Exiled Wolf, Fated Luna

Chapter 7 – The Long Table

By dinner, I’ve counted enough bandages to last three wars and drunk Erynn’s tea strong enough to strip paint.

The main room hums when I step in. Evening is different from breakfast—full benches, extra chairs, voices rolling over one another. It feels… deliberate. Like everyone agreed to be here at the same time.

“Vexa!” Neri waves from midway down the long table, almost smacking Milo. “Here!”

Dozens of eyes swing my way. Again.

I make myself walk, not scuttle. Vael is at the far end, ladling stew; Corren and a bigger, quieter wolf I peg as Tharos lean against a post, talking.

No Darian.

The bond says he’s close—moving, tired, irritated—but the empty chair at the head of the table feels like a missing note.

I slide onto the bench across from Neri and Milo. Orrik is there too, bruise on his jaw, knee bandaged.

“Floor still rude?” I ask.

“It apologized,” he mutters. “We’re negotiating.”

A couple of wolves snort. Tension eases a notch.

A bowl of stew appears in front of me. I glance up to find Vael.

“Eat,” она говорит. “Before the hyenas at the end steal seconds.”

“Thank you,” I say.

She studies me, then tips her chin at the head of the table. “He’ll be late. Patrol reports. Don’t make drama in your head.”

“I wasn’t,” I lie.

She snorts and moves on, smacking Corren with a spoon.

The food is rich and hot, the bread real enough to hurt my gums. Conversation swirls: schedules, patrol gossip, Jarek nearly caught climbing out a human girl’s window. It’s loud, messy, alive.

“Did you always eat like this?” I ask.

“Since forever,” Milo says softly. “Even when there were fewer of us.”

“It’s pack,” he adds, and the word feels heavier in his mouth than it ever did in Hollowpeak.

A chair scrapes at the far end. The room tilts.

Darian comes in through the side door, sleeves rolled, hair mussed, dirt on his jaw. Two warriors peel off as he takes the empty seat at the head like it’s always been his.

The bond slams into me: tired, wired, simmering frustration. Underneath, a thin, bright flicker when his gaze finds me.

He doesn’t look away.

“Before you inhale that,” he says, voice cutting through the noise, “two things.”

The room quiets.

“First: just because we held last night doesn’t make us invincible. Borders stay tight. No solo trips off territory without clearance.” His gaze glances off me. “Guests included.”

Groans, nods.

“Second.” His eyes travel the table. “We’ve taken in a lot of new blood. Hollowpeak. Cages. Nowhere. They’re ours. You don’t have to like everyone here. You do have to treat them like they belong until they prove otherwise.”

The words land heavy.

“And that includes Vexa,” he adds, easy as a knife. “She’s under my protection and my word. If you’ve got a problem, you bring it to me. Not her.”

Heat climbs my face. The urge to disappear fights with something fierce and aching that lifts its head inside my chest.

No one speaks up. Even Corren keeps his eyes on his bowl.

“Enough feelings,” Vael announces briskly, thumping the pot. “Eat, or the pups mutiny.”

Laughter ripples. The spell breaks; noise rolls back in.

At the far end, Darian dips his head once in my direction—barely there. Along the bond, a small, wordless nudge:

You okay?

I’m not.

But I’m here. At this table. Not a crack in someone’s wall, not a whispered mistake.

I let the bond stretch just enough to send back one thin, stubborn truth.

Not running.

For a heartbeat, approval and rough pride warm my chest. Then he turns to argue with Tharos, and Grimvale’s chaos closes over us both.

“I told you,” Neri whispers to Milo. “She’s staying.”

Milo doesn’t argue this time. He just offers me the last piece of bread.

I tear it in half, give one back, and let myself breathe with a room full of wolves I might, one day, dare to call mine.