The elders didn’t knock.
They didn’t bow.
They swept into the ward as if they owned it.
The doors had barely opened before Lucian turned—fast, fluid, lethal. His wolf surged beneath his skin, gold eyes igniting as his body angled instinctively between the intruders and the cradles. The air shifted with his movement, wards humming in warning.
Talia felt his tension through the bond, like a wire pulled too tight.
Pain flared along her ribs as she pushed herself upright in the bed, refusing to look weak. Refusing to look breakable.
Their sons.
That was why the Council was here.
The eldest elder stepped forward, silver hair bound, robes heavy with sigils that smelled of old magic and older arrogance. His gaze slid past Lucian, past Talia, and locked onto the three cradles arranged in a
