We need our alpha.
He isn’t wrong. Not about any of it. I’ve known this since I decided to enter Glacier Crest Pack, but we also have to balance out the council again. It might be nearly as important as showing them my mate isn’t a threat.
For centuries, those alphas weren’t just lawmakers—they were the anchor of our survival. A unified force stronger than any single pack. They kept our people alive when the women began to go barren. They built systems so no wolf—old or young, strong or struggling—was ever left without a home.
No shifter left behind.It wasn’t a slogan. It was salvation.
And then they twisted one of their own vows:Protection from any who threaten our existence.
They let Malrik manipulate them into believing Rowan was a death sentence instead of a prophecy fulfilled. Fear did the rest. Now the remaining two council members, possibly still loyal to him, are a danger. Not just to Rowan, but to every pack out there, and I’ll dismantle every last piece of their broken system before I let it destroy her again.
Taren has apparently been pushing relentlessly for immediate action. She’s afraid the packs will lose faith if the council isn’t restored soon. Afraid others not fit for the role might try to seize control. Afraid we’ll lose hold of the narrative before we even understand what that should be.
I told Elias I understood.
Then I told him I didn’t give a damn, but that was a lie, and he knew it.
I just need tonight to be selfish.
He didn’t argue. Only nodded and said, “Take care of her. We’ll regroup tomorrow.”
Now I’m here, pretending I’m calm when every part of me is vibrating with the need to see her. To touch her and confirm she’s real and not something my mind stitched together to survive.
Because for weeks, that’s all I had—ghosts of her laugh, echoes of her scent, the memory of her hand slipping out of mine.
And then?—
Her footsteps approach. Slow at first, then quicker, like she can’t wait either.
Rowan steps into the room, and my entire world snaps back into focus like someone’s forced the sun out from behind a cloud.
Her smile hits first. Soft and exhausted, but radiant in a way that knocks the air straight out of my lungs. She stands steadier, like she’s carrying a storm inside her but finally knows how to hold it without letting it tear her apart.
Then she’s running toward me.
I stop breathing entirely.
Gods,I think as she collides with my chest,I’m one lucky son of a bitch.
I wrap her up instantly, hands spanning her back, arms locking around her like instinct has taken over, and maybe it has. The moment her body presses to mine, every franticthought—Taren, the council, Malrik, responsibility—disintegrates like ash in the wind.
My mate is here.
She’s alive.
She’s in my arms.
And for right now, that’s the only thing in the world that matters.
Rowan melts against me, and her fingers fist into the back of my shirt—desperate and trembling—and something in my chest pulls tight, sharp enough to hurt.
After a long moment, she tips her head back and looks up at me. “You have no clue how much I missed you.”
“If it’s even half of how I felt,” I murmur, brushing my thumb along her cheek, “then I have an idea.”
I try to smile, but it doesn’t sit right. I don’t want to talk about the time she was gone. I don’t want to look back at those days where every sunrise felt like a punishment. I wantthis—her warmth, her breath, the way she leans into every inch of me like she was born to be right here with me.
“You’re different,” I say instead, my fingers skim gently along her jaw. “But I can’t say that’s a bad thing.”
