I raise my hands to motion for Dexter to continue and Max slides the meeting agenda towards her for her to catch up.
Dexter's heat is gone. The sentence he was building has nowhere to land. The Luna at the Alpha's right has changed the temperature of the room, and Dexter, who has spent five years not having to perform in front of her, opens his mouth and closes it.
"I — yes, Alpha."
He reaffirms his earlier claim, while debunking Max’s and trails off.
Bran, who has not stopped looking at Freya since she sat down, acknowledges her.
"Luna," he says.
She inclines her head. "Elder Bran."
I watch her angle her chin to the old man, the small precise courtesy my mother used to use with this same elder, and I register, distantly, that she has been someone's well-trained daughter longer than
