BROKEN HOWL

Chapter 4: Shadows of the Summit

The neutral grounds of the Summit of Packs sprawled across a wide valley ringed by ancient standing stones. Banners of every major territory flapped in the chill wind crimson for Nightshade, obsidian for Ironfang, emerald for the coastal packs. Matilda moved through the crowd like smoke, her simple attendant’s cloak blending with the dozens of servants and minor delegates. Elias remained safely hidden back in Blackthorn with a trusted wet nurse arranged by Vesper. The separation clawed at her, but she pushed the feeling down. This trip was not about comfort. It was about reconnaissance.

Three years had passed since the night Williams cast her out. Her body had recovered and hardened. The gentle curves of early motherhood had sharpened into lean muscle earned from nights running rooftops and days training with blades. The scar above her eyebrow had faded to a thin white line, yet it still drew glances. She wore her dark hair pulled back tightly, revealing it on purpose now.

She carried a silver tray of wine goblets, eyes lowered, ears sharp. The summit’s opening feast buzzed with forced civility and underlying threats. Laughter rang too loud. Alliances were bartered like livestock.

From the corner of her vision, she spotted him.

Williams Draven stood at the head table, taller than most, shoulders rigid beneath his formal black coat embroidered with the Nightshade crest. His jaw was sharper than she remembered, shadowed by stubble he rarely allowed in the past. Liora clung to his arm, her golden hair cascading in perfect waves, a possessive smile fixed on her painted lips. She wore a gown the color of fresh blood.

Matilda’s grip on the tray tightened until the metal bit into her palms. The old bond faint, poisoned, yet still there twisted in her chest like a dull knife. She hated that it still reacted to his presence. Hated more that her wolf stirred with something besides pure rage.

Williams scanned the crowd. His gaze passed over her once, twice, then snapped back.

Their eyes locked.

For one frozen second, the noise of the feast dulled to a distant hum. His face didn’t change, but she saw the flicker…recognition, disbelief, then something darker that made his nostrils flare. His hand lifted slightly from Liora’s waist, as if he might step forward.

Matilda forced her expression to remain neutral. Servant. Invisible. She turned smoothly and melted into the throng of attendants, heart pounding against her ribs.

She spent the next hour circulating, collecting fragments of conversation like scattered coins.

“…Draven’s expansion is making the elders nervous…”

“…heard his chosen mate can’t produce an heir…”

“…strange attacks on the eastern border. Smells like old bloodlines…”

Each whisper fed the cold strategy building in her mind. She noted faces, names, weaknesses. When the feast shifted toward formal talks, she slipped outside into the shadowed colonnade that bordered the valley.

Cool night air brushed her skin. She leaned against a stone pillar, breathing slowly to steady the tremor in her hands. The child inside her memories Elias’s tiny fists, his golden-flecked eyes anchored her. She would not falter.

Footsteps approached. Heavy. Deliberate.

She didn’t turn immediately. She knew that gait.

“Matilda.”

His voice was lower than she remembered. Rougher. It scraped over her like gravel.

She straightened but kept her back to him for another beat, letting the silence stretch. Then she faced him.

Williams stood three paces away, the torchlight carving harsh lines across his face. His eyes those storm-gray eyes burned into her with an intensity that made the air feel thinner. Up close, she saw new scars: one cutting through his left brow, another along his jaw. Evidence of battles fought without her.

“You’re alive,” he said. The words came out flat, but his hands flexed at his sides, betraying the tension.

Matilda tilted her head slightly. “Disappointed?”

He took one step closer. The scent of pine and smoke hit her familiar, unwelcome, stirring memories she had buried under layers of rage. “I thought… the borderlands would have claimed you.”

“They tried.” Her voice stayed even, though her pulse raced. “I didn’t let them.”

Williams’s gaze dropped briefly to the faint swell that had long since flattened, then returned to her face. To the scar. “You look… different.”

A bitter laugh almost escaped her. She swallowed it. “Three years will do that. Rejection tends to reshape a person.”

His jaw tightened. A muscle jumped. “I did what was necessary for the pack.”

“Necessary.” She repeated the word slowly, tasting its poison. “Is that what you tell yourself when you crawl into bed with Liora? That banishing your fated mate was necessary?”

He moved then fast enough that she barely registered it until he stood inches from her. His hand came up, not touching, but hovering near her arm as if he couldn’t decide whether to grab her or push her away. “You have no idea what pressures I faced. The elders, the threats—”

“And I faced the forest alone,” she cut in, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Pregnant. Bleeding from the bond you ripped apart. Don’t speak to me of pressure, Williams.”

His breath hitched. For a split second, vulnerability cracked through the ice in his eyes raw, unguarded. Then it vanished, replaced by the cold Alpha mask. “Where have you been? Who do you serve now?”

Matilda smiled. Small. Sharp. Dangerous. “That’s not your concern anymore. You gave up that right the night you humiliated me in front of everyone.”

He leaned in closer, voice rough with barely contained emotion. “You still feel it. The bond. I can sense it.”

She didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. Instead, she lifted her chin, meeting his stare head-on. “Feeling it doesn’t mean I want it. Or you.”

Williams’s hand finally made contact fingers wrapping around her wrist, grip firm but not bruising. Heat flared where their skin met. “You belong to Nightshade. To me.”

Matilda held perfectly still. Then, with deliberate slowness, she twisted her wrist free. “I belong to no one. Least of all you.”

She stepped back, putting distance between them. The torchlight flickered across his face, highlighting the conflict warring in his expression anger, confusion, a hunger he clearly hated.

Before he could respond, Liora’s voice cut through the night from the colonnade entrance. “Williams? Where are you? The council is waiting.”

Matilda glanced toward the sound, then back at him. “Better run along. Wouldn’t want to keep your chosen mate waiting.”

Williams didn’t move immediately. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. “This isn’t over, Matilda. You will explain yourself.”

She turned away, cloak swirling around her ankles. Over her shoulder, she delivered the final words, voice low and laced with quiet venom.

“No, Williams. You will explain yourself… when the time comes.”