I stiffened. “Not with me on it.”
“Oh, butwithyou,” he corrected, wagging a bony finger. “Exactlywith you. Otherwise, the same old shifters will rebuild the same old rot.”
“I don’t do politics.”
“Course you do,” he said simply. “You just call it protecting your pack.”
I opened my mouth to argue—but the flap of the tent shifted.
Two alphas stepped inside. One was large, bigger than Diesel, with dark hair and broad shoulders. He looked capable. The other was tall, slightly less bulky, with long brown hair hanging loose. They were both young. Maybe my age.
The black-haired one had a presence that could hold a room still without touching a single thing in it. The kind of wolf who didn’t need to announce he was lethal; it was just known. The second one, his gaze flicked around the tent—calculating, assessing, missing nothing. He met my look, saw who I was beside, and gave a slight nod.
They walked over.
“Smells of corruption still,” the taller one said bluntly. “I say we burn the fucking thing to the ground.”
I grinned. I might like this one.
The shaman clapped his hands. “Good. Excellent. Alphas who don’t waste time with pretty words.”
The dark-haired one looked at him. “You dragged us here, shaman. Say what you need to say.”
“Yes, yes, Cannon,” the shaman huffed. “Impatient brutes, all three of you.” The shaman leaned back, seemingly satisfied that we were here. “I will be proposing that the three of you form the core of the new Council.”
I stared at him. “Absolutely not.”
Cannon grunted. “Not interested.”
His companion folded his arms. “We didn’t come here to be drafted. We already spoke about this.”
The shaman waved his hand. “You’re not beingdrafted. You’re being…encouraged. The old Council hoarded power. You three would wield it.”
“I don’t want power,” I said.
“Liar,” the shaman said cheerfully. “You seek stability. Safety. A world where your mate and child never have to fight a war you should have prevented. Power is how you stop corruption before it spreads.”
Damn him. He wasn’t wrong.
Cannon exhaled slowly and appeared tired. “The old Pack Council let us all down. If something new appears…it needs wolves who won’t make the same mistakes. Kris?”
The one called Kris nodded once. “Agreed. But I won’t sit in meetings listening to puffed-up elders drone on about tradition.”
“Then don’t,” the shaman said. “Lead. Decide. Set a standard no one before you ever could. Change begins with those who survived the old world and refused to become it.”
Silence settled—heavy, expectant.
The shaman turned to me first. “You refused to kneel before corruption. Good. Now stand for something better.”
Cannon’s eyes locked with mine across the tent—a warrior recognizing another who had been buried andmanaged to dig himself out. Kris watched me closely, sharp and shrewd, as if he was already planning ten moves ahead.
I crossed my arms. “And if I say no?”
The shaman shrugged. “Then you say no. And the next Pack Council will be weaker. And eventually, your child’s generation will suffer for that weakness.”
My wolf growled softly. He was right once more. I was starting to resent how often that happened.
Finally, I said, “I won’t play political games.”
