Chapter 185 Chapter 185

Chapter 185 Chapter 185
Jolene
The dining alcove off the main hall actually smells like a home this morning.
The Omegas have laid out a spread that looks almost civilised. Thick slices of toasted rye, plum preserves, salted butter, and a pot of black tea that doesn't taste like melted tree bark. 
The windows are open just a crack, letting in the crisp, cool mountain breeze that carries the damp scent of thawing dirt and wet stone rather than charcoal and blood.
I sit at the long oak table, buttering a piece of toast with the kind of focused intensity usually reserved for surgical procedures. Merrick is seated beside me, stripped down to a soft black linen shirt, looking thoroughly relaxed after his shower. His wet hair is combed back, and his dark green eyes are watching me with that heavy, quiet satisfaction he gets whenever I actually eat a full meal.
"So," I say, setting my butter knife down with a deliberate clink against the ceramic plate. "Let’s talk about media strategy."
“Huh?” Merrick’s teacup pauses halfway to his mouth. He slants a cautious, suspicious look at me sideways. "Media… strategy?"
"Since you and Julian went full demolition derby on Haven’s Crest yesterday," I say, leaning back into the velvet cushions of my chair. "The signal jammers down there are scrap metal. Which means the digital dead zone around the mountain has a giant hole in it."
"It means the townspeople can communicate with their relatives in the next valley, Jo," Merrick says slowly, taking a sip of his tea. "It does not mean we are setting up an internet café in the courtyard."
"I was thinking bigger," I say, offering him a sweet, perfectly innocent smile. "What if we live stream the birth?"
Merrick chokes and violently inhales his tea, sputtering into his napkin as his massive shoulders heave. His aura gives a sudden, scorching flare that turns the butter in the dish beside him into liquid yellow soup in three seconds flat.
"You want to what?" he roars, his voice dropping into an octave that rattles the silverware on the table.
Calla, sitting across from us with her feet propped up on an empty chair, lets out a bark of laughter so loud she nearly spills her own mug. "Oh, please say yes. I’ll hold the camera. I’ll even do all the commentary, and I promise to hide all her unmentionables."
“No!” Merrick snaps. “A Lycan birth is sacred.”
“Birth is not sacred, Merric,” I say dryly. “It’s a biological process.”
“No, the fuck it is not,” my husband snarls, and turns to Calla. "You will not touch a camera, or come anywhere near her when she’s in labour." He glares at my friend with enough heat to melt lead. "No one is filming in the temple, and no one is broadcasting my mate to seven billion human voyeurs!"
"Think of the theatrical potential, Merrick," Julian purrs smoothly from the corner of the room. 
He’s lounging on a low chaise, idly inspecting his manicured fingernails while holding a crystal glass filled with something dark and vintage. 
"We could charge a subscription fee. Digital tickets. I know a guild of blood merchants in Western Europe who would pay an embarrassing amount of gold for front-row seats to the birth of a sun line heir."
"Julian, shut the fuck up before I throw you off the balcony," Merrick growls as his eyes flare dangerous gold.
"Technically," Oliver interrupts, stepping into the alcove with a stack of ledger sheets under his arm, "a live broadcast wouldn't even work, Your Majesty."
I turn to the Beta, raising an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"Because while the King and Julian destroyed the local jamming array in Haven's Crest, the Cabal's regional blackout is still active everywhere else," Oliver explains pragmatically, pulling a pencil from behind his ear. 
"The global network is completely dark. The signal from this mountain wouldn't reach the southern cities. At best, your stream would air on a dozen dusty monitors in the Haven's Crest municipal building. You’d be broadcasting to three confused farmers and perhaps the retirement home."
"Well, that’s anti-climactic," I sigh, taking a bite of my toast. "Fine. No live global broadcast."
"Thank the Goddess," Merrick mutters, rubbing his temples with his large, calloused thumb. “Never, Jo,” he warns. “Not this. Some things are not for… them.”
"Yeah. We'll just record it for posterity then," I announce casually. "A high-definition archival video. For the history books."
Merrick’s head snaps back up, his jaw locking so hard I hear his teeth grind. "Jolene."
"I'm serious!" I argue, pointing my half-eaten toast at him. "Merrick, this isn't just a regular family moment. This is the first sun line Ultima-Lycan hybrid born in what? The history of forever? 
“When Hope is grown up, don't you think she's going to want to see the moment she entered the world? What if the future generations need a record?"
"A visual record would possess immense historical value," Nathaniel’s calm, cultured voice chimes in from the doorway.
He glides into the alcove, looking infuriatingly handsome in a navy wool coat, taking a seat at the end of the table. He picks up a polished red apple while casually spinning a pocketknife between his fingers.
"From an academic standpoint," Nathaniel continues, offering Merrick a cool, razor-thin smile, "documenting the birth of a hybrid such as your daughter, could provide vital data for future scholars. 
“It would also serve as an undeniable psychological weapon against the Cabal when the blackout finally lifts. Proof that the Northern King endures."
Merrick turns his deadliest, most lethal Ultima glare straight onto the other King. "Traitor."
Nathaniel merely smiles, taking a delicate bite of his apple. "I am a scholar, Merrick. I merely value the preservation of history."
From the far side of the hearth, a low, rumbling sound breaks through the argument.
Lexington is leaning against the stone mantle, his heavy arms crossed over his chest, a half-eaten smoked sausage in one hand. 
He’s listening to the entire exchange with a look of utter, disbelieving amusement written across his face. He lets out a dry, wheezing chuckle that shakes his broad shoulders.
"Goddess above," Lexington grunts, shaking his dark head as he takes a bite of his sausage. "You know, Jo... back when Apollo dragged your bloody, half-crazed ass into my hall after the first shift, I thought you were just going to die and save us all a massive pile of paperwork."
I slant a look at the Alpha. "High praise, Lexington."
"I'm serious," Lexington chuckles, his amber eyes gleaming with genuine, reluctant fondness. "I thought you were a fragile, annoying little human who’d break the second a rogue growled at you. 
“If I’d known you were this fucking unhinged, I wouldn't have been so damn harsh with you. I would’ve given you a cup of tea and taken a front-row seat."
"I am not unhinged," I defend myself, sitting up straight. "I am forward-thinking! I am considering our digital legacy!"
"You are a menace," Merrick rumbles, though his large hand slides under the table, finding my knee and giving it a firm, possessive squeeze. 
The terrifying Lycan aura has faded back into a warm, rich glow, a faint, helpless smirk finally tugging at the corner of his lips. "And there will be no cameras in our room. Absolute, non-negotiable King’s decree."
“It’s not like I’m going to broadcast it or anything.”
“Jo. No. You will understand when the time comes.”
"We'll see," I smile sweetly at my husband, and take a sip of my tea. "I still have a weeks to break you down."
"You won't," he says firmly.
"I got you to eat Gary's powdered donuts," I remind him smoothly. "Your defenses are weaker than you think."
Julian lets out a soft, delighted little chuckle from his chaise, raising his glass in a silent toast to me, while Calla wheezes with laughter into her napkin.
For the first time in months, sitting in this warm room filled with clinking porcelain, ridiculous arguments, and the people who fought through hell to stand by us, the weight of the coming war doesn't feel like a death sentence.
It just feels like a minor inconvenience on the way to our future.