[POV: Draven]
He was doing everything right.
That’s what made it worse.
Atlas followed orders without hesitation. He worked twice as hard as the others, never complained, never talked back. Every report Piper brought me said the same thing—he was focused, obedient, polite. Clean.
But I didn’t believe it. Not completely.
You don’t survive as a rogue with grace and discipline. You don’t move like a soldier, speak like a son of nobility, and call yourself nothing unless you’re hiding something.
And he was. I could feel it. Silas could feel it.
I watched him again this morning—barely visible from the cliff’s edge where I stood, but close enough to see how he moved through camp. He took a bucket from one of the younger wolves with a gentle nod. He helped repair a broken section of the fencing. He paused to speak to Theo, who threw him one of his cocky grins.
He smiled back. And something in my chest tightened.
Not jealousy. No.
Interest. Too much interest.
It had been years since that particular ache stirred in me—so long I’d almost forgotten the shape of it. And yet… with Atlas, it kept returning. Always sharper. Always more dangerous.
I turned from the overlook, jaw clenched, and headed for the council hall. The last thing I needed today was distraction.
Unfortunately, the council had other plans.
The meeting was routine—border reports, training updates, discussion of upcoming supply runs. My mind wandered as the elders spoke, voices droning over issues I already had answers for. I nodded. Replied. Directed. Dismissed.
But then, as always, someone brought it up.
The Luna.
“I say this with respect, Alpha,” said Elder Garron, his tone careful, “but the matter of succession cannot be ignored much longer. The pack looks to its leadership not only for strength, but for legacy. Unity.”
The others murmured in agreement. I said nothing. I didn’t need to. The tension in my jaw spoke for me.
“We understand,” another elder added quickly, “the loss you suffered. And no one doubts your strength or commitment. But… time is passing. And with it, the certainty our pack depends on.”
I stared at the carved wood of the council table.
Annabeth.
Even thinking her name felt like reopening a wound.
Her death hadn’t just taken love from me. It had taken faith—in the Moon Goddess, in destiny, in the very bones of this world. I had felt her die through the bond. Had felt the moment it snapped, like a scream inside my soul.
There was no coming back from that. Not for me.
When the murmurs died down and the silence thickened, I finally spoke.
“If that’s all, this meeting is adjourned.”
They stood. Bows were exchanged. Quiet glances passed between them as they filed out. But one lingered.
Elder Axel, the oldest among them—brittle and worn, but still sharper than most wolves half his age.
He didn’t speak until the room was empty. Then he stepped forward.
“I served under three Alphas before you,” he said. “I’ve seen peaceful reigns and blood-soaked ones. And I’ve seen what happens to a pack when their Alpha stands alone for too long.”
I didn’t answer. He didn’t expect me to.
“I was there when you lost her,” he added quietly. “I remember the night. The snow. The silence that followed.”
I stiffened. His eyes met mine. Steady. Knowing. But never cruel.
“In difficult times, a partner isn’t always chosen through fate,” he continued. “Sometimes they’re chosen through necessity. The strongest. The wisest. The one who can carry the weight beside you.”
I looked away.
“They don’t need to be a second love,” he said. “They only need to be the right partner. For them. For this pack.”
I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Because everything he said was right. And it still felt wrong.
“You have a duty, Draven,” Axel said finally, his voice low. “To the wolves who trust you. You lead them with strength—but they need more than that. They need a future. Balance. They need to believe there’s still hope.”
He left me with those words. Nothing more. The doors closed behind him. And I stood there, unmoving, as the silence returned.
But it wasn’t empty anymore. It was filled with his face. Not Annabeth’s.
Atlas’s.
The defiant glare he’d given me when I pushed too hard. The way he stood his ground. The way his scent lingered like something wild and forbidden.
Silas stirred, restless beneath my skin. “He could be more.”
I growled under my breath, dragging a hand through my hair.
He was a mystery I hadn’t solved. A presence I couldn’t ignore. And the pull between us—unwanted, unsettling—was growing stronger.
I didn’t want a Luna. I didn’t want another bond. But I did want answers.
And the closer I got to Atlas, the more I realized… He might be the one holding all of them.