Sleep doesn't come.
When Ronan leaves me alone in his quarters, the silence presses in like a living thing. The bed is too large, the ceiling too high, the scent of Alpha too thick in the air for my mind to settle.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Jonah's face when Ronan said my mate.
Not an Omega.
Not the Omega.
Mine.
The bond thrums uneasily, stretched between the three of us like a wire pulled too tight. I can feel Jonah drifting in and out of sleep somewhere down the hall, his pain dull but persistent. Each pulse of it sends a mirrored ache through my chest.
I deserve this.
I lie there until dawn bleeds faintly through the narrow windows, my wolf restless and quiet, no longer accusing—just watchful. Waiting.
A knock comes at the door just after sunrise.
Not a servant.
Not a guard.
Ronan.
"Get dressed," he says when I open it. "We're meeting the Council."
My stomach drops. "Already?"
"They sensed the shift the moment we crossed the border," he replies. "Ignoring them would be seen as weakness."
I nod and move past him to wash and change, my movements automatic. When I step back into the corridor, Ronan's gaze flicks to me, sharp and assessing, then away again.
No comment.
The walk to the council chamber is short but heavy with tension. Wolves bow as we pass, curiosity rippling through the pack link in controlled waves. News travels fast in a bonded pack—and this kind of news spreads like wildfire.
The chamber doors open to reveal seven Elders seated in a semicircle of stone and iron.
They don't rise.
Ronan stops at the center of the room, feet planted, shoulders squared. I stand slightly behind him, the way a Luna would.
The realization hits me harder than expected.
An Elder with iron-gray hair leans forward. "Alpha Blackthorn. Your arrival was… disruptive."
Ronan's lips curve faintly. "Truth tends to be."
Murmurs ripple through the chamber.
"The Omega," another Elder says, eyes cutting briefly to me. "Is he alive?"
"Yes," Ronan replies coolly. "And protected."
Silence snaps taut.
"Protected," the first Elder repeats. "That is an unusual choice."
Ronan's power stirs, dark and unmistakable. "So is beating a bonded wolf half to death."
Gasps echo softly.
The Elders exchange looks—some calculating, some alarmed.
"There is talk," a third Elder says carefully, "of an unstable bond. Of three threads instead of two."
Ronan doesn't deny it.
He steps aside just enough for me to be seen.
"This is Elara Vale," he says. "She is under my protection."
The word lands like a declaration of war.
One Elder rises abruptly. "She rejected the Omega. That alone makes her unfit—"
Ronan's snarl cuts him off.
The sound is primal, vibrating through the stone floor, forcing every Elder present to freeze where they stand.
"Careful," Ronan warns softly. "You are speaking of my mate."
The chamber erupts.
Voices overlap. Accusations fly. Words like abomination, instability, dangerous precedent slice through the air.
My hands tremble at my sides, but I don't move.
Ronan waits.
When the noise finally dies down, he speaks again—quiet, lethal.
"The bond exists whether you sanction it or not. I will not harm one mate to appease tradition. Nor will I allow another pack to do so."
His gaze sweeps the room.
"Any challenge to this bond will be treated as an act of aggression against Blackthorn."
The threat is clear.
The Elders exchange looks again—this time edged with fear.
Finally, the iron-haired Elder nods once. "Then you assume full responsibility."
Ronan inclines his head. "Gladly."
The meeting ends shortly after.
As we leave the chamber, my legs nearly give out.
Ronan catches my elbow without looking.
"You held your ground," he says.
"I didn't say anything."
"You didn't need to."
We walk in silence until we reach the infirmary.
Jonah is awake when we enter.
His eyes lift—and soften—when he sees me.
The bond flares.
Shame floods me, sharp and suffocating.
"Hey," he says quietly.
The word undoes me.
I move to his bedside before I can stop myself. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. "I thought—I thought I was saving you."
He studies me for a long moment, then shakes his head gently. "You were scared," he says. "So was I."
Tears spill over before I can stop them.
Ronan watches us from the doorway, expression unreadable.
"Rest," Ronan says to Jonah. "We'll talk later."
Jonah nods, eyes never leaving mine.
When we step back into the corridor, Ronan turns to me fully.
"They'll test this bond," he says. "Push boundaries. Look for weakness."
I swallow. "And if they find one?"
His gaze hardens.
"Then I remind them why my pack has never fallen."
For the first time since returning home, I understand something with terrifying clarity:
The lines have been drawn.
And they're drawn in blood.