(The moment Drayan pulled a stunning stunt In front of the messenger, The dinner table was paused for a moment, yes the dinner table which contain his Vampire Cousins and the pack ,they were all amused , the reaction of them was hilarious.)
The moment was frozen in time, the kiss lingering like a vow written in fire. When Drayan finally pulled back, keeping his hand possessively on the back of Wolfie's neck, he didn't look away. He looked at the room, daring anyone to challenge the depth of his devotion.
The reactions rippled through the Longhouse like a shockwave.
The Silvermoon Elders
On the Wolf side of the table, the reaction was explosive. Grandpa Silas Senior leaned back, a gruff, satisfied grunt escaping his throat. He saw the way Drayan's powerful muscles were tensed, ready to fight the world for the woman in his arms. To Silas, this wasn't just "mushiness"—it was a claim of territory.
Grandma Martha let out a sharp, high-pitched whistle. "Now that," she shouted, slapping the table so hard the plates rattled, "is a male who knows what he's holding! Forget the city books, Drayan, you've got the heart of a Wolf!"
However, the younger werewolf warriors—the ones who had grown up with Marcus—were stunned into a bitter silence. They had spent years thinking the Vampire Prince was a fragile doll. Seeing him claim their Alpha's daughter with such raw, masculine dominance made them realize the hierarchy of the village had shifted forever.
The Vampire Cousins
On the other side, the city-bred vampires looked like they had seen a ghost. They were used to "Blood-Arrangements" and "Social Unions," where couples barely touched in public. To see a high-born son of House Drac kiss a "beast" with such hunger and public intensity was scandalous.
Cousin Valerius dropped his silver wine goblet, the crimson liquid staining the white tablecloth. "Preposterous," he whispered, though his eyes held a glimmer of terrified respect. "He's gone completely feral. The Council will have his head for this."
Aunt Elara, a cold woman who valued purity above all, fanned herself rapidly. "He isn't just married to her; he's consumed by her. It's a disgrace to our bloodline... and yet, look at his power. He's never been this strong in the city."
The Father's Pride
Drac sat perfectly still. He didn't cheer like the wolves, and he didn't gasp like the vampires. He simply watched his son. He saw the way Drayan's muscles rippled under his shirt as he shielded Wolfie from the messenger's gaze. Drac realized his son wasn't a runaway anymore. He was a King in the making. He raised his glass in a silent, solemn salute, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous pride.
The Messenger's Terror
The messenger was the most affected. He had come to deliver a "summons" to a boy. Instead, he was standing in front of a predator. He looked at the way Drayan's hand was splayed across Wolfie's back—the touch was so intimate, so final, that the messenger knew no law in the city could break it. He felt the Vampire Stillness coming from Drayan, a cold, lethal aura that told him if he didn't leave now, he wouldn't leave at all.
Drayan's Internal Victory
As the room erupted into a mix of howls and hushed whispers, Drayan didn't let go of Wolfie. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear so only she could hear him over the noise.
"Let them talk," he murmured, his voice thick with possessive heat. "Let them be shocked. I want them to know that I am your shield, your husband, and your shadow. If the world wants to get to you, they have to go through me first."
Wolfie looked up at him, her face flushed, her heart hammering against his chest. She didn't feel like a girl caught in a political marriage. She felt like a Queen who had just been crowned in the blood of her enemies' expectations.
"You really showed them, Drayan ," she whispered, her claws lightly grazing the muscles of his arms.
"I'm just getting started," Drayan replied.