Chapter 79 I Will Burn the Council Chamber to the Ground
Fennigan didn't wait. He didn't check to see if Leela was steady on her feet. He didn't offer her his arm. For the first time in their relationship, the Alpha walked away from his mate, his singular focus narrowing to a pinprick of violent, blinding intent.
The world had ceased to exist outside of the crumpled parchment crushing the bones of his hand.
He leapt up the porch steps, taking them two at a time, his breath coming in short, sharp hisses through his teeth. He threw the screen door open with enough force that it didn't just slam; it bounced off the siding with a crack that sounded like a gunshot, the wood groaning in protest against his fury.
He marched into the house, but it wasn't a walk. It was a storm making landfall. His boots thudded heavy and fast against the hardwood, shaking the floorboards. His scent—usually the comforting aroma of pine and rain—had curdled, turning sharp and acrid, smelling of burning charcoal, and the metallic tang of bloodlust.
"Dad!" Fennigan roared.
It wasn't a call. It was a guttural, raw sound that shook the framed photos on the hallway walls. It was the sound of a wolf cornered. "Dad! We have a major problem here!"
On the gravel path, Jax stepped forward instantly. He saw Leela sway slightly, her hand going to her stomach as the color drained from her face, leaving her ghostly pale.
"I got you," Jax said softly, catching her elbow to steady her. He guided her toward the steps, his expression grim as he watched his brother disappear into the house. "Come on, Lee. Breathe. Don't let the magic spike. It's bad for the... you know."
He helped Leela up the stairs just as Ginny came rushing out the front door, wiping her wet hands on a dish towel. She had heard the slam and the terrifying quality of Fennigan’s shout.
"What's going on?" Ginny asked, her eyes darting from Jax’s pale face to Leela’s trembling hands. "Why is the Alpha shouting like the borders have been breached? Did something happen at the Summit?"
Jax tightened his grip on Leela’s arm to support her weight. He looked at his wife, his jaw set so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek.
"I think the High Council just caused Fenn to want to go to war," Jax said grimly. "And I don't think he plans on taking prisoners."
Inside, Fennigan didn't stop until he reached the Great Room.
The room was a sanctuary of peace. Damon was awake, sitting in his armchair with Caspian on his lap, showing the baby a faded map of the territory. Elana was on the sofa, her knitting needles clicking softly as she worked on a tiny yellow bootie. Briar set at her feet playing with a yarn ball.
When Fennigan stormed in, that atmosphere didn't just break; it shattered.
"Fennigan?" Elana asked, dropping her knitting needles, the yarn rolling across the floor. "What on earth—" She bent to pick up Briar, who had started to cry when her father stormed in.
Fennigan couldn't speak to his mother. He couldn't look at her. If he looked at her softness, he would break.
He walked straight to his father, his chest heaving. He reached over and slammed the crumpled letter onto the coffee table with a violent, flat-palmed strike that made the wood groan.
"Read it," Fennigan snarled, his voice cracking, thick with a rage that was bordering on tears. "Read what those vultures want to do. Read what they want with my children."
Damon handed Caspian to Elana instantly, who set Briar on her other leg. The playful grandfather vanished; the Retired Alpha emerged, cold and lethal. He picked up the paper, smoothing out the wrinkles Fennigan’s fist had made, his eyes scanning the elegant script.
Leela, Jax, and Ginny walked into the room just as Damon finished the first paragraph.
Fennigan was pacing now, a caged animal. He ran his hands through his hair, gripping the roots, his claws extending and retracting in a rhythm of pure anxiety.
"Inspection?" Damon’s voice was low, terrifyingly calm. He looked up over his reading glasses, his face unreadable. "They used the word 'assets' to describe my grandchildren? Like they are cattle?"
"They want to take them, Dad," Fennigan choked out, stopping his pacing to stare at his father. His golden eyes were wide, blown with panic. "They want to audit them. They want to test them to see if they're dangerous. And if they don't like what they find... they're threatening the Charter. They're threatening to seize them."
Fennigan pointed a shaking finger at Caspian, who was now clutching Elana’s shirt, sensing the fear in the room.
"Wardship of the State," Fennigan spat, the words tasting like poison. "They want to take my son. They want to take my daughter. For the 'safety of the collective'."
Leela leaned against the doorframe, her knees giving out. Ginny moved instantly to support her other side, holding her upright.
"They aren't taking them," Leela whispered. Her voice was trembling, but her eyes began to glow with a faint, iridescent light that made the lamps in the room flicker ominously. "They aren't touching Caspian. They aren't touching Briar. And they sure as hell aren't touching the new ones."
Damon stood up slowly. He looked at the letter in his hand, then at his son’s terrified, furious face. He folded the parchment with precise, sharp movements and tossed it into the dying fire.
"No," Damon agreed, his voice sounding like grinding stones. "They aren't."
He looked at Fennigan. He saw the tears of rage in his son's eyes.
"You want to go to war, son?"
"I want to burn the Council Chamber to the ground," Fennigan admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper that carried more weight than a scream. "I want to tear it down stone by stone until they understand that they do not look at my family."
"Good," Damon nodded, a dark, dangerous promise settling over his features. "But first, we make them regret they ever learned how to write."