Chapter Eight
967 Words
Draven
She didn’t look at Draven as she straightened up, not directly. But he could feel her attention.
Draven’s voice came out even. Controlled.
“She’s still bleeding,” he said. “What happened?”
Corren shifted his weight. His jaw twitched.
“One of the men got overzealous,” he said. “I dealt with it.”
Draven didn’t blink. “You dealt with it by dragging her in here like this?”
Corren bristled. “She’s a rogue. Not a guest.”
Draven’s voice dropped, colder than before.
“She’s under my protection.”
The silence that followed was sharp.
Corren’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what you’re going to tell the Council? That the Moon bonded you to a rogue?”
Draven said nothing.
Corren took that as answer enough.
“You know what this means,” he went on. “The Elders will tear this apart. They might demand her execution anyway. You think the Moon doesn’t make mistakes?”
Draven’s gaze turned to Seraya.
She stood, arms bound, back straight. Her body was battered, but there was no surrender in her. She met his eyes—finally. And there it was again.
That spark. That defiance. That unbearable pull.
He looked back at Corren.
“I don’t believe in mistakes.”
Corren exhaled through his nose. “You didn’t believe in mercy either. Until now.”
Draven looked back at Corren.
“You’re dismissed.”
Corren hesitated. “Draven—”
“I said go.”
“What do you plan to do about her?”
Corren waited. When no answer came, he stepped back toward the door.
“She’s going to be a problem,” he said, voice low. “Whether you believe in fate or not.”
Then he turned and strode out without another word.
The tent was quiet again.
“You’re afraid,” Seraya broke the silence.
“I fear nothing.”
“You fear me.”
He took a step forward before he realized what he was doing. She held her ground. No shrinking. No submission. She met his stare with that same maddening defiance that had gotten her shot in the first place.
“I fear what you are,” he said. “And what you will bring. Magic. Chaos. A broken order. That is what you are.”
“And you are what? Stability?” she snapped back. “Do you think killing rogues makes you clean? That we asked for this life? You know nothing about me.”
“I know enough.”
“No, you know nothing.”
He stared at her. She was breathing hard now, hands still bound, but back straight. She wasn’t broken. Not even close.
Draven exhaled slowly. “Why you?” he said aloud, almost to himself. “Of all the wolves in all the packs, why you?”
She blinked. “You think I wanted this? You think I prayed to be mated to you? You are the nightmare that hunts rogues in their sleep. You are part of the reason I’ve had to keep running. You and your enforcers and your goddamn order.”
Draven’s jaw ticked. “The order exists to keep the packs safe.”
“No. The order exists to keep them obedient.”
The accusation hit harder than he liked. Because deep down, he had asked himself the same question. Was the law he followed truly justice, or simply control?
He turned away before he answered. He needed distance. Space to breathe.
“You will stay here tonight,” he said, voice clipped.
“Oh. How generous.”
“In chains, if necessary and under guard. Tomorrow, you will be questioned. Formally. The council will want answers. So will I.”
“And if I don’t have answers?”
“Then I will decide what to do with you.”
She laughed then. A bitter, broken thing.
“You already have.”
He didn’t respond.
She looked at him one last time before sitting herself down near the firepit, far from him, but close enough that the bond still thrummed between them. An invisible tether, tight and aching. Unwelcome.
Draven stood there for a long time. Watching her. Listening to the sound of her breath.
This was not what he had planned.
And yet, the Moon never made mistakes. At least, that was what he had always believed. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
The bond pulsed faintly in his chest and he hated it. He hated that some small, traitorous part of him wanted her.
By dawn, they were mounted and riding hard for the fortress. The Elite Enforcers were going home.
Draven rode ahead, Seraya shackled and flanked by guards. Her head was high despite the blood crusted at her temple. She hadn’t spoken since they left the clearing.
When the castle finally rose above the misted hills—he expected quiet. Stillness. Routine—the gates closed, the courtyard quiet, the guard shift changing with mechanical precision.
But the gates were open.
Wider than they should’ve been.
And figures waited just beyond them, cloaked in grey and crimson.
Draven’s heart dropped.
The Council.
They weren’t supposed to be here yet.
No message had been sent ahead. No scout dispatched. He had ordered silence until he could decide what to say—and what to hide.
Someone had tipped them off.
A traitor in his ranks?
His horse slowed beneath him, sensing the tension rolling off him in waves. Behind him, the Enforcers grew quiet.
This wasn’t a welcome party.
This was a tribunal.
He kept his eyes on the Elders standing like statues in the shadow of the gate. Their faces unreadable.
Seraya lifted her head, following his gaze.
She saw them too.
Whatever was coming, it had already begun.
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