rhett. Jace glanced to the front of the hall. Rhett sat alone at the head table, flanked by lieutenants and senior warriors. His plate was untouched. His gaze swept the room with cool detachment, but his posture was tight, coiled. Watching. Guarded.

Why does he feel like he’s always bracing for something? Jace looked away before their eyes met. Because when they did, his stomach tightened; not from fear but from recognition.

The rest of dinner passed easily. Mira joked with Kellen. The Blackstone warriors exchanged updates. The task force settled into their assigned tables, keeping the appearance of cooperation alive.

But Jace remained quiet. Watching.Feeling. Slowly realizing something he hadn’t been ready to admit, not even to himself. This wasn’t just a bond with Mira anymore. It had never just been that.

The ache in his chest wasn’t just for her. The curiosity he felt around Rhett wasn’t just strategic. It wasn’t even physical. It was tethered to something old. Fated. Coiled around instinct and identity. The gods had a cruel sense of timing and an even crueler sense of humor.

After dinner, as the dining hall emptied and the night deepened, Kellen caught Jace by the shoulder, “You okay, man?” Jace nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just thinking.” Kellen tilted his head. “About her?” A beat. “Yes.”

Kellen studied him for a long moment, then clapped his shoulder. “Watch yourself. Calder’s pack doesn’t play around, and he sure as hell doesn’t share.” Jace didn’t respond.because sharing wasn’t the issue anymore. It was belonging, and the terrifying part? Jace wasn’t sure where, or to whom, he belonged now.