Chapter 155 – Feast of Shadows
Eli
The hall is full of wolves I’ve never met before.
Allied packs, summoned for what the council is politely calling “an affirmation of strength.” Which is diplomatic code for, if Silvercrest breathes wrong, we bite first.
There’s food, of course. Roasted venison basted in honeyed wine. Black bread and fresh butter. Bowls of root mash shot through with wild garlic. I can barely taste any of it. The scent of dominance and calculation is stronger than the meat.
I’m on my best behavior tonight, which means I haven’t needled anyone yet.
Ronan is beside me at the head table, dressed in ceremonial black and gold, radiating Alpha authority. It’s very hot and I can’t wait for this ordeal to be over so we can go back to our hut.
I swirl my wine lazily, eyes tracking the room like a bored cat watching birds. Delegates from all our closest neighbors are here. All sniffing around, trying to decide whether to double down on their Blackthorn allegiance… or tuck tail and slink toward Silvercrest if it all goes to shit.
I stay close to Ronan all night. Not because I’m playing the submissive consort. But because I am the line in the sand. Because I know the eyes on me are watching not to see whether I’ll break protocol, but whether I’ll break them.
They’ve all heard the stories, but they don’t really know what I’m capable of. Truth be told, neither do I. Not fully. I know I can heal and I can turn Ronan into something just short of a god, but if there’s more, I haven’t discovered it yet.
Midway through the feast, gifts are exchanged. Grain stores. A pelt from the Deep Frost Ridge. An old medallion passed down through three Alpha lines from the southern coast.
Ronan gives nothing because he doesn’t need to. His gift is Blackthorn itself. Its walls, its strength, its fucking impenetrability. They all want a piece of that. They all fear what it means if it crumbles. Which is why the next remark slinks out like a viper.
“Of course,” says the lean Alpha from Deep Hollow, loud enough for us to hear as he picks over a hunk of roast, “Silvercrest’s offer has its own appeal. Stability, certainly. They’re less prone to… flares of temperament.”
Ronan doesn’t move.
I lean forward, chin in hand. “Funny. I thought temperament was what made an Alpha interesting and powerful. Otherwise, why not just fuck an accountant and hope for the best? I know my allegiance would never shift from Ronan Vale to some coward with deep pockets and no morals. Then again, I’m not stupid. I can’t speak for you.”
That gets a laugh from somewhere behind me. Mara probably.
A few seconds pass before the conversation stutters back to life. A ripple of nervous chatter, awkward sips of wine, throat-clearing.
But the power’s shifted just a little and Ronan’s hand is tight around mine. He doesn’t praise me. Doesn’t say anything, because there’s no need. The bond is buzzing between us like a struck wire, hot and full of pride. I can feel it singing in my chest.
It makes my chest warm knowing he didn’t just bring me here to show me off, but because he knows I can hold my own. That I can fight with words even better than with knives. I’m his partner. His weapon. His strength.
I lean against him, nudging his shoulder with mine. “Still not bored?”
He turns, his mouth close to my ear.
“Of this bullshit? Before it even started. Of you, never,” he murmurs.
Gods, I want him. Right now. I want him to fuck me hard enough to bruise. Deep enough to remind every pack in the room who I belong to. I wouldn’t quibble if he insisted on taking me on the table, in front of our audience.
But I behave, with great self-control and frustration. Enduring the tedium like a well-behaved Omega, who never steps out of line.
By the time the feast ends, I’m exhausted from holding the line and repressing my natural instincts. But I think the others may see it now.
I’m not just an Omega, hitched by our bond to a strong Alpha. I’m a shadow-cloaked thing with claws of his own.
The door of our cabin shuts behind us with a heavy thud and for almost a minute there’s nothing else but our breathing. Growing steadily more ragged.
I don't turn. I wait for my Alpha. Pushing my patience to its absolute limit. Relief floods me when I finally hear his slow, deliberate footsteps.
Then his body presses against mine from behind, all hard muscle and furnace heat. His arms cage me against him and I breathe in his intoxicating scent.
“You were perfect,” he growls into my throat. “Every damn word.” His mouth grazes my skin, open and hot, and I let my head tip forward against his shoulder.
“I was rude,” I murmur. “Borderline insulting.”
“You were mine.”
His teeth close around the skin where my neck meets shoulder, and I gasp, leaning harder against him. He takes my weight easily and walks me backward toward the bed in slow, predatory steps.
“Say it again,” he commands.
“Say what?”
His hands are already undoing the buttons of my shirt. His eyes are warm and sweet as melted honey.
“That you’re mine. That your allegiance will never shift from me. Say it in that shit-eating tone you gave Deep Hollow.”
I grin. “You hate it when I use that tone on you.”
“I love it when its turned on idiots,” he returns.
He lifts me in a single motion and tosses me onto the bed like I weigh nothing. I bounce, laughing, but the laughter dies when he climbs over me, his body a wall of heated muscle and intent.
His mouth claims mine, bruising and deep. And then there’s no more politics or performance. Just us, broken down to our basest desires.
Teeth and praise and promise. And the knowledge that if Silvercrest comes for us, they’ll find a pack ruled by two, which offers no safe place for them to bleed.
His hands slide under my thighs and drag me down the bed in one rough pull, like he can’t stand the distance between us a second longer. My legs part for him instinctively, greedily, as he settles between them.
I’m already hard. Have been for hours. Sitting through that feast with his hand on mine and the bond thrumming between us like a war drum, I would have come under the fucking table if he so much as squeezed my cock once. Now I can barely breathe.
Ronan kisses me again, slower this time, his tongue demanding and his fingers quick at my waistband. He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t bother with preamble. He just gets me naked like he’s done more than a hundred times before and then drops to his knees between my legs, mouth dragging down the inside of my thigh.
“Do you know what I wanted to do during that little speech of yours?” he murmurs, voice rough against my skin.
“Call a pack vote to publicly declare me the world’s best Omega?”
He grins. “Rip the tablecloth off and bend you over the damn plates.”
My cock twitches at the thought. “You should’ve.”
He doesn’t answer. Just drags his tongue along my length and takes me into his mouth, slow and deep.
I choke on a groan, hips jerking, hand fisting in his hair. He hums around me, the vibration cruel, obscene, and perfect. I brace myself on my elbows and watch as he ruins me with his mouth.
Ronan fucks me with his throat like he’s starving, hand gripping my hip to stop me from thrusting. I writhe anyway, trying to chase more of that slippery, unbearable heat, until he pulls back with a wet pop and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Up.”
“What?”
“On your knees. Face down.”
I scramble to obey, spine already arching, thighs trembling. He doesn’t even undress fully. Just yanks his trousers low enough to free his cock and mounts me in a single push.
The stretch is blinding. I moan into the mattress, clutching the furs like they’re the only things keeping me from floating into the air.
“You’re mine,” he snarls in my ear, thrusting deep.
“I know,” I gasp.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I cry out. “Alpha, I’m fucking yours.”
He fucks me harder for that, pace brutal and unrelenting, one hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip so tight I’ll bruise. I want to bruise. I want the proof of us all over my body.
The head of his cock hits deep, again and again, until I’m whining, begging, unraveling. My orgasm hits like a snapped wire. White-hot shock racing along my skeleton.
Ronan doesn’t stop. He follows with a guttural growl, grinding in until he spills inside me. Fucking me so good I see stars.
When he finally collapses over me, both of us panting, he keeps me trapped there, kissing the back of my neck before he says, “That’s what allegiance feels like.”
I’ll have more of that then please.