The clock on my office wall ticks relentlessly, each second louder than the last, marking the cruel passage of time slipping through my fingers.
I pace the room like a caged animal, my wolf restless beneath my skin.
My eyes flick repeatedly toward the window, searching for glimpses of Siena, as if I might somehow hold her here by sheer force of will alone.
The sun is already sinking low on the horizon, bleeding vivid shades of crimson and gold across the sky–beautiful, yet mocking in its reminder of how quickly her departure approaches.
For hours, I’ve tried to find a moment alone with Siena, desperate to speak openly, to finally voice the truth I’ve denied too long. But each attempt has ended in frustration, interrupted by pack emergencies, diplomatic obligations, or endless distractions.
Horace snarls inwardly, clawing at my chest, frantic with the knowledge that we’re running out of time. Tomorrow, Siena will leave Windhowl again–perhaps forever–and I haven’t even managed a proper conversation.
Gritting my teeth, I straighten my formal attire, preparing reluctantly for tonight’s diplomatic dinner with our allied packs. Though obligations press heavily upon me, my thoughts remain consumed by her–by everything I need to say, by fears of missing my chance forever.
When I arrive, the formal dining hall is already crowded–a sea of polished silverware, softly glowing candles, and murmured conversations. I pause in the doorway, gaze automatically seeking Siena among the many gathered guests.
She stands near the opposite side of the room, gracefully conversing with a group of visiting Alphas. Tonight, she wears a simple, elegant gown of deep emerald silk. The fabric gently hugs her figure, drawing subtle admiration from those around her.
Her hair falls loosely over one shoulder, catching the candlelight in glossy waves.
My breath catches sharply.
Something twists fiercely within me, possessive and regretful all at once. How many times have I seen her before, yet never truly noticed her quiet strength, her gentle confidence, or her remarkable grace?
“The Northern Alliance has agreed to our proposed hunting boundaries,” Siena explains, her voice carrying easily across the council chamber. “In exchange, we’ll provide support during their winter migration.”
I watch silently, heart aching softly, as other Alphas pay her quiet respect, leaning forward in their seats.
“During my time in the Eastern territories,” she continues, gesturing to the map spread before them, “I established three new trading routes that should benefit all packs, particularly during harsh seasons.”
The Alpine Pack leader nods appreciatively. “Impressive work, especially with their traditional resistance to outsiders.”
“In my absence,” Siena says, deliberately meeting each Alpha’s gaze, “I’ve asked Marek to oversee our northern borders. Elena will manage internal affairs with the council’s guidance.” She pauses, her confidence unwavering. “I’ve trained them personally. They understand our pack’s values and will maintain our strength while honoring our commitments.”
Alpha tilts his head. “And how long do you anticipate this diplomatic mission will take?”
Rpossibly eight,” she answers
without hesitation. “Time enough to secure alliances at H 2 495
“Six