Chapter 3

Elias

I stood at the front window of my office at the pack house, watching the empty driveway with a tension that had been building for hours. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked relentlessly, each second stretching my already frayed nerves. Drake's message had been frustratingly brief: Harper was being released into Midnight Moon territory under supervision. No details on her condition, no explanation for the Council's decision, just the cold facts delivered with typical vampire restraint. I didn’t care if he was a Divine Warrior like Harper; I still hated the way he was with her, like he had some sort of claim over her. The Idea of her life being in his hands didn’t sit right with me, and his lack of communication bugged me.

My mind kept conjuring worst-case scenarios. Silver cells designed to suppress both wolf and grace. Magical restraints that would leave burns on her skin. The Council had a long history of treating "problematic" supernaturals as less than people, and Harper had just challenged their authority in the most direct way possible.

"Any sign?" Tommy's voice came from the doorway. The new Alpha of Midnight Moon looked as tense as I felt, his shoulders rigid beneath his casual approach.

"Nothing," I replied, checking my watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. "Drake said they'd release her this morning. It's almost noon." Tommy leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. 

"Louise is worried. She says we should have sent our own escort."

"And give the Council an excuse to claim we're interfering? No." I shook my head. "Drake knows what he's doing. If anyone can navigate Council politics, it's a vampire who's been playing their games for centuries."

"I don't trust them," Tommy said bluntly. "Not after what happened with Samual." I didn't either, but saying it out loud wouldn't help. Instead, I returned my gaze to the window, scanning the tree line where our territory began. The minutes crawled by, Tommy's presence a silent solidarity I appreciated more than I could express. 

The flash of headlights through the trees snapped me to attention.

"They're here," I said, already moving toward the door. Tommy followed close behind, his footsteps matching my urgent pace. I burst through the front doors of the pack house just as a sleek black SUV with Council insignia pulled up the driveway. My heart pounded against my ribs as the vehicle came to a stop, the engine cutting off, creating a silent tension that didn’t seem to be there before. The rear door opened, and Harper stepped out, flanked by three figures I immediately categorised as threats. Her face was composed, that mask of defiance she wore when she was hurt but refused to show it. Her hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, and even from a distance, I could see the faint marks on her wrists where silver cuffs had been, magical residue that hadn't quite faded.

I was at her side in seconds, my eyes scanning her for injuries, cataloging every detail. She looked tired, shadows beneath her eyes suggesting she hadn't slept, but otherwise unharmed. The relief that flooded me was quickly replaced by rage at what they'd put her through.

"I'm fine," she said before I could speak, her voice low and tight. "Relax, they only tried to turn me into Council décor." The three observers watched our interaction with varying degrees of interest. One of them, a male werewolf I vaguely recognised, stepped forward facing Tommy.

"Alpha Kirby," he said with a formal nod. "I'm Andrews. These are my colleagues, Anettia Brakewell and Dominic Wells. We've been assigned as neutral observers for Ms Kirby during her... stay in Midnight Moon territory." The way he hesitated before "stay" told me everything I needed to know about how they viewed this arrangement. Not a homecoming. A containment.

"What exactly does that entail?" I asked, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice.

"We're here to ensure Ms Kirby complies with the terms of her release," Anettia said, her fae features sharp and uncompromising. "Nothing more, nothing less." Harper's fingers brushed against my wrist, a silent warning. Not here. Not at them. I swallowed my growl, forcing myself to nod instead.

"Let's continue this inside," I said, placing my hand at the small of Harper's back as we turned toward the pack house with Tommy leading the way. The observers followed at a respectful distance, their eyes never leaving Harper.

"What happened?" I murmured once we had got a little bit of distance, low enough that only she could hear.

"Public trial in one week," she replied, her voice equally soft. "Charges include killing Brighid, collusion with demon-bloods, and defying Council directives. I'm bound to Midnight Moon, no Neverplain, no seal work, monitored 24/7, and no contact with demon-blood camps." Each restriction hit like a physical blow. They weren't just containing her; they were isolating her, cutting her off from her power and her allies. I felt my temper spike, a hot rush of anger that would have once awakened my demon. Now it just burned through me with nowhere to go.

