The air inside the war chamber was thick with tension. The great wooden table, worn by years of strategy and blood-soaked decisions, was surrounded by Lycans—warriors, elders, and advisors—all in heated debate. Voices overlapped, growls of frustration echoing against the stone walls.
"He marked the vampire princess!" one warrior spat. "Does he even realize what that means?"
"It was a power move," another argued. "He humiliated the Vampire King’s daughter, let them choke on their own pride."
"Pride be damned, this means war! We’ve been at the brink for decades, and now—"
The large doors at the front of the chamber creaked open, and just like that, all voices ceased. The room fell into absolute silence as Draven stepped in.
His presence alone commanded obedience. Towering, broad-shouldered, and every inch the Alpha, his gaze swept across the room, assessing the tension. The fresh scar on his jaw, courtesy of the battle at the vampire court, was a stark reminder of the night before. By his right stood Cyrus, his ever-loyal Beta, and to his left, Eryx, the war strategist whose sharp mind had guided them through countless battles.
Draven strode forward, the steady thud of his boots the only sound in the chamber. He reached the head of the table, settling into his seat. Cyrus took his place beside him, while Eryx remained standing, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
The pack waited.
Draven opened his mouth to speak—
The doors swung open again.
This time, the interruption wasn’t from a warrior or an elder, but from her.
Draven’s mother, Diana.
Light brown hair tied back in an elegant braid, sharp brown eyes full of something dangerous, she moved with a grace that made even seasoned warriors step aside. Her presence alone carried weight. She didn’t rush, didn’t falter. The room seemed to hold its breath as she approached her son.
Draven’s brow furrowed slightly. She’s back sooner than expected. He stood out of respect, greeting her, "Mother, I didn’t expect—"
The slap came so fast that even the sharpest Lycans barely saw it.
The sound cracked through the chamber.
Draven’s head barely moved from the impact, but his golden-brown eyes flashed with a dangerous light. A low, warning growl rumbled in his chest.
Diana growled back.
The tension in the room was suffocating.
Cyrus’ eyes flickered with intrigue. Eryx shifted, watching intently. Some Lycans lowered their gazes, unwilling to be caught in the Alpha’s wrath.
Diana’s voice cut through the silence. "I came back to find out that my son—the Alpha—has marked the Vampire Princess."
Draven said nothing.
"Do you even know what that means?" she continued, voice sharp as a blade. "To mark someone—let alone a vampire? It is a claim. You claimed her as your mate!"
Draven remained still. His jaw clenched, but he offered no defense.
It was Cyrus who broke the silence.
"That was not what the Alpha intended."
All eyes snapped to him—including Draven’s, a slight brow raised.
Cyrus remained calm, unreadable.
"Draven sought retaliation for what the vampires did to our kind. He wanted to humiliate them, to strike where it would hurt the most—by marking their princess, he disgraced her, humiliated Valerion. It was a strategic move."
Murmurs rose through the crowd. Some nodded in agreement, their earlier anger shifting into something closer to approval. A power move. A way to break the vampire court’s pride.
Diana, however, was not convinced.
"Then that means war is inevitable."
Eryx, who had been silent until now, spoke up. "The vampires should have known that the moment they stepped onto our land and butchered our people. War was coming. Draven merely struck first."
Draven listened, but his mind was elsewhere.
He thought back to the conversation at the ball.
***"One of your kind crossed into our lands and slaughtered mine, we retaliated."***
At the time, he dismissed it as a vampire’s attempt to twist the truth. But now… doubt crept into his mind.
***Why would the vampires break a sacred truce without reason?***
***Did one of our own truly cross into their land first?***
Draven’s grip tightened on the armrest of his chair.
***Could she be lying?***
He was so deep in thought that he barely registered that his mother was speaking to him. When he finally snapped back to reality, she repeated again, "You made your move, Draven." Her voice was softer now, but no less sharp. "Now declare it. Are we going to war?"
Draven exhaled slowly.
The entire room was waiting for his answer.
He straightened in his seat, his expression cold, unreadable. Then, he gave a single nod.
"We go to war."
The chamber erupted.
War chants rang out, voices raised in support of their Alpha. The pounding of fists against the table echoed like war drums. Even those who doubted his decision now howled in unity. The Lycans had been waiting for this.
Draven sat there, unmoving, his mind elsewhere.
The meeting was dismissed, and the Lycans filtered out of the hall, their voices still echoing war chants. But Draven remained seated at the head of the table, his fingers pressed together in front of him, his thoughts a storm.
Cyrus lingered. He studied his Alpha’s face, noting the tension in his jaw, the distant look in his eyes. Draven was deep in thought—too deep for someone who had just declared war.
Cyrus finally spoke. “Something’s bothering you.”
Draven exhaled sharply through his nose. He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing as if he were trying to see through the very walls of the war hall.
He finally said, “Azrael told me something at the ball.”
Cyrus tilted his head slightly. “And?”
Draven’s fingers drummed against the wooden table. “She claimed the vampires only attacked us because one of our kind crossed into their territory and killed some of theirs.”
Cyrus frowned. “You think she lied?”
Draven’s jaw clenched. “That’s the problem. If she truly believed that one of our own attacked her people first, then the vampires wouldn’t see their ambush as an act of war. They’d see it as justice.” He leaned forward, his voice lower. “And why would they break a sacred truce for no reason? We lost too many in that ambush. If we go to war based on a lie, we’ll lose more.”
Cyrus folded his arms, considering Draven’s words carefully. “You want to know if someone from our pack really did it.”
Draven nodded. “Find out. Quietly. I don’t need the pack questioning my decision. But if there’s truth to her claim, I want to know.”
Cyrus inclined his head. “I’ll look into it.”
Draven gave a slow nod, his gaze distant again. His thoughts weren’t just on the looming war anymore.
Cyrus studied him a moment longer, then smirked slightly. “That’s not the only thing on your mind, is it?”
Draven arched a brow at him. “What are you getting at?”
Cyrus nodded toward him. “The mark. The claim. How do you feel?”
Draven’s expression darkened slightly. He lifted a hand to his chest, pressing his palm over his heart. There was a weight there—a pull, relentless and consuming. It wasn’t just a bond. It was a chain, tightening with every passing second.
He exhaled. “It’s stronger now. The bond. I can feel her. She’s trying to suppress it, to resist it. But the more she fights, the stronger it grows.” His fingers curled slightly, as if grasping at something unseen. “It’s unbearable.”
Cyrus was quiet for a moment, then said, “It won’t stop growing.”
Draven closed his eyes briefly, as if he already knew that but hated hearing it spoken aloud.
Before Cyrus could say anything else, the doors burst open again, and two small voices called out his name.
“Draven!”
His younger siblings, Jason and Kara, rushed toward him, their small feet padding against the floor as they flung themselves at him. He barely had time to brace himself before they collided with him, their tiny arms wrapping around him.
Draven’s expression softened, just slightly. He rested a large hand on each of their heads. “You two are getting heavier.”
Kara beamed and held up a golden pendant. “Look! Mother got me this on our trip!”
Draven hummed in approval, running a thumb over the pendant. “It suits you.”
As Jason and Kara chattered on about their journey, Draven smiled, but his mind remained elsewhere.
He thought of war.
He thought of the mate bond tightening around him like a noose.
And as he looked at his siblings—young, innocent, untouched by the weight of the world—he swore to himself: No matter what happened, he would do everything in his power to protect them.