The halls of Crescent Hall hadn't changed since the last time I saw them — not that I'd ever been invited inside. I'd only caught glimpses during public announcements or pack gatherings, or overheard stories whispered between she-wolves who fantasized about becoming Luna. The mate to the Alpha. The position that should have been mine, if Kael hadn't decided our bonding was a mistake.
Everything was stone and shadow. The ceilings vaulted high above us, supported by massive wooden beams darkened with age. Tapestries depicting pack history lined the walls—wolves running beneath full moons, ancient battles against rival packs, the founding of Blackthorn territory. The scent of pine, steel, and old magic clung to the walls. Wards pulsed faintly in the floor beneath my feet—protective spells woven into the foundation stones by generations of pack witches. Even the torches burned in a colder hue — blue-white flames casting silver light that seemed more suitable for ghosts than living beings.
He led me through it without speaking.
I didn't ask questions. Didn't stumble on the uneven stones. Didn't trail behind him like someone hoping to be noticed. My steps were measured, deliberate, matching his pace without effort.
And maybe that was why, when we reached the door to his office and he opened it for me, he paused.
Letting me enter first.
A silent acknowledgment.
Or a surrender.
The door shut behind me with a soft click. The sound of finality.
I didn't sit. Not yet.
Kael moved past me to stand behind a massive blackwood desk that dominated the room. Everything about the space was functional, minimal — no gold, no softness. Just a few ledgers, maps spread across one corner, and a glass decanter with amber liquid he didn't touch. A fire burned low in the hearth, more for light than warmth.
This was a room built for decisions, not comfort. For an Alpha whose word was law.
But laws could be broken. Alphas could fall.
He didn't offer me a chair.
I didn't ask for one.
Instead, I spoke first. "You summoned me."
Three words, delivered without inflection. Not a question.
He looked up, and for a flicker of a moment, I saw it.
Regret.
Not in words. Not in posture.
In the way his shoulders didn't square like they used to, when he stood before his pack with unshakable confidence. In the way his eyes — still stormy — held back something that wanted to break through. In the scent that briefly escaped his control—pine sap bitter with grief.
"I did," he said.
His voice was rougher than I remembered. Had he been shouting more? Or speaking less? The thought shouldn't have mattered to me.
"And why is that?" I asked, keeping my voice steady while my fingers curled into my palms, nails pressing half-moons into my skin.
His mouth twitched — not amusement, not irritation. Something else. Something that might have been shame, if Kael Blackthorn were capable of such a thing.
"You're changing," he said.
The words hung between us. An observation. An accusation, perhaps.
Yes, I was changing. The silver threads in my cloak weren't just decorative. The steadiness in my heartbeat wasn't just bravado. The power coiled beneath my skin wasn't the meek omega magic I'd once possessed.
"So are you," I replied coolly.
I let my gaze drift deliberately to his hands, which no longer carried the subtle glow of Alpha power. To the shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights. To the slight pallor that had replaced his once-vibrant energy.
"I can't shift."
There it was.
Raw.
Uncovered.
The confession I hadn't expected, not so quickly. Not so bluntly.
I blinked, genuinely surprised. An Alpha who couldn't shift was unheard of. The ability to transform into their wolf form was the most fundamental power of werewolves, and for an Alpha, it was essential. It was how they maintained control of their territory, how they commanded respect from neighboring packs, how they connected most deeply with their own pack members.
"Is that your only concern?" I asked, once I'd composed myself.
"No," he said after a pause. His fingers tapped once on the desk, then stilled—a rare show of agitation. "It's just the most urgent one."
The unspoken hung heavy in the air. There were other problems. Perhaps many. The pack would be feeling the effects of their Alpha's weakened state. Rivals would be circling. Challengers would be sharpening their claws.
A long silence stretched between us.
I could've laughed. I could've turned and walked out. I could've unleashed the power building in my hands and let it sing through the marble floor beneath us—let him see exactly what I'd become in his absence, what the Moon had granted me when she took away his gifts.
But I didn't.
I held it in.
Because he wasn't ready for what I'd become. For the truth that would shatter what remained of his pride.
"I didn't bring you here to fight," he said quietly, though the edge of a warning still laced his tone. Old habits, perhaps. The Alpha who expected to be obeyed.
I stepped closer, slowly. My boots made no sound on the stone floor. Another change he likely noticed—the silent grace that had replaced my once-nervous movements.
"Then say what you need to say."
My patience wasn't infinite. Each moment in this room was a moment away from my new responsibilities, my new path. A path that led away from him and everything he represented.
He looked up — and this time, he didn't hide it.
Worn at the edges of his control. Buried beneath his pride. His wolf stirred behind his eyes like a storm gathering on the horizon—desperate, wild, straining against whatever was keeping it locked away.
"Evelyn," he said, my name softer now. "The bond—"
"Isn't yours to speak for anymore," I cut in sharply.
He stilled. The air between us grew heavy, charged with the power of words that couldn't be taken back.
"I don't owe you healing," I continued, each word precise and measured. "I don't owe you salvation. I'm not here to fix the Alpha who broke me."
His chest rose slowly, like he was breathing through pain. The bond between us flickered—a brief surge of connection that made my own chest tighten in response. For a moment, I felt his desperation, his fear. Not just for himself, but for his pack. For everything that was slipping through his fingers.
Then the connection faded, buried once more beneath layers of distance we'd built between us.
I finally sat down, crossing one leg over the other with practiced calm. The chair was hard-backed and uncomfortable—intentionally so, I suspected. Kael Blackthorn had never wanted visitors to linger.
Well. I wasn't a visitor anymore. I wasn't his omega. I wasn't his anything.
"You summoned me," I said. "So summon. What do you want from me?"
And this time, when Kael met my eyes, he didn't look like an Alpha.
He looked like a man losing everything — and realizing he was standing in front of the one person he thought would never be needed again.
Let him sit in that silence.
Let him choose his next words carefully.
Because this time… I wouldn't fall first.