Tommy's office had been transformed into a makeshift war room, with maps and documents spread across his desk. Louise sat in an armchair by the window, baby Alissa asleep in her arms. Brianna stood near the bookshelves, her expression troubled. Marcus leaned against the wall, his face unnervingly blank. Aaron and Katie hovered near the door, their concern evident.

The room fell silent as we entered, all eyes turning to Harper. She straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin in that defiant gesture I'd come to love. I turned to the door and shut it firmly in the faces of the three observers. They weren’t welcome in here.

"Well," she said, breaking the tension, "the good news is I'm not in a cell anymore." Louise grinned as Katie giggled.

“Like they could keep you contained,” Louise said. Katie stepped forward to hug Harper.

"What happened?" Tommy demanded, his voice tight with barely contained fury. Harper gave them the condensed version, her tone matter-of-fact despite the injustice of it all. She described the Council session, how Drake had invoked the Divine Order's original authority, and how Councilmen Hendricks and Mercer had spun their fear of demon-bloods into a weapon against her.

"Mercer actually used the phrase 'Queen of demon-bloods,'" Harper said with a bitter laugh. "Apparently, that's grounds for treason these days."

"How did they even know about that?" Louise asked, shifting Alissa gently in her arms. "We've been careful about the oath-transfers."

"Someone's been watching," I said grimly. "The Council has eyes everywhere." Harper nodded. 

"After that, it was just a formality. Valencia allowed a vote on whether to detain me, and the majority agreed. Drake managed to negotiate my release under these conditions instead of keeping me in Level Three indefinitely."

"And Brighid?" Tommy asked, his jaw clenched. "They're actually charging you for defending yourself against her?" Harper's expression darkened. 

"According to Mercer, there's no proof Brighid betrayed the Order except my word and Drake's. They're painting it as murder." Tommy slammed his fist down on the desk, startling Alissa, who began to fuss in Louise's arms. 

"That's bullshit!" he snarled. "Brighid tried to kill you in the Neverplain. She was working with the Horsemen, angling to be Queen of Hell. Her schemes nearly got this entire pack wiped out and put my mate and daughter in the crosshairs."

Louise soothed Alissa with gentle murmurs, but her eyes were hard as she looked up. 

"The Council sat in their chambers while we were fighting for our lives," she said quietly. "They had Harper to do their dirty work, and now they're punishing her for succeeding."

"They're hiding behind procedure," Tommy continued, pacing now, his anger a palpable force in the room. "Instead of admitting their own failures, Nathaniel's infiltration, Samual's vendetta, they're making Harper the scapegoat." I watched him, feeling that same protective rage but also recognising the political reality we faced. The Council would see this outrage as emotional bias, as proof that Harper's connection to Midnight Moon clouded her judgment. Every word Tommy spoke, justified as it was, would be weaponized against Harper at trial.

"If the Council wants someone to stand trial for Brighid," Tommy growled, "they can come here and face me. I'll tell them exactly what that fae bitch was planning to do to my niece and my pack."

"Tommy," Harper said, her voice cutting through his tirade. "I appreciate the support, I do. But we don't have time to spiral over my image." She glanced at Brianna and then at Marcus, who hadn't moved or spoken since we entered. "Marcus doesn't have time." The room fell silent, all eyes turning to the Gamma who stood unnaturally still against the wall.

"I'm fine," Marcus said flatly, his expression unchanged. "This is unnecessary drama." Brianna, who had been quietly observing until now, stepped forward, her face solemn. 

"No," she said softly. "You're not fine, Marcus." The witch Divine Warrior moved closer to him, her movements careful, as if approaching a wounded animal. 

"I can see it," she continued. "You have a great hole in you, and the connection to your soul... It's fraying." Marcus stiffened, his eyes narrowing. 

"I'm walking. I'm talking. I'm doing my job. I'm fine."

"You're functioning," Brianna corrected, her voice gentle but unflinching. "But that's not the same thing."

I watched the exchange with a growing sense of dread. I'd noticed changes in Marcus since my sister’s death, subtle shifts in his behaviour, moments of blankness, a strange disconnect in his reactions. I'd attributed it to grief, to the trauma of killing his own mate. But Brianna's words gave form to the unease I'd been feeling.

