POV: Luther
The council chamber stank of smoke and arrogance.
Elders filled the ring of carved oak, robes heavy with gold-thread and dust from old wars, their eyes fixed on me like carrion birds. Allied Alphas lounged beyond them, teeth bared in smug half-smiles. They thought themselves safe behind courtesy, but I could hear the hunger under every word.
“Borders are quiet,” Elder Mira said, her tone sharp as frost. “Too quiet. Silence hides threats.”
“Trade with the southern packs is stalling,” Rowan added. “Rumours say their Alpha waits to see how long you sit without a Luna beside you.”
The words grated, but I let them speak. I had endured worse.
Until Iron Fang opened his mouth.
“Tell me, Reed,” he said, voice smooth as rot. “Do you still sit alone at your table? No Luna. No heir
