The Alpha meeting was a damn circus.
Not the fun kind—more like the Obsidian Wilds on parade. Every Alpha in that chamber strutted around with his Luna like she was a trophy pulled from a treasure hoard. Hands around throats, marks glowing like neon signs, claws dragging lazy warnings over skin. A full mating-ritual flex in a room designed to keep people civil.
The crescent moonstone floor panels pulsed faint silver with every display—Accord-era runes reacting because they were built for politics, not ego. The Valorian fae carved those sigils to track intent, regulate dominance, cool tempers. Tonight they may as well have been cheering the assholes on.
Scar was losing it from the moment we walked in.
Pacing. Snapping. Jaws grinding. His restless energy scraped under my skin, a low grow
