019

_Vuk Kael Lasković

The war room felt colder than usual, even with the hellfire veins pulsing behind the black glass walls.

I was leaned back in the obsidian throne, flipping through a thick stack of border reports and land deeds on the holo-pad in front of me. The sweater Maureen made was hidden under my formal coat—soft black wool brushing my skin every time I moved. A secret. My secret. Nobody in this room knew it was there, and that made it feel even warmer.

Eryx stepped up beside the throne, voice low.

“Alpha, the invitations for the welcome feast are out. Every major house, every border lord, even the neutral packs. The great hall is going to be packed.”

I nodded without looking up.

“Good.”

My eyes snagged on one file.

A wide stretch of mountain territory down near the southern oil refineries—rich with untapped infernal crude deposits and old silver veins. Prime land. Strategically perfect for a new pipeline and forward outpost.

The current owners? Some minor southern pack that had missed tribute payments three seasons in a row. Weak leadership. Crumbling defenses. Basically begging to be swallowed.

I rubbed my chin, a slow, satisfied smirk pulling at my mouth.

“This one…”

Eryx leaned in slightly. “Problem?”

“No,” I said, voice quiet. “Opportunity. Send a survey team at first light. Full guard. Mark the borders for reclamation. Give the pack one formal notice—pay everything owed by the next moon, or the land transfers to dominion control. No extensions.”

He didn’t blink. “Understood.”

He knew how this worked. Everyone did.

If you can’t hold it, you don’t deserve it.

The doors hissed open then—the council filing in for the afternoon session. Elder Darius led the pack, silver beard neat, eyes sharp and calculating as always. The rest followed: old wolves in tailored suits, tablets glowing, all of them pretending they weren’t measuring the temperature of the room the second they walked in.

They bowed. I stayed seated.

“Let’s hear it,” I said, waving a hand. “You’ve got the floor.”

Darius stepped forward, scroll in hand like he was about to read scripture.

“My lord, the council wishes to address a growing concern. Reports from the southern and eastern borders—multiple land seizures in the past months. Properties taken without formal challenge, without compensation. Entire minor packs displaced. It’s creating… unrest. Whispers that could spread.”

The room went dead quiet.

I let it sit there for a beat.

Then another.

Finally, I leaned forward, elbows on the throne arms, fingers laced.

“Unrest,” I repeated, tasting the word. “Whispers.”

Darius held my stare. Brave man. Or stupid. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.

“These actions risk destabilizing fragile alliances at a time when unity—”

I raised one finger.

He stopped mid-sentence.

I stood.

Slow.

The hellfire behind the walls flared brighter, gold veins crawling like they were alive.

“Let me clear this up for everyone,” I said, voice calm, almost conversational. “This dominion wasn’t built on fragile alliances. It was built on strength. On taking what we need to survive. On making sure no one ever mistakes mercy for weakness again.”

I stepped down from the dais, boots silent on the polished floor.

“I don’t seize land. I reclaim it. From packs that can’t pay their debts. From packs that can’t defend their borders. From packs that let their people starve while their alphas hoard money in offshore accounts.”

I stopped right in front of Darius.

Close enough to see his pulse jump in his throat.

“You want to talk about unrest? Unrest happens when the strong hesitate. When we let weakness fester on our doorstep. I’m cutting it out before it spreads.”

I looked around the room, meeting every pair of eyes.

“Any pack that can hold what’s theirs—great. They keep it. Any pack that can’t? It becomes ours. That’s how empires stay alive. That’s how we stay on top.”

No one spoke.

No one even breathed loud.

I smiled—small, sharp.

“Does anyone here want to argue that we should be weaker?”

Silence.

Of course.

I turned, walked back to the throne, and sat.

“Good. Then the matter’s closed.”

I let that settle for a second.

Then I dropped the real bomb.

“One more thing.”

Every head snapped up.

“On the night of the next Blood Moon, we’re throwing a feast. A proper one. The entire dominion is invited—lords, allies, border packs, anyone with a name worth remembering.”

I paused, watching their faces.

“It’s a welcome party. For my mate. Maureen Laurent will stand beside me, in front of everyone. No more rumors. No more whispers in dark corners. You’ll all see her. You’ll all know exactly who she is to me.”

