Chapter 39 The Summit’s Teeth
The day before the summit tastes like iron.
Not blood—yet—but the sharp, metallic tang of tension that settles on the tongue when too many wolves are thinking the same thought: tomorrow decides something that can’t be undone.
I wake before dawn, the habit of vigilance carved into me deeper than any spell ever was. The east wing is still, corridors quiet, the guards outside my door shifting their weight with that careful patience of trained protectors pretending they aren’t protecting.
I sit up slowly, listening.
No magic hums beneath my skin. No easy sense of threats approaching like ripples in water. The world is simple now: sound, scent, instinct. Human measures.
And yet, my instincts feel sharper than they ever did when I could cast with a thought. Fear has nowhere to hide behind power anymore. It has to stand naked in the light with everything else.
I dress in plain, functional clothes—dark trousers, a fitted shirt, boots that have seen too many hallways and not enough open ground lately. I tie my hair back and stare at myself in the small mirror for a long moment, as if expecting to see the girl the coven raised there instead of the woman who broke herself free.
My face is paler than it used to be. My eyes look older.
There’s no glow of magic beneath my skin. No faint shimmer in my veins.
Just me.
I exhale and leave my room.
The compound is already awake. Wolves move through the courtyard with deliberate purpose, reinforcing boundary wards, checking gates, preparing the guest hall for incoming alphas. Messengers run between stations. Food is being prepared in quantities meant for ceremony and negotiation—enough to feed egos as much as bodies.
Selene finds me near the supply hall, her arms full of scrolls and sealed packets.
“You look like you didn’t sleep,” she says.
“I slept,” I reply. “My brain didn’t.”
She snorts softly, then thrusts half her bundle into my arms. “You’re with me. We’re checking seating arrangements.”
“Seating arrangements,” I repeat, already feeling a headache bloom.
“Yes,” she says grimly. “Because apparently where an alpha sits is more important than whether the world is on fire.”
It is, in their minds.
We walk through the guest hall together. It’s been transformed since yesterday—tables arranged in a wide rectangle so no one sits at the “head” except Alaric, but even that has been softened with symbolism: equal torches, equal banners, neutral colors.
A forced illusion of unity.
“Pack of Frostmere arrives first,” Selene says, scanning a list. “They’re conservative. Old treaties. Lots of posturing.”
“Which means they’ll push Alaric to prove dominance,” I reply.
“Or prove restraint,” she says, gaze flicking to me.
“Same thing, depending on the audience.”
She nods. “Ravencliff arrives second. Trade-minded. They’ll pretend they’re here for peace while taking note of every weakness.”
“And Stonehollow?”
Selene’s mouth tightens. “They’re the dangerous ones.”
I glance at her. “Why?”
“They lost territory to witch incursions years ago,” she says. “They believe violence is the only language magic understands.”
I swallow hard. “They’ll want retaliation.”
“They’ll want blood,” she corrects.
We finish the checks. Staff move quietly around us, adjusting linens, placing carved wooden markers where each delegation will sit. I spot the one labeled Observer—a smaller position at the far end, meant to keep the “visiting envoy” from yesterday’s pack at a distance while still allowing him to watch.
He’ll be here.
They all will.
As the hall settles into readiness, Selene pulls me aside near the rear entrance.
“One more thing,” she says quietly.
“What?”
She hesitates. That alone makes my pulse spike.
“Some of the council wants you seated out of sight tomorrow,” she says. “Behind the partition near the back. Still visible if someone looks, but… diminished.”
A cold weight drops into my stomach. “So they can pretend I’m not part of the problem.”
“So they can pretend you’re not part of the choice,” Selene corrects.
I set my jaw. “Alaric won’t agree.”
Selene’s gaze sharpens. “He hasn’t decided yet.”
The words hit harder than they should.
Not because I doubt Alaric—because I understand leadership. The summit is not about what he wants. It’s about what the pack can afford.
“If he asks me to sit behind a curtain,” I say slowly, “I will.”
Selene studies me. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” I reply. “Because that would be his call to make as Alpha.”
“And your dignity?” she asks bluntly.
I exhale, forcing my voice steady. “I didn’t give up my magic to protect my pride.”
Selene’s expression flickers—approval mixed with frustration. “You’re infuriating.”
“I’ve been told.”
She turns away, muttering under her breath, but I catch the edge of it: “At least you’re consistent.”
That afternoon, the first delegation arrives early.
Frostmere.
Their wolves enter through the outer gate with ceremonial confidence—fur-lined cloaks, carved bone tokens, eyes sharp with hierarchy. Their Alpha is tall and pale-haired, his expression pleasant in the way of someone who has never been told no.
He spots me almost immediately.
I’m standing near Selene by the courtyard archway, holding a ledger, doing my best to look like a background detail rather than an argument waiting to happen.
