The room carried the weight of something ancient—thick silence laced with authority and tension. Around the table sat the backbone of the Vermilion Hollow Pack: the elders, the former head hunter Steven, former Alpha Eric, and the grizzled former head frontier, Tyrod. The current leaders took their places with an air of unspoken readiness.
Tesmee sat opposite Alpha Tyric, her back straight, expression unreadable. Beside him, his Luna, Elizabeth, said nothing—her presence calm, but observant.
"The war's pressing hard on the western wing," Tesmee began, her voice firm. "My frontiers are holding the Cliffbane Pack back—for now. But with their allies and the hunters joining in, that line won't hold much longer."
"Deploy more frontiers," Elder Hendrick interrupted, his tone dismissive, as if the solution was that simple.
Tesmee let out a slow breath, barely masking her sarcasm. "Of course. Easy to suggest when you're not the one bleeding in the field."
"I require more respect, young one," Hendrick snapped, leaning forward with narrowed eyes.
Tesmee didn't flinch. "And I require your understanding. And acknowledgment—for the decision I'm about to make."
The table shifted into unease. Silence held for a breath too long.
"You're here to advise. To discuss. Not to dictate," she added coolly. "Seemingly… you've lost track of the agenda, Hen-Hen."
Her smirk wasn't amused—it was cold. Purposeful.
And no one missed the way Tyric's golden eyes flickered, watching her with unreadable calculation.
"Enough…" Tyric's voice cut through the tension like a blade—broad, calm, but heavy with command. The kind of voice that didn't need to rise to be heard. Silence fell naturally around it.
Tesmee adjusted in her seat, spine straightening, eyes locking onto him. The weight of the room shifted toward her.
"What do you have in mind, Tesmee?" he asked, his golden eyes steady, unreadable.
She inhaled deeply, her voice steady and clear. "Great one, all I ask… is that after the red full moon—one month from now—you request assistance from the neighboring packs." Her gaze didn't waver. "Not because we can't face this war alone. But if we fall… they fall with us."
No one spoke, but the silence wasn't empty. It was thick with thoughts, with what-ifs, with the slow realization of just how close the fire was to their doorstep.
"Anything else?" he asked, eyes fixed on her, unreadable.
Tesmee exhaled slowly, the corner of her mouth twitching—not a smile, not quite frustration either. "Well…" she murmured, her voice trailing for a second. "This is definitely not traditional…"
The room stirred faintly, as if the weight of what she was about to say shifted the air itself. Her fingers drummed against the armrest once, softly.
"But I'm not here for tradition."
"The StoneFang clan," Tesmee said steadily, her arms crossed, "an ally to the Cliffbane pack, sent a message. Their Alpha has claimed Elizabeth as his true mate."
The room tensed. Eric's voice rose, tight with disbelief. "What?"
"I'm just passing the message," Tesmee replied. "And it nearly cost me a frontier to get it. This war is shifting, Great One. We can't ignore what's brewing."
Tyric's eyes didn't flinch. "She's the Luna of this pack," he said calmly, but his voice was weighted. "You swore to protect her. She stands as part of what we fight for."
"I'm not throwing my frontiers into a war that could be avoided," Tesmee said, unmoved. "Denying a true mate is against our law. If that Alpha's claim is genuine—"
Steve, leaning in, cut her off. "It's possible to have more than one mate, Tesmee. First come, first serve. And Tyric made his claim first. That should be the end of it."
Tesmee didn't blink. "Then maybe the Alphas should sit down and handle this themselves. Because I won't sacrifice soldiers over a mate bond tug-of-war."
"Tesmee, enough," Tyrod said calmly, though there was a warning edge beneath his voice. He knew her—knew how far she'd push if not stopped.
"I'm just saying," Tesmee replied, unapologetic.
"The war will continue," Tyric said, voice level and firm. "And we will continue defending our territories."
Tesmee nodded once. "Then until the StoneFang clan officially joins the war, I'll keep my frontiers focused on the Cliffbane pack, the Shadow Wolves, and the hunters. No more. If more are dragged in while the rest of you are still busy putting laws together—my frontiers won't be part of that chaos."
"You can't defy the Alpha's orders, Tesmee," Tyrod growled, his palm slamming against the table with a sharp crack.
She didn't flinch. "I'm not defying anyone. I'm setting a line. One all of you should've drawn a long time ago. Not every battle needs blood. And if you need someone to clean up that mess—well, you still have your hunters, don't you?"
The room went still.
"With all due respect," she finished coolly, standing her ground, "everything I've said comes from that place."
The Alpha didn't say a word. Just sat there, watching her.
But something in him shifted—quiet, slow, dangerous.
His eyes lit up, that deep, burning red creeping in like a warning. Black veins started to rise beneath his skin, spreading from his eyes, curling up his face and down his neck like cracks in stone. He didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe, it seemed.
The room felt like it was holding its breath.
Elizabeth reached out, resting her hand on his arm. Soft. Careful.
Still, he didn't move.
He just kept staring at Tesmee. Like he was trying to decide if she'd just crossed a line no one ever came back from.
"There are lines we never cross," Eric said, his voice low and firm, eyes locked on Tesmee. "Things we don't argue for, things we don't defy."
Then he turned his gaze to Tyric—silent, watching.
"Though I'd say," Eric added with a faint, almost bitter chuckle, "that part's new."
He didn't need to say more. The weight in his stare said enough.
Eric rose from his seat slowly, deliberately, and walked to where Tyric sat.
"Control is power," he said quietly, standing face to face with his son. There was no aggression in his voice—only a warning. One laced with the experience of a wolf who'd worn the crown longer than most had drawn breath.
Around them, a few hunters stiffened, eyes narrowing. Calvin, the head hunter, rose too, instinct kicking in. Two frontiers followed, their posture sharp, ready—tense.
The room pulsed with unspoken fear.
Not of shouting. Not of war. But of the quiet possibility that their Alpha might lose himself. That, in one blink, the head frontier could be torn apart not from rage—but from cold, calculated dominance.