Chapter 112
DEREK
I was still wiping the blood off my arm when Elena grabbed her father by the sleeve.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
“There’s been a rogue attack,” he said, low and calm.
I stiffened beside her. “I’ll go help.”
But the Moonstone Alpha held up a hand without looking at me. “I appreciate your willingness to step in,” he said evenly, “but my men can take care of our own territory.”
“But—”
“It’s a small attack,” he said firmly. “Just a few rogues testing the perimeter, most likely. I’ve sent Mason to handle it.”
I glanced toward the drive, where Logan and Chad had already vanished into the dusk. Their absence left a sharp edge in the atmosphere. It felt like the warmth of the evening had been replaced by something colder—tense and alert.
The Alpha turned, nodding toward the horizon. “It’s a full moon tonight. The rogues are restless. Nothing more.”
He didn’t want my help. That was clear.
Across the courtyard, I could see people beginning to murmur. The firelight flickered over worried faces. Guests were shifting from foot to foot, the easy laughter of earlier replaced with hushed speculation.
Wolves were tuned to conflict by instinct. Even if they hadn’t heard the words, they could feel the change in the air.
The Moonstone Alpha stepped into the center of the gathering, raising his voice just enough. “A minor disturbance,” he announced. “Nothing to be alarmed about. Our border patrol caught it early. The situation is under control.”
A few scattered nods.
But uncertainty hung heavy.
Then, like the master strategist she was, the Luna appeared. Not from the shadows, but from the far end of the party, her voice light, sweet, and perfectly projected.
“Well, then,” she called. “Since the rogue wolves are restless, I suppose it’s only fair the rest of us dance until we drop.”
Laughter rippled, tentative but real.
She clapped twice. “Musicians! Something warm. Something steady. Let’s fill this space with joy before the moon rises too high.”
The drummers responded instantly, shifting into a slower, rhythmic tune. I didn’t recognize the opening notes at first—just a deep pulsing beat layered with strings and soft chimes.
But I knew the way Elena froze beside me.
“What?” I asked.
She blinked. “This song. They played it at Dawn’s wedding.”
Ah.
I remembered that night too. The tension between us. The strange comfort. The slow, impossible dance.
The Luna appeared at Elena’s side, barely above a whisper. “Will you two lead?”
Elena hesitated.
“Please,” her mother added, her voice suddenly gentle. “We need to assure our guests there’s nothing to worry about.”
Elena’s eyes found mine. Searching. Not for approval, but for steadiness.
I held out my hand.
She took it.
The song unfolded like a memory—slower than the last time, deeper somehow, with the added layer of moonlight glinting off silver leaves and nervous energy humming just below the surface.
Elena’s fingers were warm in mine. Her other hand found my shoulder as mine settled at the curve of her waist. And just like that, we were moving.
It wasn’t a perfect dance.
We didn’t glide across the stones like trained performers. We stumbled once—she stepped on my foot, I nearly knocked over a lantern—but the crowd began to settle as they watched us.
Conversation returned in soft waves. Couples joined us slowly, filtering into the open space, filling the courtyard with light steps and flowing fabric.
But I couldn’t look away from her.
Elena.
Head high, spine straight, her jaw still clenched with the aftershock of the fight—but her body softening as the music carried us.
“You okay?” I asked quietly.
“No,” she said. “But I will be.”
“That was more than just sparring.”
“I know.”
I tightened my hand at her waist. “You shouldn’t have had to stop it.”
“I didn’t do it for him.”
That gave me pause. “Then why?”
“For Aiden. For you. For everyone watching.” She glanced around. “This whole night was supposed to be about hope. Unity. The Moonbinding. And Logan—he made it about territory. About posturing.”
I studied her profile. The way her eyes darted toward the trees, always alert. “You were incredible, you know.”
She let out a breath. “I was furious.”
“Still incredible.”
She tilted her head up, eyes catching mine. “You took a hit pretty well.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not the flex you think it is.”
“Hurts less when you’re dancing after,” I said, spinning her gently before pulling her back.
She actually laughed.
And just like that, the tension between us melted—for a moment. For one, sacred breath of time.
The song came to a close, the final chord lingering in the air like a held breath.
Elena stepped away, her hand slipping from mine with the faintest brush of fingertips. She looked out across the crowd, cheeks flushed, hair tousled from the movement. Around us, a quiet settled for half a beat—then applause erupted.
Louder than I expected. Not polite, not perfunctory, but warm. Real.
Not just for the dance, but for what it had done. For the moment we’d created. For the illusion of peace.
Guests who had moments ago been glancing over their shoulders were now clapping, smiling, relaxing. The children laughed and began running around again. The drummers lifted a softer rhythm, one that smoothed the air like balm.
But even as the last note echoed across the courtyard, I heard it.
Engines.
A low growl rolling over the rise, followed by the crunch of gravel under heavy tires.
The illusion shattered like glass.
Headlights swept through the trees, cutting through the haze of torchlight and smoke. Vehicles returned in a tight cluster, fanned out like a tactical formation. The dust they kicked up hung like a veil in the air, golden in the glow of lanterns.
Elena turned instantly, her body snapping to attention before her mind could even catch up.
“They’re back,” she said, and without waiting for an answer, started moving toward the driveway.
I followed.
She walked with purpose—fast, graceful, not pushing, but not hesitating either. Her presence made the crowd part like water. I stayed just behind her shoulder, and every muscle in my body tightened as the warriors emerged from the lead SUV.
Mason was first—his hair windblown, a fresh scrape across his jaw. He wore the look of someone trying very hard to appear unfazed.
Logan came next. Silent. Composed. His face unreadable, his shoulders squared with deliberate ease.
Gamma Chad hopped down from the front seat and adjusted his cuffs like he’d just come back from a grocery run instead of a potential skirmish.
Two other guards climbed out behind them, both younger, eyes sharp and scanning.
The air grew still again.
No howls. No shouting. No wounded being carried in.
Elena’s eyes darted over each face like she was scanning for invisible injuries.
Mason approached the Alpha first, brushing dust from his sleeve, ever the dutiful son. He wore his casualness like a mask, but his posture was tight.
“Everything all right?” Elena asked.
“Everything is fine, Father,” Mason said, not looking at her. “Just a few wolves. Nothing serious.”
The Alpha nodded. “Good.” He clapped a hand to Mason’s shoulder, as if to signal to the rest of the watching crowd that all was well.
A few murmurs of relief rippled through the nearest guests.
But Logan—standing just behind Mason—didn’t move. Not at first.
Then he took a step forward, his movements measured. The light caught the edge of his face, highlighting the slight sheen of sweat, the stiffness in his jaw.
His voice cut through the moment like a blade.
“However,” he said, just a little too loud, just a little too crisp.
All eyes turned to him.
“One of them, as he was fleeing,” Logan continued, “dropped this.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled something out—held it up between two fingers.
A golden medallion.
It glinted in the headlights. Polished. Clearly intentional.
Even from where I stood, I recognized it instantly.
The crest of Silverclaw.