"When Lily died," Brianna explained, addressing all of us now, "when Marcus killed her, their mate bond shattered. That trauma tore his soul. I can see it, and I am guessing that Harper can see it as well." I glanced over at Harper, and she shrugged, but the concern in her eyes was enough to confirm what the witch was saying.

"What does that mean?" Louise asked, her arms tightening protectively around Alissa. Brianna's expression was grave. 

"Think of his soul as fragments drifting apart. They can still be collected, but the longer we wait, the more pieces scatter. Some fragments will decay beyond recovery, meaning we might not be able to put them back together."

"This is ridiculous," Marcus snapped, pushing away from the wall. "You're all overreacting out of guilt and trauma. I don't need this psychoanalysis bullshit."

"It's not psychoanalysis," Brianna insisted. "It's literal. Your soul is damaged, Marcus. I can see it."

She turned to me, her eyes pleading for support. 

"You've noticed it too, haven't you? Surely, as his closest friend, you will have seen it? The blunted reactions, the lack of joy, how he doesn't startle or show fear the way he used to. He didn't fall apart after killing Lily the way anyone with a whole soul would." I met her gaze, then looked at Marcus, really looked at him. This man had been my right hand since I took over my first pack. He had been with me since we started our fight against the Circle. He'd been loud, teasing, a pain in everyone's ass. He'd felt everything intensely, from rage to humour. The person standing before me now was a shadow of that man, and the realisation hit me like a physical blow.

Marcus wasn't stoic. Parts of him were just... missing.

Memories flashed through my mind: Marcus staring blankly at a joke that would have once had him roaring with laughter. The way he volunteered for dangerous missions without hesitation or concern. 

"You're not fine," I said quietly, the words heavy in the silence that had fallen. "We should have seen it sooner." Marcus's expression twisted with something that might have been anger on someone else. On him, it looked like a pale imitation, a remembered response rather than a felt one.

"I don't need fixing," he said, his voice rising. "I need all of you to stop treating me like a bomb about to go off. So what if I'm different? Everyone changes after trauma. That doesn't mean I'm broken."

"This isn't about calling you broken," Harper interjected, stepping between them. "It's about not losing more of you than we already have." Brianna nodded, her face softening with compassion. 

"The fragments of your soul are in the Neverplain, possibly deeper, in the Land of Shattered Souls. We need to locate them and anchor what's left in you now so it doesn't unravel further. That kind of retrieval becomes nearly impossible once too much time passes."

"And how exactly are we supposed to do that?" Marcus demanded. "Harper's banned from the Neverplain. In case you weren't listening, she's on house arrest pending trial for treason."

The room fell silent again, the impossibility of our situation hanging heavy in the air. Harper's gaze met mine across the room, and I saw the determination there, the decision already made. She would go after Marcus's soul, Council restrictions be damned.

"If you're going to do this," Brianna said, her voice breaking the silence, "if you're going to Hell for Marcus, you don't have much time." 

“Could we wait the week?” Harper asked. “Until we get this all sorted out?” She meant the mess with the Council. I glanced at the door, knowing that the observers were just on the other side, probably trying to listen in, getting evidence to use against Harper. Brianna shrugged. 

“Maybe,” she said, although it didn’t take a genius to know she wasn’t so sure. “I mean, we have already waited over a month, but the longer we wait, the harder it will be.”

"We should continue this discussion later," I said, the warning clear in my voice, and looked pointedly towards the door again. "Harper needs rest after her ordeal." The others took the hint, filing out of the room with varying degrees of reluctance. Marcus was the last to leave, his movements stiff, his face still unnervingly blank. As he passed me, I caught his arm.

"We're not giving up on you," I said quietly. "Whether you think you need it or not." He met my gaze, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of the old Marcus, a flash of genuine emotion breaking through the emptiness. Then it was gone, replaced by that same flat affect.

"Do what you need to do," he said, pulling away. "Just don't expect me to play the grateful patient." He then shrugged off my hand and stormed from the office, slamming the door behind him.