The room went still. Beck had frozen, hands hovering over the bandage he’d been applying. Hux was watching with the sharp attention of a man who saw political implications in everything.
“The pack-coven alliance has been fragile for generations.” Hux spoke carefully, choosing each word. “There are those in both communities who’d prefer it stayed that way. Who benefits from division?”
“Your point?”
“My point is that if you and the innkeeper were to…” Hux paused, searching for the diplomatic phrasing. “…formalize your relationship, it could be positioned as a strengthening of that alliance. A symbol of pack and coven unity.”
“You want me to use her for politics.” Theo’s voice went cold.
“No.” Hux met his glare without flinching. “I’m saying that if your feelings are genuine—and I believe they are—you shouldn’t let fear of political backlash stop you from pursuing them. Because that backlash is coming either way. You might as well get your life out of it.”
Theo stared at him. Hux had always been harder to read than Wyatt, his politician’s mask smoother, more practiced. But right now, there was no artifice in his expression. Only a strange sort of wistfulness that looked almost like envy.
“I need to make some calls.” Hux straightened, buttoning his jacket. “Damage control. The Elders will have heard by now, and they’ll have opinions.” He paused at the door. “For what it’s worth, Theo—you did the right thing tonight. Showing power without cruelty. That’s what a real leader looks like.”
He left. Wyatt followed a moment later with a curt nod, already pulling out his own phone.
Which left Beck.
“You know what your problem is?”
Beck finished taping the bandage and stepped back, studying Theo with an expression stripped bare of pretense. This was the other Beck—the one who’d stood beside him through everything, who knew his demons better than anyone.
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“You think you have to choose. Her or the pack. Like they’re opposite ends of a scale, and picking one means losing the other.”
Theo reached for his shirt, winced as the movement pulled at his shoulder. “Because I do. You heard Garrett. The pack already thinks?—”
“Garrett is an ambitious prick who’d say anything to make you look bad.” Beck’s voice sharpened. “The pack doesn’t think with one mind, and you know it. Some of them are worried, sure. Some of them are curious. But most of them are waiting to see what you do next.”
“And what should I do?”
“Stop acting like falling for someone is a weakness.” Beck moved closer, lowering his voice even though they were alone. “A man who lets himself want something isn’t weaker for it. He’s harder to manipulate.”
Theo went still.
He hadn’t thought about it that way. He’d been so busy trying to manage the risk, trying to balance his responsibilities against his wants, that he’d missed the obvious.
“You’re not usually this insightful.” Theo’s words came out scraped, rough with things he didn’t want to name.
Beck’s grin flickered back, brief but genuine. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.” He clapped Theo’s good shoulder. “Go home. Get some sleep. And for the love of all that’s holy, text the woman. She’s probably heard from the gossip network by now and is imagining the worst.”
Theo opened his mouth to argue, but Beck was already walking away, waving a hand over his shoulder.
“That’s an order from your beta,” he called back. “Or a strong suggestion. Whatever works.”
The house wasdark when Theo got home.
He moved through it without turning on lights, navigating by memory and the moonlight streaming through windows he never remembered to curtain. His shoulder throbbed with every step, a dull counterpoint to the sharper ache behind his ribs.
In the bathroom, he peeled away Beck’s bandage and examined the bite in the mirror. Already healing, the edges pink with new skin. By morning, it would be a scar. By next week, even that would fade.
He cleaned it anyway. Applied fresh gauze. Went through the motions because the alternative was sitting still with his thoughts, and those had teeth sharper than Garrett’s.
His phone sat on the counter where he’d dropped it. He picked it up. Put it down. Picked it up again.
He typed: “Are you awake?”
