Chapter Nine – The Table of Wolves🍽️🐺
1110 Words
POV: Nyra
The dining hall wasn’t just massive. It felt ancient.
Torches flickered along stone walls etched with runes she didn’t understand. Wolves lined the long tables, their chatter dimming as she entered. A hush fell over them—not hostile, not quite—but watchful. Judging.
And beside her, Kael. Solid. Silent. A force made flesh.
He didn’t need to speak to own the room. Every Alpha line in the hall straightened instinctively the moment his boots echoed against the stone.
That’s why he’s King.
Not just his size. Or the way he moved with coiled threat in every limb. But the sheer gravity of him. The silence he could summon with a look. A male like that didn’t demand loyalty.
He breathed it into existence.
“Come,” Kael said softly.
Nyra followed him to the head table. It sat raised above the others, with six seats. One of which was now… hers.
Kael pulled out her chair.
Lucan, already slouched in his seat with a mug in hand, whistled low. “Well damn. Are we dressing our new Queen in red already?”
Mira, across the table, lifted an elegant brow. “Careful, Gamma. Flirt with the wrong woman and I might see a future where you lose a limb.”
Lucan laughed. “Only one? You’re getting soft, Mira.”
Torren, beside her, didn’t smile. He never did. But the way his fingers brushed Mira’s wrist under the table didn’t escape Nyra’s eyes.
So that’s how it is.
Mira and Torren weren’t just Beta and Beta Female. They were a unit. A bond forged through war, probably years of blood, training, and shared secrets. A couple that didn’t need loud declarations or public affection.
They just were.
Nyra sat down, suddenly very aware of the space between her and Kael. And how it pulsed with heat.
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POV: Kael
He shouldn’t have let her sit so close.
Her scent curled into his blood like a drug—moon-sweet, dangerously female, and uniquely hers. Every breath filled him with it.
And she didn’t even know.
Not yet.
But the wolves did. The stares. The silence. The unspoken understanding that something was shifting around the throne.
Around her.
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POV: Nyra
The meal began. Dishes passed—roasted venison, root vegetables spiced with fire pepper, and mugs of deep crimson wine. It was rich and strange and wild. She wasn’t used to eating like this. Or being the center of attention.
Lucan didn’t seem to care.
“So, mystery girl—what’s your specialty? Besides throwing herself into cursed woods and seducing kings?”
Nyra raised an eyebrow. “I bite.”
Lucan leaned in with a wicked grin. “Oh good. So do I.”
Torren’s voice was low. “You’ll lose your tongue.”
Lucan waved him off. “Heard worse threats in my sleep.”
“Not from Mira,” Torren muttered.
Mira didn’t smile. “Try me.”
Laughter erupted around the table.
For a moment, Nyra felt it—belonging. Not quite trust. But the space where it might grow.
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POV: Mira
She watched Nyra carefully. Not just with her eyes, but with the Sight that burned behind them.
The girl was… unstable. Not weak. No—she had the kind of power that cracked bones if not channeled properly.
And that scent…
It wasn’t just Kael reacting.
The Moon was watching her.
And she dreams in silver.
Torren’s fingers brushed hers again beneath the table. A silent reminder that she wasn’t alone in this vision.
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POV: Nyra
As the plates cleared, Mira stood.
And the room stilled.
“Every new moon,” she said, voice smooth and hypnotic, “we share our story, so the blood we spill tomorrow remembers why we spilled it.”
She placed her hand on the blackened table.
“We are the Northern Bloodline. Marked by storm. Bound by oath. Born from the ashes of the Forgotten War.”
The room rumbled with agreement. Wolves tapped fists to chests.
Mira’s gaze turned toward Nyra. “And every generation, the Moon offers us a thread of chaos—to test whether we are still worthy.”
Nyra’s breath caught.
Kael didn’t move, but she could feel tension vibrating off him.
Lucan whispered, “Well s**t. It’s one of those speeches.”
Torren elbowed him.
Mira’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “You were brought here by more than fate, girl. The moon called you.”
Nyra swallowed.
“And what does she want?”
Mira stared through her. “To see if you burn… or rise.”
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POV: Kael
He watched Nyra flinch—only slightly—but enough to make something inside him snarl.
She wasn’t ready. Not for the weight they were trying to throw on her shoulders.
And yet… she sat tall.
Strong.
Unflinching, even with the heat of prophecy licking at her feet.
Gods, she was magnificent.
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Later – POV: Nyra
She lingered near the table as the others drifted out. The scent of smoke clung to the air, mingled with wine and spice.
Kael stepped close behind her. She felt him before she heard him.
“You handled Mira well.”
“She nearly prophesied my death.”
“Could’ve been worse.”
“How?”
“She once told Torren his mate would stab him within the year.”
Nyra turned. “Did it happen?”
Kael looked past her—toward Mira and Torren, still standing in the shadows. Mira was whispering something in his ear. Torren listened. His hand cupped the back of her neck, grounding her.
“Almost,” Kael said. “But he ducked.”
Nyra laughed.
And then froze as Kael brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
His fingers lingered on her cheek. “You keep surprising me.”
She tilted her chin. “That’s good, right?”
“It’s dangerous.”
Heat flared between them.
She pressed her hand against his chest—feeling the restrained power beneath. “You’re holding back.”
“I have to.”
“Why?”
His jaw clenched. “Because once I start, I won’t stop. And I can’t mark you.”
Not yet.
The weight of it hung between them.
He leaned in, breath teasing her ear. “But I can still make you feel mine.”
She shivered. “Then do it.”
Kael’s hand slid to her waist. Not possessive. Just… steadying her. Grounding her.
His lips brushed her temple.
“You belong at my side,” he murmured. “Even if neither of us understands why yet.”
- Writer
