Lila clings to his arm, her laugh cutting sharply through the noise as she leans into him, whispering something in his ear.
But he isn’t listening.
His gaze shifts, scanning the room until it lands on me. For a moment, our eyes meet, and the air between us seems to thicken. There’s something in his expression–something I can’t name but recognize all the same.
It’s dangerous, this feeling.
I break the connection first, turning away as my stomach twists painfully. For years, I’ve wanted him to look at me like that, to see me, to acknowledge me. But now that he does, it feels like too little, too late.
“May I?”
The voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn to see Zion standing beside me. He’s holding two champagne flutes, his smile warm and familiar.
“Of course,” I say, accepting the glass he offers.
He raises his glass in a quiet toast, his dark eyes steady on mine. “To Windhowl,” he says. “And to you. Regardless of what the council decides, you’ve already won.”
His words catch me off–guard, and I feel a flicker of warmth in my chest. Zion has always been supportive, his belief in me unwavering even when my own faith faltered.
“Thank you,” I say softly, meaning it. “For believing in me when few others did.”
He smiles, a genuine smile that reaches his eyes. “It wasn’t hard to believe, Siena. You’ve always had it in you—you just needed the chance to show it.”
I can’t help but smile back, his kindness easing some of the weight in my chest. Zion is easy to talk to, his presence steady and grounding. But even as I appreciate his company, there’s a part of me that feels detached, as though I’m watching our
conversation from a distance.
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Because no matter how kind or supportive Zion is, my wolf remains silent.
Unmoved.
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I know what he wants. His interest in me has been clear for some time now, and while I admire him, there’s no spark. No pull. My wolf is still tied to the mate who rejected us, still loyal despite everything.
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Zion seems to sense my hesitation, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he lifts his glass again, his tone turning playful. “At the very least, you owe me a dance once this is all over. A celebration doesn’t feel complete without one.”
Before I can respond, I feel a shift in the air–a presence that sets my nerves on edge. I glance up to see Raiden approaching, his expression thunderous, his midnight eyes locked on Zion’s hand resting lightly on my arm.
“The council requests our presence,” Raiden says, his voice clipped and formal. But his eyes don’t leave Zion’s, the unspoken challenge clear in his gaze.
Zion doesn’t move, his smile sharpening into something more calculated. “Your timing is impeccable as always, Alpha King.” he says, his tone casual but laced with sarcasm. “Though perhaps inconsistent, given your previous disinterest in the Luna’s companionship.”
Raiden growls, his midnight eyes darkening as something shifts in his expression.
Zion’s comment has forced him to confront a truth he’s avoided for years: his hypocrisy, his failure to claim what he now seems unwilling to let go.
For a moment, the tension between them is palpable, a silent clash of wills. Then, without a word, Raiden turns to me, his expression softening just enough to be noticeable.
“Shall we?” he asks, holding out his arm with uncharacteristic formality.
The gesture catches me off–guard. For years, Raiden has treated me as an afterthought, a burden to be endured.
But now, standing before me with his arm extended, there’s something different in his demeanor–a quiet weight to his question, as though he’s asking for more than just my accompaniment.
I hesitate, my gaze flickering between him and Zion. Zion’s jaw tightens slightly, but he steps back, his expression carefully neutral.
Taking a deep breath, I place my hand on Raiden’s arm. The contact sends a jolt through me, sharp and unexpected, and I see the faintest flicker of something in his midnight eyes.
We walk toward the council chamber in silence, the noise of the celebration fading behind us. The tension between us is thick, unspoken words hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.
When we reach the chamber, Raiden pauses, turning to face me. His midnight eyes search mine, and for a moment, I see something raw there–something I haven’t seen in years.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmurs, his voice low. “About your strength. About your contributions. I should have said it years ago.”
The sincerity in his tone catches me off–guard, and I feel a flicker of something stir in my chest–something I immediately
suppress.
“Words are easy, Raiden,” I say quietly, my voice steady but firm. “Actions are harder.”
He flinches, just barely, but it’s enough for me to notice.
“I know,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. “I know.”
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Before I can respond, the chamber doors open, and we’re ushered inside. The council is waiting, their expressions grave as they prepare to announce their decision.
Raiden and I take our places at the center of the room, standing side by side as the council begins to speak. But even as I listen to their words, my thoughts are elsewhere, tangled in the weight of everything unsaid between us.
Whatever happens next, I know one thing for certain: the bond between Raiden and me may
still exist, but it’s no longer enough.
Not on its own.