Chapter 8 The Ironwood Stance (Vivian POV)
The Ironwood common room smelled like cedar smoke and barely contained rage. I stood near the back wall, arms crossed, watching the pack members file in like soldiers reporting for a court-martial. The long oak table in the center was already surrounded, my aunt Catherine Reyes at the head, her silver-streaked hair pulled into a severe bun, her posture so rigid she looked carved from the same stone as the academy walls. She didn’t need to raise her voice to command attention; the way she tapped one manicured nail against the tabletop was enough.
“Sit,” she said.
Chairs scraped. Bodies settled. I took the seat farthest from her, the one that let me see every face without having to turn my head. Jordan Lancaster dropped into the chair directly across from me, his jaw set like he’d already decided the verdict. He didn’t look at me. Not once.
Catherine waited until the last straggler, some sophomore whose name I could never remember, closed the door. Then she stood.
“Tyler Morrison is dead.” Her voice cracked the silence like a whip. “Throat torn out. Claws. Blood message on the cobblestones. And every piece of evidence points to the human girl, Rowan Ashford.
”Murmurs rippled through the room. Someone hissed. Someone else muttered “feral” under their breath.
Catherine raised a hand. Instant quiet.
“Ironwood demands retribution. Blood for blood. The girl was Turned illegally. She went rogue during the full moon. She killed one of ours. The Concordance Committee has already lost a member, and the ceremony is three weeks away. We cannot afford to appear weak.
”She paused, letting the word weak hang in the air like smoke.
“I move for immediate execution. No trial. No delay. We take her to the Eclipse Chamber tonight, and we end this.
”A chorus of agreement, sharp, eager. Fists thumped the table. Someone shouted, “Do it now!”
I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, but I kept my expression blank. I’d known this was coming. Aunt Catherine never wasted time on nuance when vengeance was on the table.
I stood.
The room went still.
“Vivian?” Catherine’s eyebrow arched. Not surprise, warning.
I met her gaze. “Before we start sharpening the silver blades, maybe we should consider what happens if we’re wrong.”
Jordan snorted. Loudly.
I ignored him. “Rushing to execute a girl who’s been drugged, framed, and half-Turned makes us look desperate. Not strong. Desperate. If the other packs find out we acted without due process, without even letting the Alphas convene, they’ll say Ironwood panicked. They’ll say we’re afraid of a seventeen-year-old scholarship student. Is that the message we want to send before the Concordance?”
Catherine’s lips thinned. “The evidence is overwhelming. DNA. Hair. Witnesses. Claw marks consistent with an incomplete shift. What more do you need?”
“I need certainty,” I said. “Not convenience. If we kill her and later discover someone else planted the evidence, we don’t just lose face, we lose leverage. The Nightshades will use it against us. Silvercrest will whisper that we’re trigger-happy. And the Concordance will collapse before it even starts.”
A few heads nodded. Not many, but enough.
Jordan leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You’re defending her now?”
“I’m defending Ironwood,” I snapped. “There’s a difference.”
He laughed once, short and bitter. “Funny how that difference only appears when it’s your rival in the crosshairs. You’ve spent three years trying to bury Rowan in debate club and mock trial. Now suddenly you want fairness?”
Heat crawled up my neck. “This isn’t about me and Rowan. This is about not handing our enemies a propaganda victory on a silver platter.”
“Propaganda?” Aunt Catherine echoed the word like it tasted sour. “You think politics matters more than a dead boy?”
“I think both matter,” I said. “Tyler deserved justice. Not a scapegoat. If we execute Rowan tonight and the real killer is still out there, we’ve just made Ironwood the laughingstock of every pack in the Cascades. We’ll look impulsive. Weak. Unfit to negotiate at the Concordance table.”
Silence stretched. Thick. Uncomfortable.
One of the seniors, Ethan Walsh, shifted in his seat. “She’s got a point. If we jump the gun and the evidence turns out to be tampered with…”
Catherine cut him off with a look. “The evidence is not tampered with. Professor Winters himself confirmed the DNA match.”
“Then let Winters testify at a proper trial,” I pressed. “Let the Alphas see it. Let the other packs watch us follow protocol. Strength isn’t acting first, it’s acting correctly.”
Jordan slammed his palm on the table. The sound echoed. “You’re stalling because you don’t want to admit she’s guilty. You’ve always had a soft spot for the underdog, Viv. It’s cute when it’s debate points. It’s dangerous when it’s murder.”
I met his eyes then. Really looked at him. The same hazel eyes that used to soften when he thought no one was watching. Now they were hard. Closed.
“I’m not stalling,” I said quietly. “I’m thinking. Something you might try once in a while.”
A ripple of uneasy laughter moved through the room. Jordan’s face darkened.
Catherine raised her hand again. “Enough. We vote. Those in favor of immediate execution, raise your hand.”
Hands shot up, fast, decisive. More than half the room.
“Those opposed?”
I raised mine. So did Ethan. Two sophomores. A junior named Maya Torres. Five hands total.
Catherine’s gaze settled on me. Cold. Disappointed.
“Majority rules,” she said. “We will petition the Headmaster for an expedited sentence. If Rowan Ashford is not executed by the next full moon, Ironwood will withdraw from the Concordance entirely.”
The room erupted, cheers, fists pumping, someone yelling “Justice for Tyler!” I stayed seated, stomach twisting.
Jordan stood first. “I’ll deliver the petition myself.”
He walked past me without a glance.
The meeting dissolved into smaller knots of conversation. I slipped out before anyone could corner me with questions.
The hallway was cooler, quieter. I leaned against the stone wall and closed my eyes for three seconds. Just three. Long enough to breathe.
Then I headed for the girls’ bathroom on the second floor. Meredith Kim hadn’t been at the meeting. Meredith Kim was never absent from pack business. Not once in four years.
I pushed the door open.
She was on her knees in front of the middle stall, retching into the toilet. Her dark hair stuck to her sweaty forehead. Her hands shook so badly she could barely hold herself up.
“Meredith?”
She jerked, then vomited again, hard, violent. Nothing but bile came up.
I crouched beside her, pulling her hair back. “Hey. Talk to me.”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist. Her pupils were huge, almost swallowing the brown of her irises.
“I don’t… I don’t know what’s wrong,” she rasped. “I woke up like this. Stomach on fire. Head pounding. Everything’s too loud. Too bright. I tried to shift to burn it off, but...” She shuddered. “Nothing. Just pain.”
I touched her forehead. Fever-hot.
“When did it start?”
“Last night. After the party. I thought it was just a hangover, but…” She swallowed. “It’s getting worse.”
I helped her stand. She swayed, clutching my arm.
“Did you drink anything weird?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Just punch. Same as everyone.”
I guided her to the sink. She braced both hands on the porcelain, breathing hard.
“Meredith, look at me.”
She did. Slowly. Her eyes flickered, gold rimming the brown for half a second before fading.
My pulse jumped.
“You’re not hungover,” I said.
She laughed weakly. “No kidding.”
I lowered my voice. “You’re suppressing something. Or something’s trying to break through. When’s the last time you shifted?”
“Two weeks ago. Full moon. It was… hard. Took forever. Hurt more than usual.”I stared at her. The future Ironwood Alpha. The one who was supposed to inherit in three years. The one who never missed a pack meeting.
And she was missing now.
I wet a paper towel and pressed it to the back of her neck. “You need the infirmary.”
“No.” She grabbed my wrist. Hard. “They’ll tell my father. He’ll pull me from classes. He’ll say I’m weak.”
“You’re not weak,” I said. “You’re sick.”