Chapter 10: Pressure Lines
977 Words
Mara’s POV
They don’t come with guns.
That’s how I know it’s serious.
The message arrives just after noon, delivered by one of Declan’s senior security officers, as if it were a corporate memo rather than a warning.
REQUEST FOR ATTENDANCE
Alpha Council – Pacific Northwest
Observation Hearing
Observation.
Not judgment.
Not summons.
Not an accusation.
Yet.
“They’re testing the water,” I say, rereading it.
Declan stands across from me, jacket already in his hands. “They’re reminding us they exist.”
“And reminding you,” I correct, “that they’re not sure you should.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue.
I’m dressed, finally, in my own clothes—dark jeans, boots, a fitted jacket that hides the bandaging beneath my ribs. Every step still pulls, but I refuse to show it. Pain is information. Not weakness.
“They didn’t ask for me by name,” I note.
“They didn’t have to,” Declan says. “You’re the variable.”
Good.
The Council chamber isn’t a building so much as a statement—an old maritime exchange repurposed into neutral ground. Stone. Steel. Glass. No obvious territory markers. No flags. No pack insignia.
Just power pretending to be impartial.
We’re not the first to arrive.
I feel the eyes on me before I see them. Alphas, Betas, observers. Some are openly curious. Some hostile. Some calculating in that quiet way that makes my wolf bristle.
Whispers follow us like a tide.
That’s her.
The Thorne girl.
The one who took a bullet.
The one bonded to Cross.
Declan’s presence at my side is steady, not possessive. He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t claim me. That restraint speaks louder than any public display.
A woman steps forward to greet us.
Tall. Silver-haired. Sharp eyes that miss nothing.
“Alpha Cross,” she says coolly. “Mara Thorne.”
Not mate.
Not consort.
Just my name.
“I’m Chairwoman Halvorsen.”
I meet her gaze. “You asked to observe.”
“Yes,” she says. “Because what’s happening in Seattle is... destabilizing.”
“Funny,” I reply. “It’s been unstable for five years. You didn’t seem concerned then.”
A flicker of interest crosses her face.
Declan inhales slowly beside me but says nothing.
“We’re concerned now,” Halvorsen says. “Because rival packs are moving. Borders are being tested. And Kieran Vale has lodged a formal grievance.”
I laugh. I don’t mean to—it just slips out, sharp and humorless.
“Of course he has.”
“Your response?” Halvorsen asks.
I answer before Declan can. “That a man who deploys armed wolves into civilian structures and targets families doesn’t get to cry about instability.”
A murmur ripples through the chamber.
Halvorsen tilts her head. “Strong words.”
“They’re accurate.”
She studies me openly now. “You’re not an Alpha.”
“No,” I agree. “But I am the reason this conflict exists. And the reason it hasn’t escalated into open war.”
“That’s debatable.”
“Is it?” I step forward, ignoring the twinge in my side. “If I’d let him kill Declan, you’d be dealing with a vacuum. If I’d let Declan kill him, you’d be dealing with retaliation across three territories. Instead, you’re dealing with paperwork.”
Silence.
Declan finally speaks. “We’re not here to defy the Council.”
Halvorsen nods once. “Good. Because we’re not here to take sides. Yet.”
There it is.
The threat wrapped in procedure.
“You will both remain under observation,” she continues. “Any further bloodshed will force intervention.”
“And Kieran?” I ask.
“He will be warned,” she says. “As you are being warned now.”
I feel my wolf bare her teeth. “He’s already crossed lines.”
“And so have you,” Halvorsen counters gently. “Taking a bullet does not make you neutral, Mara Thorne. It makes you influential.”
That lands.
After the hearing, the whispers are louder.
Some Alphas avoid us entirely. Others linger, watching. Measuring.
One man approaches as we near the exit.
“Thorne,” he says. “Your father was an honest wolf.”
I turn sharply. “You knew him?”
He nods. “I should have spoken sooner.”
“So should a lot of people,” I reply. “Start now.”
He hesitates. “Vale has been visiting smaller packs. Promising protection.”
Declan’s gaze hardens. “Protection from what?”
“From you.”
We leave shortly after.
Outside, the air feels heavier.
“They’re positioning you as the problem,” I say as we get into the car.
“They always do,” Declan replies. “Power doesn’t like being questioned.”
“Kieran wants the Council to act for him.”
“Yes.”
“And if they won’t?”
“He’ll force their hand.”
I lean back against the seat, exhaling slowly.
“Then we can’t just react anymore,” I say. “We need leverage.”
Declan glances at me. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
The city rolls past the windows—unaware, indifferent, balanced on fault lines it doesn’t know exist.
“This isn’t just about territory,” I continue. “It’s about narrative. Who looks dangerous? Who looks unstable?”
“And who looks justified,” Declan adds.
I meet his eyes. “Which means I need to be seen.”
He hesitates.
Just for a moment.
Then he nods. “Then we do this publicly. Carefully. Together.”
Not ownership.
Not command.
Coordination.
The bond warms—not fierce, not consuming. Solid.
Pressure lines have been drawn.
And somewhere in the city, Kieran Vale is already planning how to cross them.
- Writer
