He didn’t believe in them.
He swallowed reflexively.
He didn’t have an answer that made sense.
Julian returned a moment later, his coat unbuttoned, hair damp from the rain outside. “It’s done,” he said simply, “most of them will believe this is divine will. The rest know to keep silent.”
Dominic nodded once, throwing Julian a sharp look. “And which are you?”
Julian’s mouth quirked, almost a smile. “I think you know that my relationship with Lunarion is more complicated than the rest of the pack. I’m loyal. What else matters?”
Dominic said nothing. His eyes turned instead to the remaining pack members filtering out. Julian followed his gaze.
“You knew this would happen,” he said. “The reaction, I mean.”
“I did.”
“And you don’t care?”
“I care that the pack is safe,” Dominic said, “the rest doesn’t matter.”
Julian tilted his head, unconvinced but unwilling to push. “Then I’ll make sure no one leaves with the wrong idea of what tonight was.”
When Julian left, the air seemed to thicken again. Dominic stood alone on the platform, the last of the people trickling out. His fist tightened.
From the far end of the hall came the echo of approaching footsteps. Theodore’s, heavy and hesitant. Two sets.
Dominic looked up just as they approached the dais.
Theodore first, his hand a tense line around Layla’s arm. She wasn’t struggling, but there was a stiffness in her spine, a silence, as if she wasn’t quite in her body. She looked different under the torchlight, paler, eyes dark with fury instead of fear.
For a heartbeat, the memory of another night flared: her face in the half-dark of a cottage, the same defiant tilt of her chin. The same eyes that had looked at him as if she could see through every defense he’d built.
He killed the thought before it could properly form.
“The council room,” he said, voice steady, “now.”
Theodore hesitated again. “Dom—”
“That’s an order.”
Whatever Theodore saw in his face ended the argument. He nodded once and led her past the benches, their footsteps echoing against the walls.
Layla didn’t look at Dominic as she passed him. She didn’t look at anyone. Her focus was forward, her jaw set, her whole body rigid with a kind of contained rage.
Dominic hesitated a moment, looking down at the floor, counting his breaths. Then he turned on his heel, knives bumping against his thighs, and followed after his unwilling bride into the council room.
The door shut behind them with a low, final sound that echoed through the Sawmill.
It was a deceptively well-furnished room, its fortification indiscernible from outside. They had designed it that way to keep prying humans from their pesky curiosity. The stone walls were thick. They may as well have been a fortress. Dominic strode across the room to stand behind the large desk, bracing his hands to steady himself. Then, he looked up.
Theodore and Layla looked right back.
Layla was the first to move. She wrenched her arm free of Theodore’s grip and crossed the floor, her boots striking hard against the wood. The sound echoed. She stopped a few paces from Dominic, shoulders heaving.
“What do you want from me?” she demanded.
Her voice was raw, shaking. There was no fear in it, not yet.
