Chapter 10: A Gathering of Wolves
The air in the main hall of Silverfang Keep was thick enough to choke on. It was a different kind of pressure than the command center—less about sharp intelligence and more about raw, primal power. The room was a cavernous space of rough-hewn stone and dark timber, lit by flickering torches that cast long, dancing shadows. The scent was pure wolf—musky, wild, and tinged with the sharp aroma of spiced mead and roasting meat.
Hundreds of them were there. Warriors with scars and cold eyes, she-wolves in sleek dresses that did nothing to hide their predatory grace, elders watching from the sidelines with ancient, knowing gazes. This was the heart of the pack, the family Kael ruled with an iron will. And tonight, he was presenting his new Luna.
Lyra walked beside him, the black silk of her outfit whispering with each step. The silver collar felt like a band of ice around her throat, the moonstone a heavy, accusing eye. Kael's hand was on the small of her back, a brand of ownership that every single person in the room could see. He was dressed in his formal jacket, the Silverfang crest gleaming, a king presenting his queen.
A hush fell as they moved through the crowd, a wave of silence preceding them. The stares were a physical force—curious, hostile, calculating. She felt like a specimen pinned to a board.
"Keep your chin up," Kael murmured, his voice low, for her alone. "They can smell fear. Show them none."
They reached a raised dais at the head of the hall where two ornate, high-backed chairs sat—thrones, for all intents and purposes. One was larger, carved with snarling wolves, its wood darkened by age and use. Kael's. The other was slightly smaller, but no less imposing, its carvings depicting phases of the moon. He guided her to the smaller chair and waited until she was seated before taking his own place beside her. The message was clear: she had a place of honor, but it was subordinate to his.
From this vantage point, the sea of faces was even more intimidating. She saw Jax standing near the front, a crystal glass in his hand, his expression unreadable as he observed the crowd's reaction. Valen was a dark shadow near the wall, her arms crossed, her flinty eyes scanning for any sign of threat, her gaze lingering on Lyra with open contempt. Finn was already working the room, moving through the crowd with a easy grin, clapping backs and sharing laughs, but his eyes were constantly moving, gathering snippets of conversation.
Ronan stood at the base of the dais, a solemn sentinel. He met her gaze for a moment and gave a barely perceptible nod of encouragement. It was a small thing, but in that room, it felt like a lifeline.
Kael rose, and the last vestiges of conversation died. The silence was absolute, heavy with anticipation.
"Silverfang!" His voice boomed through the hall, needing no amplification. It was the voice of their Alpha, the voice of their god. "For generations, we have been the strongest, the sharpest, the most feared pack in this city. We have built our power on strength, on loyalty, and on the unwavering will to do what is necessary."
He paused, his stormy gaze sweeping over his people. "Tonight, our strength grows. The Blood Moon prophecy is not just a myth whispered to frighten pups. It is our destiny. And it has delivered us our Luna." He gestured to Lyra without looking at her. "Lyra Hale carries the Moonmark. She is my fated mate, bound to me by the will of the moon itself. She is the key to a new era of Silverfang dominance."
A low murmur rippled through the crowd. Some looked awed, others skeptical. An older she-wolf with a severe bun and a face like wrinkled leather, one of the pack elders named Morwen, sniffed loudly, her eyes narrowed. "A Hale? From that disgraced, diluted bloodline? And a known agent of the Crimson Paw. This is the key to our dominance, Alpha? It seems a strange lock for such a key."
A few muttered agreements followed her words. The distrust was a living thing in the room.
Kael's expression didn't change, but the temperature in the hall seemed to drop several degrees. "You question the Moon's decree, Morwen? You question me?"
Morwen didn't back down. "I question the wisdom of placing a viper in our bed, simply because it has a pretty pattern on its skin."
Lyra's heart hammered. This was the test Kael had warned her about. She could feel the pack's collective will teetering. To remain silent was to look weak, complicit. To speak without his leave was to defy him. She was trapped.
Kael turned his head slowly, his eyes meeting hers. There was no instruction there, only a cold, challenging expectation. Show them.
