Chapter Thirty Two— The Summons of Luna
The summons came at dawn.
I had barely risen, my eyes still heavy with sleep, when one of the young messengers—barely more than a boy, his limbs longer than his body—stood at the entrance of the den. His breath misted in the morning air, his fists clenched at his sides as if he was trying to summon courage.
"Your presence is needed by the Elders," he said, quivering voice contradicting his attempts at formality. "There's an issue that requires judgment… Luna."
That final word snagged like a hook in my chest. Luna. They'd applied so many various designations to me before—outsider, stranger, even witch—but only now did the summons bear that designation like the seal of authority. My throat closed.
Lucien rose behind me, his stretching so much that I thought his limbs would fall out of place. "Judgement?" His voice was calm, but there was something hard beneath, something that made most of the wolves quiver.
The boy nodded. "Yes, Alpha. Two of our own have come before the council. They… they are demanding resolution."
Lucien’s eyes met mine, and they were not alarmed, but looked like he was reflecting. "Then we shall give it to them."
I knew, though, by the way gaze lingered, that this would not be his judgment to give.
The council tent was packed when we arrived. Warriors and elders, mothers and apprentices stood along the walls, their eyes gleaming with interest, their soft murmurs like the rustle of dry leaves on the wind. Word of discord spread quickly, and the air was heavy with the scent of tension—stinging, bitter, near-metallic.
At the center of them were two wolves, bristling and defiant as they faced each other. One was broad-shouldered, a battle-hardened veteran with a scarred face across his jaw. The other was lean and younger, with fire burning in his eyes that had not yet been tempered by experience. They faced each other like two storms waiting to collide, and though neither had turned into their wolf form, their presence electrified the room with potential for violence.
The Elders sat in their half-circle, stern as carved stone. In the center seat, Elder Marisol bowed her head to me. "Luna," she said, her voice with a weight I wasn't yet certain I had acquired. "You have been called to see and to judge."
My heart stuttered. "Me?" The word fell out of my mouth before I could catch it, small and vulnerable.
Her eyes narrowed, as though questioning me already. "You wear the cloak of Luna. The pack must treat you as such, and you must act as such. Today, you must judge."
A quiver of excitement moved through the crowd, half-wonder, half-gratification. They wanted to see what I would do. If I would fail. If I would succeed.
Lucien stepped forward to stand behind me, looming and rock-steady, his silence more potent than any words. He would not speak for me. He would not save me. This was mine to take or lose.
I willed my legs into motion to walk to the central seat facing the two members of the pack with the issue. My palms stung, my respirations shallow, and though I tried to stand straight, my body shuddered with strain. Hundreds of eyes upon me, waiting, weighing. For the first time as Luna, I felt the true burden of leadership—not the flame of battle, not the ache of sorrow, but the suffocating weight of my people, demanding wisdom.
I had never felt smaller.
Speak your grievance," Elder Marisol said.
The scarred wolf led the way, his growl a faint cover for the steam that churned beneath. "This whelp," he gestured to the younger of the two, "ran across my grounds. I warned him. I told him in no uncertain terms the hunting grounds along the northern ridge belonged to me and to my kin alone. But he ignored me. He took game meant for my family, and when I confronted him, he spat upon my authority."
The younger wolf's mouth twisted into a snarl. "Your claim? The ridge is for the pack, not you. You monopolize it, push others out, and leave leftovers for the rest of us. I hunted there because my family was hungry. Because your greed starves them."
The crowd watched on with anticipation. Growls and murmurs started, sides already drawn in the corners.
The scarred wolf showed his teeth. "You dare to talk about greed when my blood fought that land during the last war? My scars speak of battles I've fought so puppies like you could have something to eat at all. You dishonor the price we paid."
"And you dishonor the pack for holding for yourself what was meant for sharing!" said the youth, his voice shaking with feeling.
The two of them charged a step forward, and it cost me every bit of control not to jump when the tension in the tent grew taut as knives.
"Enough." Elder Marisol's imperative snapped like a whip, and they froze—barely. Then her eyes turned to me. "The complaint has been voiced. The pack looks to your ruling, Luna."
The words fell like thunder.
My lips grew parched. My brain reeled with what-ifs, with dreads, with the understanding that whatever issued from my lips now would spread through all ears within this tent. This was not just a disagreement over hunting privileges. This was about precedence, about control, about whether Elara—the foreigner, the human-begotten, the unproven—could be Luna.
I felt the pack's eyes searing into my flesh, each look a weight pushing me further into the chair. I could hear my heart thudding, increasing its pace as if trying to drown the silence that closed in around me.
Lucien said nothing, his bulk at my back a mountain, immovable, unyielding. He would not rescue me. He needed me to stand.
I looked between the two wolves—the battle-hardened veteran and the hot-headed youngling—and beheld beyond their growls. I beheld the desperation that drove the younger, the pride that ensnared the elder like a cloak, the crack line that split not just them, but the pack. If I messed it up, that crack would widen.
And all of them waited, awaiting the sound of my voice to decide for themselves.
Elder Marisol leaned forward, her tone biting and absolute. "Luna Elara. Pass your judgment."
The room held its breath.
My lips parted, but no sound emerged. My heart hammered more rapidly, more loudly, silencing thought, silencing all. The moment teetered in the balance, a knife suspended at the precipice of falling.
And then—
"I…"