Chapter 161 Divide and Conquer
The drive to the Vane Estate Annex was a study in tension. Inside the darkened SUV, the only light came from the faint, emerald pulse of the stone at Leela’s chest and the rhythmic glow of the dashboard.
Fennigan reached across the leather seat, his hand finding Leela’s. His grip was firm, grounding. "Listen to me," he said, his voice dropping to a low, protective frequency. "The Council likes tradition. They like to divide and conquer. It’s word in the Capital that they’ll try to split us up—they’ll suggest the 'ladies' retire to a drawing room while the 'men' talk politics. It’s an old trick designed to isolate the Luna."
He looked her dead in the eyes, his amber gaze fierce. "Under no circumstances are we to separate. I don't care if they claim it’s tradition or 'private Council business.' We are not like the other packs. We don't operate on male dominance or segregated secrets. We are a binary star, Leela. We operate as one. If they want to talk to the Alpha, they talk to the Luna."
Leela squeezed his hand, her gold chains clinking in the dark. "I'm not leaving your side, Fenn. If they want me in another room, they’d better be prepared to have the walls of that room dismantled."
"Good," Fennigan smirked. "Because the second they try to pull us apart is the second they admit they’re afraid of what we are together."
When the SUV pulled up to the Annex—a sprawling, cold stone structure that felt more like a tomb than a home—the Council welcoming committee was already lined up on the steps. They were dressed in stiff, high-collared robes of grey and silver, looking like statues of a bygone era.
Fennigan stepped out first, adjusting his jacket, and then he reached back to hand Leela out of the car.
The silence that fell over the Council members was absolute.
As Leela stepped into the torchlight, the "shock factor" hit them like a physical blow. The midnight silk clung to her, the gold chains catching the firelight and throwing jagged shadows against the stone walls. But it was the elemental stone, pulsing front and center against her tan skin, and the vine tattoo winding up her throat that caused the High Chancellor to actually stumble back a half-step.
They were expecting a pregnant woman seeking sanctuary; they got a Sovereign.
"Alpha Fennigan... Luna Leela," the Chancellor stammered, his eyes darting from the plunging neckline to the glowing stone, unable to find a safe place to land. "We... we were not expecting such a... vivid presentation."
"We believe in transparency, Chancellor," Leela said, her voice echoing with a power that made the air hum. She didn't hide her belly; she let the silk drape over the "Zephyr bump" with pride. "We thought we’d bring the very things you’re so curious about right to your table. Saves everyone the trouble of whispering, doesn't it?"
The Council members looked at each other, their "superior" masks crumbling into expressions of sheer, defensive panic. They were no longer the hosts; they were the ones being scrutinized.
Five miles away, perched on a ridge overlooking the original Vane Estate, Jax watched through thermal binoculars as the taillights of Fennigan’s SUV vanished into the Annex gates.
"The distraction is in place," Jax whispered into his comms. He saw the shift in the perimeter guards—half of them were being diverted toward the Annex to bolster security for the "honored guests."
Jax pulled his black mask up over the bridge of his nose. Behind him, four shadows—the elite Blackwood stealth unit—shifted in the fog, their gear suppressed and their scents masked by Veda’s tonics.
"Target is the sub-basement vault," Jax signaled, his voice a cold, mechanical clip. "The Council is busy staring at the Luna’s jewelry. They won't notice us taking the floorboards out from under them. Go dark. No survivors if we’re spotted. We bring back the truth or we don't come back at all."
He dropped from the ledge, a ghost in the mist, as the first course was being served five miles away.
Inside the Annex, the air was thick with the scent of beeswax and old paper. The High Council members sat stiffly around a mahogany table that could seat thirty, their silver-and-grey robes rustling like dry leaves. They had been trying to ignore Leela since she sat down, but with the gold chains catching the candlelight and the elemental stone pulsing like a rhythmic green warning, she was an impossible sun in a room full of shadows.
Every time the Chancellor opened his mouth, he looked at her—then immediately looked away, flustered.
"We shall discuss the formal matters of the Northern Lineage and the... invitation... after we have concluded our meal," the Chancellor said, his voice tight. "Business is best conducted on a full stomach."
He signaled for the servers, but one of the older Council members, a man with a face like crumpled parchment, couldn't help himself. He peered over his spectacles at Leela’s plunging neckline and the exposed tan of her midriff.
"Alpha Fennigan," the Elder began, his voice condescending. "We do not wish to downplay your Luna, of course. But one must wonder... is it quite proper for a woman to wear something so... revealing? Especially a woman in her condition? Surely, modesty would be more fitting for a pregnant mother of the pack."
The room went deathly silent. The clink of silverware stopped.
Fennigan didn’t even look up from his wine glass at first. He swirled the dark liquid, his expression one of bored lethality. Then, he slowly turned his gaze to the Elder.
"My mate wears whatever she wants," Fennigan said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that seemed to shake the candles in their holders. "She is the Earth’s chosen, and I happen to think she looks absolutely divine. She isn't here to fit into your narrow idea of 'proper.' She is here because she is the heart of my pack."
He leaned forward, his amber eyes flashing. "Now, do you want to spend the rest of the evening trying to downgrade my mate, or shall we finish this dinner? Because I’m starting to think you brought us here to talk about fashion rather than the future."
The Chancellor cleared his throat loudly, sweating. "Of course, of course. Forgive the Elder. Let us eat."
As the first course was served, the Chancellor leaned toward Fennigan. "Later, Alpha, we have a private smoking room prepared. The men can discuss the finer points of the Council seat there, while the Luna and the other ladies retire to the conservatory for some... lighter conversation."
Leela caught Fennigan’s eye. The "divide and conquer" play had arrived exactly as they predicted.
Fennigan didn't even give them the satisfaction of a pause. "If you have something to say to me, you say it to us. My Luna doesn't 'retire' for light conversation. We operate as one. If the seat is for me, it’s for her. If you want us in separate rooms, you don't want a partnership—you want a hostage. And I think we all know how that ends."