Drawing on every ounce of courage she possessed, Lyra rose to her feet. The movement drew every eye. The silk of her trousers whispered in the profound silence. She kept her shoulders back, her head high, letting them all see the collar, the Mark on her wrist, the unbroken woman beneath the finery.
"I am Lyra Hale," she said, her voice clear and steady, carrying through the hall. It was a minor miracle it didn't shake. "My blood is what it is. My past is what it is. I was sent here by Silas to betray the Silverfang."
A sharp intake of breath echoed through the room. Even Kael went still beside her, a dangerous, waiting stillness. She was walking a razor's edge.
"But the Moonmark does not care for the petty schemes of Alphas," she continued, the words coming to her, fueled by a mix of desperation and a sudden, clarifying certainty. "It binds not by choice, but by destiny. Kael Draven is my fated mate. My loyalty is to him. And by extension," her gaze swept the crowd, meeting hostile eyes, skeptical faces, "my loyalty is to the pack he leads. To Silverfang."
She turned her head, looking directly at the elder, Morwen. "You call my blood diluted. But it is this blood that carries the Mark you revere in prophecy. You call me a viper. But a viper can be a powerful weapon when its fangs are directed at your enemies, and not at the hand that holds it." She let her words hang in the air, a blatant acknowledgment of her own dangerous nature, twisted into a pledge. "Kael holds me. My fangs are yours."
For a long moment, there was only silence. Then, from the back of the hall, a young, muscular warrior with a fresh scar across his cheek—the brother of the captured healer, Caleb—stepped forward. His eyes were red-rimmed but burning with intensity.
"My sister, Liana, is in Crimson Paw claws because of you," he said, his voice raw. "The Alpha says we do not blame the prize. But if you are truly Silverfang, truly our Luna... what will you do to get her back?"
It was the ultimate challenge. A question of action, not words. All eyes were on her, waiting. Kael watched her, his expression inscrutable.
Lyra didn't look at him for permission. She looked at the young wolf, Caleb, and saw her brother's face. She saw the same desperate love, the same fear.
"I will do what a Luna does," she said, her voice dropping, but gaining a new, steely quality. "I will stand with my Alpha. I will fight for my pack. And I will use every piece of knowledge I have of the Crimson Paw—their routines, their safe houses, their weaknesses—to help bring your sister home."
She turned then, finally, to Kael, offering him the reins of the confrontation she had just steered. "If my Alpha wills it."
The hall was utterly silent, the pack holding its breath. Kael looked from Lyra's resolute face to the hopeful, angry face of Caleb, to the waiting pack. A slow, dark smile spread across his features, a predator pleased with his mate's first successful hunt.
"He does," Kael declared, his voice ringing with finality. He rose and placed a hand on her shoulder, a public gesture of solidarity and approval. "The Luna has spoken. Her knowledge will be our weapon. We will use their own spy against them." He raised his voice to a roar. "Tomorrow, we hunt!"
The hall erupted. The earlier tension shattered, replaced by a unified, bloodthirsty roar of approval. Glasses were raised, fists pumped the air. The doubt wasn't gone, but it had been overshadowed by a common purpose and a new, grudging respect for the fiery, defiant woman their Alpha had chosen.
As the celebration swirled around them, Kael leaned down, his lips close to her ear. His breath was warm, his words a private counterpoint to the public victory.
"A clever performance," he murmured, his tone a mix of praise and warning. "You turned their suspicion into a pledge. You gave them a villain—Silas—and cast yourself as the weapon I will wield." His fingers tightened on her shoulder. "Just remember, little wolf. It is my hand on the hilt. Never forget which way you are pointed."
He straightened up, accepting a glass of mead from a passing server, the conquering hero. Lyra stood beside him, the applause of the pack washing over her. She had survived her first trial. She had won a measure of their acceptance.
But as she smiled a cool, regal smile for the crowd, Kael's final words echoed in her mind, a chilling reminder of her true place in this dangerous game.
She was the weapon. And a weapon had no will of its own.