CHAPTER FIVE

The Council chamber is colder than I expected.

Not temperature-wise, though it’s chilly in that crypt-vibes, zero-soul kind of way but emotionally. Every set of eyes I pass as I walk down the stone aisle to the center dais is void of warmth. Hungry. Calculating. Watching me like I’m a bomb someone forgot to disarm.

I feel like I’m wearing a “Hi, I’m Potential Doom!” sticker on my forehead.

Kael walks beside me in full alpha mode back straight, expression unreadable, dressed in the kind of crisp black shirt that says “yes, I murder things but make it fashion.” His hand occasionally grazes the small of my back like he’s trying to protect me without being obvious.

It doesn’t help.

My spine tingles with every step toward the ancient circle of high-backed chairs.

Twelve alphas. Twelve thrones. Twelve people deciding whether I live, die, or become their magical pet project.

“Lyra Thornbane,” booms the Council’s speaker an older wolf named Darius who looks like he was forged from oak trees and grudges. “Daughter of the exiled line. Blood of rebellion. You stand before us for judgment.”

Okay.

Dramatic much?

I resist the urge to curtsy and say “Hi, yes, blood of rebellion—guilty as charged. Would you like that with or without sass?”

Instead, I meet Darius’s eyes and say, “Cool title. Do I get a crown or…?”

A few gasps. One coughs to hide a laugh. Kael presses a hand to his temple.

Darius is not amused.

“Your sarcasm will not serve you here, girl.”

“Neither will dying of fear, so here we are.”

He leans forward, eyes like flint. “We are not here to play games.”

“Great,” I say, “because I suck at Monopoly and this room gives me hives.”

Another councilwoman, tall, severe, and wearing what I can only describe as magical shoulder pads interjects.

“Lyra, you must understand. Your lineage carries powers we thought buried. The Thornbanes weren’t merely strong, they dabbled in chaos magic. Forbidden rituals. Bone-binding. Blood-spells that shattered balance.”

“Yeah, I’ve read the bedtime stories,” I mutter. “They always leave out the part where the Thornbanes were protecting something no one else could understand.”

That gets a reaction.

Even Kael tilts his head like wait, what now?

Darius narrows his eyes. “What do you think they were protecting?”

“I don’t know yet,” I admit, voice softer. “But I think my mother did. And that’s why they hunted her down.”

A hush falls over the chamber.

Because the truth is, I wasn’t brought here just to be seen. I was summoned because I’m a walking threat they haven’t figured out how to categorize yet.

And nothing scares powerful people more than a wildcard.

“Let us test the blood,” says the woman with shoulder pads. “Only then will we know if she’s truly of the line.”

Test?

Kael steps forward immediately. “Absolutely not.”

Darius sneers. “You forget your place, Kael.”

“I haven’t forgotten anything,” Kael growls. “And if you force her into a ritual she doesn’t understand—”

“It’s not your decision,” snaps another alpha. “You’ve already risked enough by keeping her from us.”

“I was protecting her.”

“You were protecting yourself,” someone mutters.

The room spirals into snarling voices, sharp accusations, and the rising tension of alphas baring teeth behind politics.

And me?

I stand there, very much the eye of the storm, fighting the urge to run or scream.

Then a soft voice cuts through the chaos.

“I’ll do it.”

Everyone stops.

Did I say that?

Yes. I did.

I square my shoulders and lift my chin. “I’ll take your blood test. Ritual. Whatever. But on one condition.”

Darius arches a brow. “You’re in no position to demand—”

“Then go ahead,” I say coolly, “try and force me. You’ll prove every nightmare your ancestors had about Thornbanes was true.”

The silence that follows is delicious.

Even Darius looks mildly constipated with rage.

“State your condition,” he mutters.

“I want Kael there. With me. Through the ritual.”

At first, they laugh. Or scoff. Or protest.

But I don’t look away.

And finally, after several silent, angry stares are exchanged between alphas like magical chess moves, Darius nods once.

“Very well. Let the rite begin.”

They take us to a chamber beneath the Council hall. It’s circular, carved into bedrock, and absolutely designed by someone who said “yes, I want the ritual space to scream ‘sacrificial chic.’”

Kael paces like a wolf on caffeine while a young acolyte prepares a bowl of water, salts, and because of course actual bloodroot.

“I’m gonna be honest,” I mutter, “this gives very Midsommar meets Game of Thrones.”

He stops pacing, crosses to me. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, I do.”

He searches my face. “Why?”

“Because I can’t keep running. I want answers. About my blood. My mother. What the Thornbanes were really doing before they were wiped out like a stain.”

Kael exhales. “You’re braver than me.”

I smirk. “Obviously.”

He laughs quietly, and for a second we’re not surrounded by runes and relics we’re just two people in a moment too big for either of us.

The acolyte draws a rune on my wrist with something cold and metallic. “Place your hand over the basin.”

I do.

The rune on my skin pulses once, then twice, and then burns.

I cry out, but Kael’s hand catches mine instantly.

My blood drips into the water—and the bowl glows.

First red.

Then silver.

Then a deep, haunting violet.

“Violet,” Kael whispers, shocked. “No wolf has violet aura… except”

A force pulses through the room, slamming the acolyte back against the wall.

The runes ignite.

The water bubbles over.

And in the center of it all, my voice, not mine but mine, echoes out:

“When the moon breaks, the child of dusk shall rise. Blood of fury. Flame of ruin. She who was lost shall return.”

Then it stops.

Everything is silent except my heart, jackhammering in my chest.

Kael looks at me like I’ve just grown wings and a crown of thorns.

“What… what was that?” I whisper.

“That,” he says hoarsely, “was a prophecy. And I think… I think you just fulfilled it.”

When we return to the main chamber, the Council is visibly shaken.

One alpha is pale. Another is already whispering to a crow familiar. A third mutters something about “old gods and dead lines.”

Darius stands slowly. “You are of the line.”

“Shocking,” I say. “Maybe next time we can skip the blood magic and go straight to snacks.”

“The Thornbane heir is real,” another says. “We can’t contain her now.”

“We may not need to,” Darius says slowly, eyes still fixed on me. “If she’s willing to… align with us.”

“Define align,” I mutter.

Kael steps forward again. “She’s not your pawn.”

“Nor your mate,” someone sneers.

Kael growls low in his throat.

“Enough,” I snap, voice colder than the room. “I’m not here to serve anyone’s agenda. Not yours, not Kael’s, not some dead prophecy.”

They all fall silent again.

And for the first time, I feel it.

Power.

Real, dangerous, unfiltered power rising in my blood like a promise.

I might be the wildcard…

But I’m the one with the winning hand.