The session is held in the lodge’s back room. Small table, scarred oak, older than any of us. Three chairs. A window that faces the mountains, letting in cold morning light that makes the room feel like a courtroom. Jonas stands against the wall as witness, face giving away nothing.
Edda arrives exactly on time. She sets a leather folder on the table. Tabbed, organized, documentation that takes days to assemble. She’s been preparing since before I came home. Maybe since I left.
She lays out her case with the care of a woman who knows that the strongest arguments sound reasonable. My extended absence. The unilateral decision to commit Frostbourne resources, personnel, and vehicles to an external operation without council approval. The sealed mate bond with a magic-blooded wolf; an act that, under traditional pack law, should have required elder consultation. She cites precedent. She cites three historical cases where alphas made bonding decisions that affected pack stability. She has dates. She has outcomes.
“In 1987, Alpha Elliot of the Ironbark pack bonded with a wolf from a hostile territory without consulting his elders,” she says, turning a page. “The political fallout destabilized three border agreements. Ironbark lost forty percent of its territory.”
“Brenna isn’t from hostile territory.”
“She’s from Ravenclaw. To half the southern packs, that is hostile territory.” Edda looks at me over the folder. “I’m not questioning your right to mate, Merric. I’m questioning the process. An alpha who makes decisions of this magnitude without consulting his council creates a precedent. If you can bond with a Ravenclaw witch unilaterally, what else can you do without our input?”
“Protect my pack. That’s what I did at Ravenclaw, and that’s what I’m doing now.”
“By bringing the threat inside our walls?”
“Brenna isn’t a threat.”
“Her presence has already split this pack. That’s not an opinion, Merric. That’s a fact. I’ve spoken with fourteen wolves in the last three days who’ve expressed concerns ranging from discomfort to outright opposition. Those aren’t fringe voices. Those are your wolves.”
Karl clears his throat. He’s been observing until now; a man in his sixties with weathered features and the patient demeanor of someone who’s survived decades of pack politics by listening more than he speaks. “Edda, the concerns are legitimate. Nobody’s disputing that. But some of those concerns are based on fear rather than evidence. Brenna Corvus has been here three days, and in that time she’s done nothing except train our fighters and walk the perimeter. If that’s what a threat looks like, I’d like more of them.”
Edda turns to him. “Exactly. She walked our perimeter, Karl. Checked our defenses. Noted our blind spots. And you find that reassuring?”
“I find it professional. We have blind spots. Someone who identifies them is useful, not dangerous.”
“Unless she’s sharing what she finds with someone outside these walls.”
The insinuation doesn’t land well. Karl’s eyes harden. Even Jonas shifts against the wall.
“Be careful, Edda,” I say. My voice is soft. Soft is more effective than loud in a room this small.
“I’m being careful. I’m being more careful than you’ve been since you left.” She holds my eyes. No flinching. “I’m not accusing your mate of espionage. I’m pointing out that an intelligence-trained wolf from a rival bloodline is now insideour compound with full access to our layout, our personnel, and our alpha. If any other wolf presented that profile, you’d flag it yourself.”
She’s right. I hate that she’s right, and I hate more that I can’t dismiss her argument as prejudice because there’s a legitimate governance question underneath the fear. An alpha who acts alone, who bonds without consultation, who commits pack resources to external operations without a vote—that’s exactly the type of unchecked authority that pack councils exist to prevent. Edda isn’t wrong about the principle. She’s wrong about the person, and the gap between those two things is where all the damage lives.
“The council will have input going forward,” I say. “On strategy, on resource allocation, on the political implications. But my mate is not a policy decision.”
Karl nods. Edda’s poise doesn’t change.
“I’d like to propose a formal review period,” she says. “Thirty days. During which the council assesses the security implications of the Corvus presence at Frostbourne. Standard protocol.”
“Standard protocol for what? We’ve never had a situation like this.”
“Exactly my point. We’re in uncharted territory, and uncharted territory requires careful navigation.” She folds her hands on the table. The leather folder sits between us like a battle plan. “Thirty days, Merric. That’s all I’m asking. A review. Not a judgment.”
It’s reasonable. That’s the trap; it’s perfectly, infuriatingly reasonable. Thirty days of official scrutiny. Thirty days for Edda to build a case, interview wolves, document every interaction. Thirty days for Bern to maneuver from outside while his ally works from within. And if I refuse, I’m the alpha who won’t submit to accountability. Edda wins either way.
“Twenty,” I say. “And the review is conducted by all three council seats, not delegated to a subcommittee. Everything in the open.”
“Agreed,” Edda says. No hesitation. She wanted twenty. The thirty was the opening position. I walked into the negotiation she designed, and she let me feel like I won something.
Karl approves, though his eyes tell me he sees the same thing I do. The session closes. Edda gathers her folder, stands, and leaves with the composed satisfaction of a woman who got exactly what she came for while appearing to compromise.
Jonas catches my arm in the hallway. The lodge is empty. Breakfast has been cleared, the kitchen crew gone. It’s oddly still.
“She’s running interference for Bern,” he says.
“I know.”
