Chapter 20: The Claim She Craved
Chapter 20: The Claim She Craved
Cassian POV
Breakfast – Moonridge Alpha Wing
The scent of citrus and cinnamon filled the air, but Cassian could barely taste the food on his plate. Across from him, Elira Tannis sat wrapped in elegance and silk, slicing through a blood orange like it owed her something.
She hadn’t spoken since they sat.
Which meant she was waiting.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked finally, too casual.
Cassian didn’t look up from his tea. “Well enough.”
“I had an odd dream,” she continued, placing a section of orange on her tongue. “That I stood beside you, in full bond, and the pack howled as one.”
He didn’t answer.
“I think the pack wants to see that dream come true,” she added, watching him.
He looked up then. Slowly. “Do you?”
She smiled, slow and gleaming. “I think it would be easier if you did.”
Cassian held her gaze for one long, silent moment. “What we have is already too much.”
“You mean too public.”
“I mean too false.”
The smile never reached her eyes. “False things can become real, Cassian. All they need is time and repetition. The pack already sees me beside you. Why not finish the picture?”
“Because I’m not done grieving the one they erased.”
She flinched, just barely.
He rose, napkin dropped carelessly on the table. “This is breakfast, Elira. Don't wear me out with this discussions.”
She didn’t stop him from leaving.
But she would not forget the refusal.
\---
The Next Day – Council Hall
Cassian POV
The council chamber was heavier than usual.
Six elders surrounded the obsidian table: Verin, eyes sharp with the smell of war; Mora, always too patient; Ajay, young but annoyingly agreeable; Alaric, brooding and difficult to read; Cecelia, whose silence often meant strategy was brewing; and of course, Elira, sitting quietly in her pale blue council dress, demure and watchful like she hadn't already tried to maneuver him at breakfast.
Cassian sat at the head of the table, spine straight, expression unreadable.
Verin cleared his throat. Loudly.
“The pack grows restless,” he began. “Our Luna seat remains incomplete. A bond without the mark is like a throne without legs, eventually it collapses.”
Cassian’s hands tightened on the armrest. He said nothing.
“I believe it’s time we move forward with the formal mating ceremony,” Verin continued. “The people need unity, not appearances.”
Across the table, Mora lifted her chin. “We shouldn’t rush. Stability is important, yes—but so is pacing. We’ve kept order without ceremony thus far. There’s still time.”
Ajay nodded immediately. “I agree. Elira’s presence has calmed the Council chambers. She’s been composed. But we don’t need to force Cassian’s hand.”
Verin snorted. “The Alpha’s hand should already be moving. The moment he failed to bring back the first Luna, we gave him an alternative.”
Elira exhaled like she hadn’t meant to speak, but did. “I brought this up yesterday. Over breakfast. He dismissed it.” She looked to Cassian then, sweet and solemn. “I don’t think he believes I deserve it.”
The room went still.
Cassian’s gaze swept the table. “I didn’t dismiss anything. I refused it. That’s not the same.”
“And yet here we sit,” Verin said. “With a Luna who isn’t Luna. You want us to keep holding our breath while Crescent looks for cracks?”
Alaric spoke for the first time. “They’re already watching. Bonding her might show strength. Or it might show desperation.”
Cecelia, fingers steepled, added softly, “It might also show submission. And I wonder who benefits most from that.”
Cassian’s teeth ground behind his lips.
“This isn’t a matter of politics,” he said finally. “It’s a matter of truth. I will not mark someone I do not choose.”
“But she’s already beside you,” Verin pressed.
Cassian leaned forward. “Then let her stay beside me, as acting Luna. Nothing more.”
Tension lanced the room.
Elira didn’t protest.
She didn’t need to.
\---
Late Night – Kael’s Quarters, East Wing
Kael POV
He didn’t like the way the silk robe clung to her when she entered. It was too delicate. Too close to bridal. A reminder of the ceremony she’d nearly claimed.
“You pushed him again,” Kael said, arms crossed.
Elira shut the door behind her without answering.
Kael watched her. The soft slide of her bare feet across the stone. The way her fingers ghosted along the edge of his dresser. “You were supposed to be subtle.”
“I was,” she said, pouring herself a drink. “The Council did the rest.”
“You’re trying to bond him,” he snapped. “Don’t lie.”
“I’m trying to win.”
He stepped closer. “By sleeping with him?”
Her laugh was sharp. “He hasn’t touched me. He won’t. You should know that by now.”
“But you’re hoping he will.”
She turned. “No. I’m hoping they believe he will. That’s all I need.”
Kael’s eyes narrowed. “You think mating him will change your place?”
“I know it will,” she said softly, stepping close. “Right now, I’m a decoration. A footnote. But if I become Luna in full, if I wear the mark, they’ll stop whispering about Thalia. And we'll be able to move on with our plan.”
“And what about me?” he asked, voice low, guttural.
Her eyes didn’t waver. “You are the only one who knows me. The only one I let see behind the mask.”
Kael grabbed her waist, dragged her against him. “Then why does it feel like I’m the one being used?”
Elira’s lips brushed his. “Because you are. And so am I.”
Their mouths met in a crash, wild, angry and electric.
She moaned as he pressed her into the wall, his hands finding the curve of her hips, her thigh, the line of her throat. She didn’t beg. Elira Tannis didn’t need to beg. She invited, and he obeyed.
Kael’s tongue traced the pulse point at her neck, his fingers sinking into her hair. She pulled at his shirt, pushed him back onto the bed, straddling him with the grace of a queen and the heat of a wildfire.
“You’ll be mine,” he growled.
“I already am,” she whispered, rocking into him. “But the crown needs both of us.”
Their bodies moved like they’d been built for war—clashing, clawing, gasping, conquering. Elira kissed him like she wanted to erase the world. And Kael held her like he wanted to claim it.
And when it ended, tangled in sheets and sweat and sharp breath, she whispered against his throat:
“Let them see me as his.”
Her nails traced his chest.
“But I’ll always be yours.”