Chapter 54 The Shadow in the East
In the guest wing of the Lycan Palace, the air was thick with the scent of aged oak and the heavy silence of the North. Draven sat on the edge of a velvet couch, swirling a glass of amber whiskey. The liquid caught the light, mirroring the predatory glint in his eyes.
"The Alphas are convening in an hour," Rylan said, standing by the window. "The Council and the King want to finalize the logistics for the Hunt. It’s set to begin in three days."
Draven didn’t answer immediately. His mind was miles away, anchored to the image of the masked fighter in the arena. He had spent months scouring every corner of the North for Elara, only to have the trail go cold. Then, the Lycan King had appeared at his masquerade ball with a woman who lacked a scent—a ghost in silk. He had assumed she was a saint or a high-born witch. He never expected that same woman to dismantle a Southern Princess in the pits.
"Get someone to look into the masked fighter," Draven ordered, his voice a low rasp. "I want her name and her origin before noon."
Rylan frowned, shifting his weight. "Draven, we are on Lycan property. We are guests of the Crown, and Ronan is notoriously protective. We can’t just poke around his inner circle without consequences."
"I don't care about the consequences," Draven snapped, downing the whiskey in a single swallow. "The way she moved, the fire in her strikes... I feel like Elara and that fighter are related. If they aren't the same person."
"And if they are?" Rylan asked. "What then? You’re in the heart of the Lycan Kingdom. You can’t exactly kidnap a woman the King is shielding."
Draven’s lips pulled back into a dark, sharp smile. "What else would I do? She is my property. I would take my mate back where she belongs."
Outside the heavy guest-wing doors, Cierce pressed her back against the cold stone, her fingers digging into her palms. Her jaw locked as she eavesdropped on the conversation. The obsession in Draven’s voice made her blood boil.
"I need to have a word with this fighter," Cierce thought, her eyes flashing with a murderous resolve. If Elara was alive, Cierce would ensure she didn't survive the week.
The meeting chamber was a cavernous hall of obsidian and silver. Available Alphas from the surrounding territories sat at the Great Round Table, their Betas standing like sentinels behind them. The air was restless with murmurs.
"The King’s mate," one elder whispered, leaning toward another. "It’s concerning that he hasn't publicly announced her. Why the mask? Why the secrecy?"
Draven and Cierce, seated at the far end of the table, sharpened their focus. The King’s mate? The information landed like a blow.
"She likely won out of luck," another elder scowled. "Lady Pandora was trained for the throne. Her father, the Southern Duke, will be incensed when he hears a nobody from the North beat his daughter to a pulp."
Draven’s head snapped up. "From the North?"
The elders turned to look at him, but before anyone could answer, the heavy doors swung open. The room went cold as Ronan stepped into the hall. His aura was suffocating, a physical weight that pressed against the lungs of every wolf present. His hands were tucked behind his back, his golden eyes scanning the room with lethal intent.
"This meeting is to discuss the Hunt," Ronan stated, his voice like grinding stones. He paused, his gaze landing heavily on Draven, sending a flicker of involuntary tension down the Arch-Alpha’s spine. "It is not a forum for gossip regarding my mate. Any conversation not related to the Hunt will be tagged as an offense against the Crown. Am I clear?"
The Alphas stood in unison, bowing their heads. "Our apologies, Your Majesty."
Draven sat back, his mind racing. He linked with Rylan mentally. Have you found anything?
Nothing, Rylan replied. The servants are silent. It’s as if her name doesn't exist. Ronan has locked down every scrap of information.
Draven narrowed his eyes. It was suspicious. Ronan was secretive enough to hide her name, yet arrogant enough to let her fight in the most public arena in the kingdom. He was hiding something deeper than a name.
"We begin," Ronan said, taking his seat at the head of the table.
Matthew stepped forward, unrolling a massive map that covered the East and West territories—lands that had been unguarded and wild for months.
"The Hunt will span the Sacred Ridge and the surrounding lowlands," Matthew explained. "We are not merely hunting for sport. We are clearing the predators that have encroached during the border disputes. Alphas, your warriors must be ready for high-altitude combat. Report any unusual signs—rogue sightings or blighted land. We are using the entire unguarded sector, so stay within your assigned coordinates."
The Alphas scrutinized the maps, discussing the need for protective enchantments against the local fauna and the logistical nightmare of moving so many warriors across the rugged terrain.
As the meeting adjourned, Ronan stood. "A selection of spirits and refreshments has been prepared in the solar. Follow the guards. Use the time to coordinate your packs."
Once the hall cleared, Ronan and Matthew retreated to the King’s private study.
"Any word from my mother?" Ronan asked, his voice losing its iron edge and turning weary.
"Queen Arwen sent word she will return before the Hunt begins," Matthew said, closing the door. "But she wanted you to see this regarding Hector."
Ronan’s eyes narrowed. He remembered the empty grave in Northwood—the one Elara believed held her father. Matthew handed him a letter.
"Hector was never buried, Ronan," Matthew said quietly. "The corpse was never recovered. There is no official record of the cause of death, only a disappearance during the purge."
Ronan clenched the paper, his jaw tight. "Send a team to investigate the Northwood perimeter again. If he’s alive, he’s a wild card we didn't account for." He paused. "And Draven?"
"He’s digging," Matthew confirmed. "He’s been trying to bribe the staff for info on Elara."
"Make sure nothing slips," Ronan commanded. "I won't have her on the front line of his madness until she’s ready."
Matthew leaned against the desk, watching his King. "And when are you going to tell her, Ronan? That you’re mates? She’s smart. She’s already asking the right questions."
Ronan looked away, staring at the fire in the hearth. "I don’t know. I’m waiting for the right moment. I don’t want her to feel like she’s just another obligation in this palace."
“She asks again, I take over,” Fenrir growled in his mind.
Ronan ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "She’s insisting on joining the Hunt. She’s being aggressive about it, Matthew. I don't think I can force her to sit this one out after she beat Pandora."
"She won't sit it out," Matthew muttered. "She has the heart of a Lycan, even without the shift."
"Then we tighten security," Ronan said, his voice returning to business. "Tell Morrigan to double the production of enchanted gear. We need to be ready for the Nosferu, the South’s bitterness, and the Red Moon. It’s all coming at once."
Matthew nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty."