“We continue gathering evidence,” Dane decides. “We document everything—the timing, the pressure on Lord Theron, Caelynn’s death inconsistencies. But we approach no one in the delegation until we have proof that can’t be dismissed.”
Chapter 22
Callum
The ward stones emit a steady blue-green pulse that bathes my quarters in soft light. I’ve triple-checked them myself—full spectrum protection, like Nova’s setup at the main Lodge, but enhanced with my own Guardian tricks. Nothing gets in or out without my knowledge.
Not even scent.
It’s why Lyanna’s presence here hits me like a physical force. Her scent mingles with the sharper notes of stress-salt and something warmer underneath that makes my wolf pace restlessly behind my ribs. In here, she doesn’t need to mask her scent or watch her expressions. In here, we’re truly alone.
She sits across from me at my small table, investigation notes spread between us like a barrier neither of us wants. Her fingerstrace absently over a page detailing the contract specifics, but her eyes haven’t moved in minutes.
The wall clock ticks steadily forward. Each second takes us closer to a deadline I refuse to accept.
“This clause about familial obligation,” she says, breaking the silence. Her voice carries the practiced smoothness of her diplomatic training, but I catch the slight tremor beneath. “It’s standard language, but potentially vulnerable to challenge if we can prove undue influence.”
I nod, trying to focus on the document instead of the way the ward light catches in her hair or how her throat moves when she swallows. My wolf prowls closer to the surface, aware of our mate mere feet away in a space that smells only of us.
Time is running out. Soon he’ll expect to take her. Some fucking dragon prince who’s never even met her claiming what isn’t his to take.
My eyes catch hers over the scattered papers. The practiced serenity she maintains in public has fractured here in private. The mask slips, and I glimpse the storm beneath—fear, determination, and something fiercer that makes my pulse quicken.
What if this is all we get? What if the investigation fails? What if the tribunal rejects our case?
The thought makes my hand clench involuntarily, crumpling the edge of the document I’m pretending to read.
“Callum?” Her voice is soft, concerned.
I reach across the table, my hand finding hers. I expect her to pull away—maintain that careful distance we’ve been keeping in case of surveillance.
She doesn’t.
Her fingers intertwine with mine, warm and steady despite everything. The simple contact sends heat up my arm, settling in my chest where my wolf rumbles with satisfaction.
“I’ve been staring at the same paragraph for ten minutes,” I admit, my voice rougher than intended.
She lets out a soft exhale, almost like relief. “Me too.”
The pretense of work has finally collapsed between us. Her thumb traces small circles against my palm, and the gentle friction makes it impossible to think about anything except the woman in front of me.
“I don’t want to go.” The confession breaks through her composed mask, raw and undeniable. “I’ve been trying to convince myself it’s the right thing—that duty matters more than ...” She swallows hard, her forest-green eyes meeting mine with raw honesty. “But I don’t want this marriage. Any of it.”
Heat floods through me, cracking through every wall I’ve built. My wolf surges forward, recognizing the claim in her words—my mate choosing me.
“I won’t let them take you.” The promise escapes before I can measure it. “If there’s any other way—any loophole, any alternative—we’ll find it.”
“And if we don’t?”
I stand, pulling her up with me, the documents sliding forgotten to the floor. “Then we fight.”
The space between us has vanished. I can feel the heat radiating from her skin, see the slight rise and fall of her chest as her breathing quickens. Her scent shifts subtly, the sharp notes of stress softening into something warmer, more aware. My wolf recognizes it instantly—mate recognizing mate.
“I didn’t expect you,” she whispers, her free hand tentatively touching my jaw. The contact sends electricity down my spine. “When I came here, I thought I was choosing freedom from court politics. I never thought I’d find ...”
“Someone who matters?” I finish for her, the admission slipping out without planning. “You became that to me, Lyanna. Not just to the pack. To me.”
My hand slides into her hair, cradling the back of her head. Silky strands slip through my fingers like water. “You’re mine,” I whisper against her lips. “Whatever comes. However we have to fight. You’re mine.”
