POV: Luther
They dressed the council chamber like a coronation.
Candles guttered on the ledges, dripping wax like blood. Banners of Red Moon hung heavy, sigils catching firelight as if blessing a union. Braziers burned too hot, smoke sweet with resin, the air thick enough to choke.
I stood on the wolf-carved medallion at the centre. Every eye is on me.
And beside me, Rhea smiled.
Pale silk clung to her like a promise. A silver comb pinned her hair high, glittering the way ambition does when it thinks it’s already won. She held herself perfectly still—the stillness of someone who had practised being mine.
My gut twisted.
“Tonight,” Elder Rowan intoned, voice honeyed and sharp, “you take your Luna. Tonight you anchor Red Moon.”
Recce prowled behind my ribs, claws dragging bone. Not h
