Chapter 47 War has just began

Chapter 47 War has just began
The invitation arrived sealed in black wax stamped with the North American Pack Council crest—formal, elegant, impossible to ignore.

A gala.

The annual Unity Ball.

Held in three days at the Grand Aurora Hotel in downtown Chicago—neutral ground, maximum security, every major pack leader in attendance.

The Walkers had been invited as guests of honor.

Emily—as their declared mate candidate—was expected to appear at their side.

Logan stared at the heavy cardstock like it was a death threat.

“It’s a trap,” Liam said flatly, arms crossed in the war room doorway.

“Obviously,” Logan replied. “But we can’t refuse. Skipping would be seen as weakness. Magnus is already spreading rumors that we’re hiding her because she’s unstable. If we don’t show, it fuels every lie he’s told.”

Emily stood near the window, arms wrapped around herself, still wearing Logan’s T-shirt from the night before. The marks they’d left on her skin—love bites, finger-bruises—were fading, but the ache between her thighs lingered like a brand.

She hadn’t spoken much since the claiming. Hadn’t needed to. Her body still hummed with the memory of seven mouths, seven cocks, seven voices growling her name while she screamed theirs.

But now the world outside their bedroom was crashing back in.

“I’ll go,” she said quietly.

Seven heads turned.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Yes.” She met his gaze—steady despite the tremor in her hands. “If I hide, they win. If I show up on your arm—on all your arms—they’ll see I’m not broken. That I’m not ashamed. That I chose this.”

Lucas stepped closer. “It’s dangerous.”

“Everything’s dangerous now.” She lifted her chin. “I’m Silverfang. I’m your mate. I’m done running.”

Lowell grinned—sharp, approving. “That’s our girl.”

Logan studied her for a long moment—searching for cracks.

Finally, he nodded once. “We go. All of us. Full security detail. No one gets within ten feet of her without losing a limb.”

The plan was simple: arrive together, stay together, leave together. Luke would monitor digital chatter. Leo would map every exit and blind spot. Liam and Lowell would flank her at all times. Levi would charm the room while watching for threats. Lucas would stay glued to her side—calm, observant, ready to pull her out at the first sign of trouble.

Logan would be the wall between her and the world.

They spent the next two days preparing—dress fittings, security briefings, last-minute claiming touches that left her breathless and marked anew.

The night of the gala arrived cold and glittering.

Emily stepped out of the private elevator into the penthouse foyer wearing a floor-length silver gown that clung like liquid moonlight. The neckline plunged low enough to show the fresh bite marks on her collarbones—deliberate, possessive. The slit up one leg revealed a thigh still bruised from Liam’s grip.

She looked like a queen.

She felt like prey walking into a lion’s den.

Logan offered his arm. “You ready?”

She slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. “No. But I’m going anyway.”

The ride to the hotel was silent tension.

When they arrived, the red carpet was already packed—cameras flashing, reporters shouting questions, pack leaders in tuxedos and gowns turning to stare.

Logan didn’t smile for the photos.

He growled low enough for only her to hear: “Eyes on me, sweet girl. You’re untouchable.”

Inside the Grand Aurora ballroom, crystal chandeliers dripped light like frozen rain. Music swelled—strings and piano. Hundreds of wolves in black tie and silk turned as one when the Walkers entered.

Emily felt every gaze like a physical touch.

Some were curious.

Some were hungry.

Some were hostile.

Magnus stood near the bar—tall, silver-haired, smirking.

Beside him: Oscar.

Her ex-mate looked thinner, eyes shadowed, but his smile was the same—charming, cruel. He lifted his glass in mock toast.

Emily’s wolf snarled.

Logan’s hand tightened on her waist. “Breathe.”

They moved through the crowd like a blade—Liam and Lowell clearing space ahead, Lucas at her right, the others fanning out.

She danced with each of them—one by one—public claim in every spin, every dip, every possessive hand on her lower back.

Logan first—dominant, commanding—holding her so close she could feel his heartbeat against her chest.

Lucas next—romantic, slow—whispering love against her temple while the world blurred around them.

Liam—primal—growling low in her ear every time another male looked too long.

Lowell—playful—spinning her until she laughed despite herself.

Luke—precise—guiding her with perfect control, eyes scanning the room even as he held her.

Leo—strategic—murmuring plans and reassurances between steps.

Levi—fiery—dipping her low enough that her hair swept the floor, kissing her throat in full view of the crowd.

By the time the music slowed for the final dance, she was flushed, breathless, marked in every way that mattered.

Then Oscar approached.

The room hushed.

He stopped a respectful distance away—hands clasped behind his back, smile polite.

“Emily,” he said smoothly. “You look… radiant.”

Logan stepped in front of her—wall of muscle and fury.

“Back away.”

Oscar’s smile didn’t falter. “I only want to congratulate her. And you. On your… good fortune.”

Liam growled. “You’ve got three seconds.”

Oscar raised his hands—placating. “No need for violence. I’m here in peace. Magnus invited me as his guest. Thought I’d see how my old mate was faring.”

Emily stepped forward—chin high.

“I’m not your mate,” she said clearly. “I never really was.”

Oscar’s smile slipped—just a fraction. “You used to say different things when you were on your knees for my allies.”

The room went deathly still.

Logan’s hand shot out—grabbed Oscar by the throat—lifted him an inch off the floor.

The music stopped.

Cameras flashed.

“You speak to her like that again,” Logan said softly, “and I rip your tongue out. Right here. In front of everyone.”

Oscar choked—eyes wide.

Magnus appeared at his side—calm, amused.

“Easy, Logan. We’re all friends here.”

Logan dropped Oscar like trash.

Magnus smiled at Emily. “You’ve come a long way, little wolf. From serving drinks to standing beside the most powerful pack in America. Impressive.”

Emily met his gaze—silver flickering in her eyes.

“I’m done serving anyone,” she said. “Especially you.”

Magnus’s smile tightened.

Then he leaned in—voice low enough for only her and the brothers to hear.

“Enjoy your night, Silverfang. It might be your last as a free woman.”

He turned away—Oscar trailing behind him like a whipped dog.

Logan pulled Emily against his side—arm like steel around her waist.

“We’re leaving,” he said.

They moved as one—security detail closing ranks—out the ballroom doors, through the lobby, into waiting SUVs.

The ride back was silent fury.

Inside the penthouse elevator, Emily finally spoke.

“They’re planning something.”

Logan nodded. “We know.”

Lucas’s hand found hers—squeezed. “We’ll be ready.”

She looked up at them—all seven—faces hard, eyes blazing.

“They want to kidnap me at the gala,” she said quietly. “Force a false claim. Steal the bloodline power.”

Liam cracked his knuckles. “They’ll have to go through us.”

Lowell grinned—feral. “And we bite back.”

Emily exhaled—shaky but steady.

“Then we fight,” she said.

Logan cupped her face—thumb brushing her lower lip.

“We fight,” he agreed.

“And we win.”

She nodded.

Because she was Silverfang.

Because she was theirs.

And because—for the first time in her life—she wasn’t afraid to be powerful.

She kissed Logan—hard, claiming—then turned and kissed each of them in turn.

Sealing the promise.

Whatever came next—kidnapping, false claims, stolen power—they would face it together.

And they would burn the world down before they let anyone take her from them.

The elevator doors opened onto their floor.

They stepped out as one.

Ready.

United.

Unbreakable.

The war had just begun.