The Master of Ceremonies cleared his throat, smiling in a way intended to smooth the awkwardness.
“Well,” he said cheerfully, “if that isn’t a display of unity between our newly presented Alpha and Luna, I don’t know what is.”
Soft laughter rippled through the crowd. Warm. Indulgent.
Heat rushed up my neck anyway, and my face burned.
Every eye in the hall had watched me fumble with Zane’s jacket. Had seen my shaking hands struggle with the clasp, and witnessed that small, what should be intimate moment play out under blazing scrutiny.
The Master of Ceremonies gestured toward the podium. “Alpha Zane Blackthorne, if you would.”
Zane reached the podium and paused, his hands resting lightly on the edges. For a moment, he simply stood there, his gaze sweeping across the assembled wolves.