You could hear a pin drop.

Darius recovered first, voice careful.

“My lord… presenting her so publicly, so soon—it will stir talk. Many still wonder if the lunar female is… permanent.”

I leaned forward again.

“Then let them talk. And while we’re at it—speak freely now. You have my permission. Tell me what you really think about my choice. About her place here.”

I looked around the table.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Waiting.

Not a single mouth opened.

Eyes dropped. Throats were subtly bared.

Exactly as I expected.

I let the silence stretch until it was uncomfortable.

Then I smiled—wider this time.

“Wise,” I said. “Prepare the hall. Make it unforgettable.”

I stood.

“Meeting’s over.”

As they filed out—quiet, quick—Eryx lingered.

“You just handed them an open shot at you,” he said low. “And they choked.”

I touched the hidden sweater under my coat, fingers brushing soft wool.

“They always do.”

Because deep down, they know the truth.

Cross me on the borders? Fine. I’ll take your land.

Cross me on her?

I’ll take everything else.

And soon the whole dominion would see exactly why.

I left the war room without another word, the heavy doors sealing behind me with a hiss.

The corridors were dim, torches flickering low as the fortress settled into evening. Guards bowed as I passed, but I barely saw them. My mind was already home.

Today, I wanted to do something for her.

Something small. Something mine to give.

She’d made me a sweater—spent hours with her delicate hands turning yarn into warmth just for me.

I wanted to give that back.

I detoured to the kitchens first, waving off the startled staff with a single look. No one questioned the Alpha Devil when he walked in and started pulling out flour, sugar, chocolate, vanilla, cinnamon, dried berries—whatever I could find.I didn’t know what she liked best.

So I made five kinds.

Dark chocolate chunk with sea salt.

Cinnamon oatmeal with raisins.

Classic sugar with a soft center.

White chocolate and cranberry.

And peanut butter—because the scent reminded me of something warm and simple.

I worked in silence, sleeves rolled up, hellfire carefully banked so it didn’t burn the dough. The kitchen staff hovered at the edges, pretending not to watch their terrifying Alpha pipe perfect rounds onto trays like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When they came out golden and fragrant, I stacked them on a large silver tray myself, draped a cloth over the top, and carried it out.

I took the long way back to our chambers—through hidden passages—so she wouldn’t catch my scent too early. I wanted it to be a surprise.

When I reached the doors, I paused, listening.

Quiet inside.

I pushed them open slowly.

And stopped dead.

Maureen stood in the middle of the room, back to me, sliding a thin strap of black lace up her shoulder.

Lingerie.

Sheer, delicate, the kind that clung to every curve like midnight mist. The fabric was almost nothing—lace and silk that left her back bare, the soft glow of her skin catching the hellfire light.

My breath caught hard.

The tray tilted in my hands.

Cookies scattered across the floor with a clatter of porcelain and sugar.

She spun around, eyes wide, cheeks flushing deep pink.

“Vuk!”

I didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

She was… gods, she was devastating.

Beautiful in a way that punched the air from my lungs.

I set the broken tray on the nearest table—carefully, somehow—and crossed the room in three strides.

My hands found her waist, pulled her flush against me.

“You’re trying to kill me,” I growled against her neck, voice rough.

She laughed—soft, breathless, happy.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“You did.”

I kissed her—slow at first, savoring the taste of her, the way she melted into me instantly. Then deeper, hungrier, until her fingers were tangled in my hair and her body arched against mine.

When we broke apart, both breathing hard, I rested my forehead against hers.

“I made you something too,” I said, voice low.

She blinked, looked past me to the mess on the floor, then back up with a slow, delighted smile.

“Cookies?”

“Five kinds,” I admitted, a little sheepish. “I didn’t know which you’d like.”

Her eyes softened—warm, luminous, full of something that made my chest ache.

She reached up, cupped my face.

“You baked for me?”

“Tried to,” I muttered. “Most survived.”

She laughed again—bright, sweet—and pulled me down for another kiss, softer this time.

“Thank you,” she whispered against my lips. “It’s perfect.”

I lifted her easily, carried her to the bed, and laid her down among the black furs.

The cookies could wait.