Council Meeting
1486 Words
The third day of my hunger strike brought a different kind of fog. The smell of the rosemary potato soup had long since gone cold, leaving a stagnant, heavy scent of stale food and my own burning spite in the air. My body felt entirely drained of weight, floating somewhere above the mattress in the pitch-black room.
Sometimes, in between, I had popped one or two antidepressants.
I was waiting for the walls to collapse. I was waiting for Logan to realize that locking me away wouldn't make me malleable.
The lock on my door didn't turn again for three days. By then, the hunger had stopped clawing at my stomach, replaced by a hollow, floating numbness. I spent the time staring at the ceiling, listening to the sudden, frantic burst of activity echoing from the floors below.
The Crestfallen packhouse was being scrubbed clean. I could smell the heavy pine floor polish and the sharp, anxious sweat of the omegas even through the cracks in my door.
Logan's carefully constructed lie was about to face its first real test. The High Council was arriving to inspect the "accident."
On the morning of the third day, the deadbolt clicked. The door didn't slide open smoothly; it was thrown open by Beta Peter, whose face was entirely devoid of color. Behind him stood two omegas holding a freshly pressed variant of the black dress—something that went well with the dark hole I was spiraling into. And the veil; they never seemed to forget it.
"Get up, Cerelia," Peter whispered, his voice trembling. "The Council delegates have just crossed the eastern border. Your father demands you downstairs in twenty minutes. Put on the dress."
I didn't argue. I didn't have the breath for it, anyway. I allowed the omegas to help me into the heavy silk dress. When they reached for the veil, I snatched it from their hands, draping the thick, suffocating black lace over my head myself.
Through the sheer fabric, the world turned into a gray, shadowed blur. The hard, pink lines of the scar on my cheek throbbed against the cloth. My hands trembled, and where they couldn't see, I quickly popped another pill into my mouth. I couldn't do it clear-headed.
When I stepped into the grand foyer downstairs, the air was thick enough to choke on. The area had been cleared—no pack members were in sight.
Three High Council shifters sat in the leather armchairs, their expressions unreadable, their powerful auras subtly testing the room. Alpha Logan stood near the fireplace, his posture rigid, a perfect mask of a grieving, stoic father painted across his features. This was who he wanted to be—a person who walked through it all alone. Unfortunately, he was born as a wolf. I took a look at his side; there was no seat for his Luna, as if she had never deserved to share his power with him.
"As I informed the Council via link," Logan's deep voice boomed, dripping with feigned sorrow as I descended the stairs, "a rogue hunter's silver-laced trap caught her on the border patrol. She fought bravely, but the silver destroyed her wolf. She is... altered. But she remains the pride of the Crestfallen."
They didn't look at me, nor did they offer sympathy; they were there just to fulfill what was expected of them. They couldn't be bothered to feign concern.
One of the Councilmen, a sharp-eyed Elder named Vance, rose to his feet. His gaze locked onto my veiled face. "Tell us, Cerelia, why you were at the border when you were supposed to be at the hall. I supposed it was alignment."
Alignment. I hadn't heard that word in years. The day my wolf and I were meant to snap into perfect synchrony.
My throat closed up and words failed me. I couldn't lie.
"She hasn't spoken ever since," Logan interrupted, the lies coming too smoothly for him.
"A tragic loss for the North territory, Alpha Logan. But a wolfless heir cannot sit on the Council. We are here to officially log her status and discuss the transition of the succession to your Beta's line." Vance's lips curled into a devilish smirk.
Logan’s jaw tightened—the exact reaction I knew he was hiding. He was about to lose his grip on the legacy he had killed my mother to protect.
"That won't be necessary," a sharp, clear voice cut through the suffocating room.
Every head in the living room snapped toward the grand entrance.
Summer Mistvale strode into the packhouse as if she owned the foundation it was built upon. She didn't have a weapon, and she didn't have a guard, but she carried the absolute protection of her father’s Council rank like a shield. Behind her, lingering just outside the open double doors in the crisp morning air, stood a tall silhouette I hadn't seen before—probably a pack warrior.
Logan’s eyes flashed a dangerous, warning red. "Miss Mistvale. This is a private Council briefing. You are trespassing."
"Am I?" Summer smirked, walking right past the Alpha and stopping directly beside me. She didn't look at my veil; she kept her hazel eyes locked dead on Logan. "Because my father is the head of the Education and Succession Committee, and he explicitly asked me to check on the Crestfallen heir. You told the Council she was too traumatized and physically weak to leave her room, Alpha Logan."
I wouldn't be surprised if he had told them exactly that.
She reached out, her fingers intentionally brushing against my silk sleeve, signaling to me.
"But Cerelia and I just spoke," Summer lied smoothly, her voice ringing out clearly for the Elders to hear. "She told me she's actually feeling well enough to return to school today. In fact, she’s eager to prove that a Crestfallen doesn't hide away just because of a minor... accident."
Logan’s chest heaved. The trap had snapped shut around him. If he denied Summer right here, in front of the Council, it would prove I was a hostage. It would expose the fact that he was keeping his daughter locked away, raising massive red flags about what really happened on the night of the full moon.
Elder Vance looked between Summer and Logan, his interest piqued. "Is this true, Cerelia? You intend to resume your duties and attend classes?"
Beneath the black lace of the veil, my teeth dug into my inner cheek. I looked toward Summer, seeing the fierce, dangerous spark of victory in her eyes. She was forcing Logan's hand. She was ripping my cage open.
Logan had sat up from where he was reclining.
I shouldn't allow her effort to go to waste.
"Yes," I rasped, the word sharp and scraping against my raw throat, but steady enough to carry across the foyer. "I am attending school. Today."
The silence from Logan was loud enough to shatter glass. His eyes promised absolute ruin, but with the Council watching, he had no choice but to bow his head in a tight, robotic nod.
"Of course," Logan choked out, the words tasting like venom in his mouth. "The Crestfallen do not hide. Peter... fetch her bag."
Twenty minutes later, the heavy oak doors of the packhouse closed behind me. For the first time in two weeks, the open air hit my face. I had swapped my silk dress for a pair of boyfriend jeans and a gray hoodie.
"You're welcome," Summer muttered under her breath as we walked down the grand steps toward her car.
"You shouldn't have done that, Summer," I whispered, my heart still hammering against my ribs. "You don't know what he's capable of." I tugged my backpack closer.
"Exactly what is he capable of?" she questioned coldly. "He can't touch you at school. Not with the whole territory watching." She stopped at the bottom of the steps, turning to face the sleek, dark vehicle waiting for us. "And besides... the whole Council is watching. He dare not make any move."
My legs weakened as I took the last step, and she was quick to grab my arm. "Rest on me," she grunted. Then, her green eyes glared at the mahogany door in fury, as though she were picturing Logan. "I don't know why I'm stressing myself. Did he starve you?"
"Let's get you food before they see you like this," she added, depositing me into the car before speeding out of the driveway.
"Your warrior?" I asked, looking back.
"He is there to complete the meeting," she replied, maneuvering the car out of the gate and driving down the highway.
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