The roast beef tasted like victory, but it sat heavy in my stomach.
Around me, the Great Hall of the Ironwood Pack had settled into a wary, chewing silence. The wolves were eating, but their eyes kept darting toward the head table. Toward me. The witch who had cooked a raw steak with a wave of her hand and forced their Alpha to laugh.
Guilermo hadn’t let go of my hand. His fingers were laced with mine under the heavy oak table, his thumb tracing slow, rhythmic circles on my skin. It was a grounding tether in a room full of predators, but it was also a distraction. Every brush of his skin sent a low-voltage hum through my nerves, keeping my magic simmering just below the surface.
"Alpha Santander."
The voice cut through the clatter of silverware.
Councilman Herman stood up from a table