His gaze locks on me. Then on Alaric, who’s crossing the yard to greet him.
The Frostmere Alpha smiles.
Not warmly.
Predator-soft.
“So,” he says, voice carrying. “It’s true.”
Alaric’s posture doesn’t change. “Welcome to Bloodhowl territory.”
The Frostmere Alpha inclines his head, still smiling. “And you keep witches now.”
Every wolf in the courtyard stills.
The words hang like a spark suspended over dry grass.
Alaric’s voice remains calm. “We keep those who choose this pack.”
The Frostmere Alpha’s eyes flick briefly to me. “Interesting choice.”
Selene shifts beside me, tension rolling off her like heat.
I stay still.
Visible. Quiet.
Alaric steps forward half a pace, subtly reclaiming control of the space. “You’ve come for a summit.”
“Yes,” the Frostmere Alpha replies, smile still in place. “But summits reveal truths. And I confess—this is the one I’m most curious about.”
Alaric’s gaze is steady. “Curiosity can be useful. It can also be disrespectful.”
The Frostmere Alpha chuckles. “Then I’ll be careful.”
He isn’t.
That evening, the compound hosts a preliminary meal. Not formal negotiations—just food, presence, silent assessment. Wolves sit in clusters, scents thick with tension and restrained instinct. The visiting pack eats loudly, laughs too easily, makes themselves comfortable in a place that is not theirs.
I remain near the periphery, helping staff, refilling pitchers, moving plates—useful, quiet, unremarkable.
Until the Frostmere Alpha’s voice catches me like a hook.
“Tell me,” he says, as if speaking casually across the table, “does the witch still feel the bond without magic?”
The hall stills.
My hands freeze around the pitcher.
Every gaze shifts.
This is not curiosity.
This is a test.
Alaric’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade drawn slow. “That question is not for you.”
The Frostmere Alpha’s smile doesn’t falter. “I’m only trying to understand what you’re risking.”
Alaric’s eyes flash. “You are trying to provoke.”
“And if I am?” the Frostmere Alpha asks, leaning back as if amused. “A summit is meant to challenge. To expose weak points.”
I set the pitcher down carefully, my pulse steadying with deliberate control.
I remember Alaric’s instruction: don’t speak unless asked.
But this isn’t about speaking.
It’s about refusing to shrink.
I meet the Frostmere Alpha’s gaze calmly and, without saying a word, turn and walk away.
The dismissal is quiet.
But it lands.
Behind me, I hear the scrape of Alaric’s chair as he stands.
The room tightens, wolves bracing for an explosion that doesn’t come.
Alaric doesn’t roar.
He doesn’t threaten.
He simply says, voice low and lethal with restraint, “Do not use her to measure me.”
Silence, thick as stone.
The Frostmere Alpha’s smile finally falters—just a fraction. “Noted.”
Later, when the hall empties and the visiting wolves retreat to their quarters, I step into the cold night air and breathe like I’ve been holding it all day.
The compound is quieter now, but the tension is worse—because tomorrow is no longer theoretical.
Tomorrow, I will be seen.
Tomorrow, someone will demand a sacrifice to prove unity.
Tomorrow, Alaric will be baited into choosing between leadership and something he refuses to name out loud in front of wolves who would use it against him.
I feel him approach before I hear his footsteps.
“You did well,” he says quietly.
I don’t look at him right away. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You refused to give him what he wanted,” Alaric replies. “That’s something.”
I swallow, throat tight. “They’ll keep pushing.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll keep holding.”
“Yes.”
The bond hums faintly—still altered, still restrained, but undeniably alive.
“About tomorrow,” he says after a moment.
My stomach tightens. “Yes?”
He hesitates—rare for him. “The council wants you seated behind the partition.”
There it is.
I exhale slowly. “And you?”
“I haven’t agreed,” he says.
I turn then, meeting his gaze. “If you need me behind a curtain to keep the summit from breaking, I’ll do it.”
His eyes darken. “That’s not what I want.”
“I know,” I whisper. “But it might be what you need.”
Silence stretches between us, charged and raw.
“You gave up everything to stand openly,” he says softly. “And now you’re willing to hide.”
“I’m willing,” I correct, “to choose the outcome that keeps the pack intact.”
He studies me like he’s seeing something new.
“Very well,” he says at last, voice low. “I’ll decide at dawn.”
I nod once, though my chest aches with the thought of shrinking again—even temporarily.
As he turns away, I watch the darkness swallow his figure, and I realize the truth settling into my bones:
The summit has teeth.
Not because of threats from outside.
Because it will force every wolf here—Alaric included—to reveal what they value most when the pressure becomes public.
And no matter where they place me tomorrow—front row or behind a curtain—
I will still be the question no one can avoid.
Because I am proof that choice exists.
And choice is the one thing this war can’t control.