The war hall was packed, the tension thick enough to suffocate. The letter from Valerion had arrived that morning. It sat at the center of the long table, like a silent predator among them. The room swelled with heated voices—anger, caution, suspicion, and the lingering grief of the lycans they had lost. Draven sat at the head of the long table, listening as the voices of his pack clashed like blades.
“We cannot ignore what happened!” one warrior snarled, slamming his fist onto the table. “Our people were slaughtered in the ambush! You think we should just sit at the same table as the leeches responsible?”
“This is clearly a trap,” one of the elders growled, his fists clenched. “The vampire king does nothing without purpose. If he’s inviting you, it’s because he believes he holds the advantage.”
“Or maybe he wants to prevent war before it truly begins,” another countered. “We’ve already lost good lycans in that ambush. What if we can put an end to this without more bloodshed?”
“That’s naïve,” someone else snapped. “A vampire will never honor peace.”
“They will kill us the moment we step into their lands,” another growled. “This invitation is a death sentence.”
The discussion spiraled into argument, the room filling with snarls and sharp words. Draven let them speak, arms crossed, gaze distant. He had already made his decision, but he wanted to see where his pack stood.
At his right, Cyrus leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the table. With a deceptive ease, he tilted his head. “This could be an opportunity.” His voice was calm, but it cut through the noise. “Valerion doesn’t act without reason. If he wanted war, he’d have sent a declaration, not an invitation.”
Eryx scoffed from across the table. “Oh, how reassuring. A vampire king extending his gracious hospitality.” His sharp green eyes burned with disdain. “Tell me, Cyrus, do you always kneel so easily, or is this a special occasion?”
A few murmurs rippled through the room at the insult, and Cyrus’s jaw tightened. But he merely leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I kneel to no one. I simply use my damn head.” His voice darkened. “We aren’t the only ones who suffered losses. The vampires wouldn’t risk open war without reason. This could be a chance to control the situation before it spirals beyond our reach.”
“And what if it’s a ploy to lure our Alpha into their grasp?” Eryx shot back, his muscles taut with frustration. “If Draven dies, then what? You think they’ll let us walk away?”
“The same could be said for them,” Cyrus countered. “Do you think Valerion would risk his heir’s celebration turning into a bloodbath? If we go, we gain insight into their plans. If we refuse, and shut down any chance of diplomacy, then we’re the ones fueling the fire. That’s exactly what Valerion wants. We either meet him on our terms, or we let him control the flow of this conflict. Either way, this isn’t just about vengeance—it’s about survival.”
The room erupted in argument again, lycans taking sides, voices clashing. Some saw the risk. Some saw the opportunity. Some only saw the bodies of their fallen and the unquenchable need for retribution.
Draven let it go on for a while, still sitting at the head of the table, arms crossed. His brown eyes remained cold and unreadable. He watched. He listened. He let his pack bare their teeth at each other, knowing that if he spoke too soon, it would be seen as a dismissal of their fears.
Then, after what felt like an eternity of clashing voices, he finally moved.
The scrape of his chair against the stone floor silenced the room in an instant. Every head turned as he stood, his towering frame casting long shadows in the firelight.
“I’m going.”
His words rang through the hall, final and unyielding.
Cyrus gave a satisfied nod, while Eryx stiffened, jaw tight.
“I will not walk into a war blind. If Valerion wants to talk, we will let him,” he said, voice steady, unwavering. “But we will not go unprepared.”
His gaze slid to his Gamma. “Eryx, I want you and our best warriors at my back. Choose carefully.”
Eryx exhaled sharply, but then dipped his head in obedience. “As you command.”
“Cyrus,” Draven turned to his Beta, “you’re coming with me.”
Cyrus smirked. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
A heavy silence hung in the air as the reality of Draven’s decision sank in. The pack still bristled, but they would not challenge their Alpha.
Draven let his gaze sweep over them all, a promise burning in his eyes.
“We are not walking into their den as prey,” he said, his voice ringing with authority.
“We are walking in as lycans! Let them try to test us, we’ll show them just how brutal we can be.”