We stand too close for comfort, the stone beneath our boots cool and unyielding. His scent is controlled, layered with cedar and something colder beneath it, something that always feels calculating.
“You called for my removal during an active threat,” I say evenly. “That was not concern for the pack.”
“It was concern for survival,” he replies. “You are distracted.”
My wolf stirs at the accusation. “I am focused,” I say.
“On a human,” Gideon counters.
There it is. The word hangs between us like bait.
“You are diverting resources,” he continues. “You are shifting patrol focus. You are risking pack secrecy because you cannot see past her.”
“I don’t answer to you or owe you any explanations,” I say.
“You answer to the pack,” he replies. “And the pack sees you placing her above them.”
His gaze flicks down the corridor briefly, toward the younger wolves pretending not to listen.
“They whisper,” Gideon adds. “They question.”
I step closer, closing the space until we are nearly chest to chest. “You have encouraged that.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “You insult my integrity,” he says.
“I question your motives,” I answer.
The tension shifts from verbal to physical in a heartbeat. Wolves at the end of the hall go quiet. The air hums with anticipation, the way it does before a storm cracks open.
“You are begging someone to take this pack from you,” Gideon says quietly. “If you continue down this road, you will not need to be challenged. You will be removed.”
The words are calm. The threat is not.
My wolf presses hard against bone, demanding dominance, demanding I end the exchange in blood and submission. I hold him back with effort that tightens every muscle in my frame.
“You think I fear you,” I say.
“I think you fear losing her,” he replies.
That is the wrong thing to say.
Gideon shoves me.
It is not a playful push or an accidental bump. It is deliberate, hands striking my chest with enough force to make boots scrape stone. Gasps ripple down the hall as wolves surge forward, unsure whether to intervene or witness.
I do not step back. I slam him against the nearest stone pillar.
The impact echoes through the corridor, dust shaking loose from mortar. My forearm pins across his collarbone, close enough to his throat to remind him how easily I could crush it. His breath leaves him in a sharp exhale, but his eyes remain locked on mine.
“Only an official challenge removes me,” I say, voice low and rough. “Or a council vote.”
Wolves close in on either side, Ciaran among them, tension coiled in his stance. Brynn’s staff taps once against the floor at the far end of the hall, a warning disguised as a ritual gesture.
“Not threats,” I continue. “Not accusations.”
Gideon’s fingers curl briefly against my arm, testing strength.
“You would make this physical,” he says.
