Chapter 8: The Council

KILLIAN'S POV

"You get one hour, Elder Rowan. Don't waste it."

I didn't bother waiting for his answer. I went straight to the head chair, pulled it out, and sat. No hesitation. Because in a room like this, every move mattered—even the small ones.

The council chamber was colder than usual. Six men, all circling that long stone table, wear their own brands of displeasure on their faces. Rowan sat at one end. Voss beside him, looking hungry for power, younger and too sharp.

Three others—I knew their names but stopped trusting any of them since my father died. Drake anchored the other end, eyes glued to the table. He hadn't looked up once.

I clocked it but didn’t say a word.

Pain tugged at my side every time I breathed, quiet but insistent. I kept my arm still and my face blank. Pain was just intel—I wasn't sharing that with this audience.

Rowan started. "Seven warriors lost." He sounded tired in that way you get from repeating bad news too often. "Fourteen hurt. Three of them critical. North perimeter breached. Again." He let that word hang in the air just long enough. "The pack is frightened, Alpha."

"The pack is resilient." I met his stare. "There's a difference."

"Maybe." Voss clasped his hands together. All ambition and no real power. "But even resilience has limits. People want answers."

"What kind of questions?"

He didn't miss a beat. "Like why our Alpha was off in a human city when rogues keep attacking. What we're actually doing to stop it. How many more sons need to die before things change."

I locked eyes with Voss. He met it—which, honestly, was unusual.

"The rogues are coordinated," I said. My voice came out low. "You all saw it last night. They moved in tight formation, picked their marks, and pulled back on command. That's not random. It’s a campaign." I let that settle. "Someone’s giving orders. Someone with resources, patience, and inside knowledge we shouldn’t be up against."

That got the reaction I wanted—some shifting, some flickers in a few pairs of eyes around the table. Rowan kept perfectly still, which said plenty all on its own.

"Miller Security has the network to sniff out the leak," I continued. "That's why I went. That's why I’m going back."

"Going back," Rowan echoed.

"She gave me four days to make my case. I'm going to use every one."

"And if she shoots you down again?" Rowan asked.

"She won't."

Voss exhaled sharply…..a sound too dry to be a laugh. "You sound sure of a woman who already said no."

My jaw clenched. "I'm sure about what the pack needs. The rest is just details."

Another silence. Rowan and Voss flashed a quick look to each other—practiced, silent. More had gone on behind closed doors. This was just the public showing.

I filed that away.

"There's another matter," Rowan said, voice smoothing out. "Given everything, the council feels this can't wait."

I didn't give him anything back. I knew what he was angling for long before I'd even walked in.

"This pack has been without a Luna for too long," he said. "The Hawthorne engagement ended badly. The people feel the loss. A mating announcement would signal that you're not just in survival mode. It would show everyone that there’s a plan for the future."

"Michelle Rowan," Voss added. He played the card straight out. "The Beta’s sister. Strong, respected, loyal is exactly who we need. The council backs her. Unanimously."

I just repeated that word in my own head. Unanimous. Right.

"Is that so," I said, voice low.

"She'd make an exceptional Luna," Rowan pressed. "With the timing—"

I cut him off. "The timing is that seven of my people were buried this morning and fourteen more are still in the hospital." I stood, no raised voice, just purpose. "And here you are, talking about ceremonies."

"We want you to look beyond another attack," Voss said. "A Luna at your side is a message—"

"I know exactly what message it sends." My voice dropped cold. The kind of tone that broke through all the politics and made a few lesser members shift in their seats. "And I know what you're really asking for. Hear me clearly: I’ll make that decision when I’m ready—not when the council wants it for show."

Rowan stayed unreadable. "The council only wants what’s best—"

"I know what the council wants." I buttoned my jacket, shoved the chair in. "You have four days. When I get Miller Security’s support, we go after the real threat, fully and finally. After that, we’ll talk about everything else." I scanned the table one last time. "We're done."

I walked to the door.

"Alpha Blackwood." Rowan’s voice followed, calm but edged. Somehow that made it worse. "The council has seen this pack through hard years. We'll do it again, with or without resistance."

I stopped.

Took a deep breath, then turned and met his eye from across the room.

"Be careful, Elder," I said. "There’s a big difference between giving counsel and taking control. Remember which one you’re here for."

No one answered.

I left.

Claude waited outside, arms folded, keeping watch. He stepped in beside me without a word as we walked away from the council chamber and their plotting.

We didn’t talk for a while. You could hear the sounds of the pack drifting up from outside. Trying to stick with routine, because if they didn’t, maybe everything would break.

"Rowan and Voss arrived together," I finally said. "They’re talking outside sessions."

Claude nodded. "I saw it too. Drake as well. He looked wired—like he was waiting for bad news."

"Or waiting for proof of it." I let out a long breath. "Keep your eyes on them quietly. I want to know what meetings I’m not getting invited to."

"Got it." He hesitated. "And Michelle?"

"Not now."

He frowned. "Killian—"

"Not now."

Claude shut up. We turned toward the stairs, and I was already planning out the week ahead—calls to make, the pitch I’d need ready before I saw Candice Miller again—when the end doors banged open so hard they bounced off the wall.

One of my younger warriors stumbled in, sweating, out of breath—like he’d sprinted the grounds. His shoulder bled through a torn uniform. He found me right away, and that look in his eyes put me on edge.

"Alpha." His voice was raw. "East border…they hit us again."

Everything in me went still and my focus became sharp.

"How many?" I asked.

He swallowed. "Twelve rogues. Maybe more. Breached the fence by the old clinic. They…they didn’t attack anyone. They left something. At the tree line. Just dropped it and left."

"Left what?" Claude snapped.

The warrior fished in his jacket with trembling fingers and handed me something small.

A pendant. Silver chain, old, worn thin. Crescent moon stamped in the middle.

Ice ran through me.

I’d seen it before—six years ago. Around a girl's neck, high on a cliff, caught between staying and letting go.

I closed my hand around the pendant, feeling its cold edges.

"Alpha?" Claude sounded distant. "Do you know what that is?"

I didn’t answer.

My fist tightened and the metal pressed hard into my skin.

"Double the patrol on the East border," I said, voice flat. "No one in or out without my order. Go."

"Killian." Claude stepped closer, lowered his voice. "What is that?"

I looked him in the eye.

"Get the car. We’re going to see Ms. Miller—tonight."

His eyes went wide. "Tonight? I thought you had four days—"

"Tonight, Claude."

He stared at me, judged I wasn’t going to budge, and left.

I looked down at the pendant again. The crescent moon caught the light—impossibly familiar.

Sara was dead. I’d seen the proof myself. I’d felt the mate bond just…shut off. Six years, and I still carried that silence every day.

So why was her pendant in my hand?

"Alpha." The young warrior was still there, nervous. "Should I be worried?”