You Keep That Seat

POV: Sera

In the law of werewolves, a union without a mark was like a fortress built on sand — it could be toppled at any moment.

Two young women stood quietly before me in the Great Hall. Their heads were slightly bowed, and from their glands they released a soft, yielding scent — the standard gesture of deference shown to one of higher standing. But in a world governed by the strong preying on the weak, no one's intentions were ever truly that simple. Even from several paces away, I could sense the concealed sharpness in their eyes. They were assessing me the way one might appraise a commodity on the market — cataloguing every movement, every breath.

I stood at the center of the receiving hall with my spine straight. Whatever else was happening around me, as long as that mark had not been placed on another's neck, I was the Luna of Bloodmoon.

"How generous of the Pack Council." Lydia leaned against a nearby pillar with her arms folded, her voice thick with undisguised contempt. "Sending their finest 'assistants' all the way here to personally guide our Luna on how to fulfill her duties."

I didn't rise to her provocation. I understood her well enough. She and Damien had grown up together, and to her, upholding the Pack's absolute honor and upholding Damien's personal standing were one and the same thing. A defective creature who couldn't even summon her inner wolf, whose scent was so faint it barely registered — someone like that was nothing but a liability, a crack that would eventually bring down Bloodmoon's honor and Damien himself along with it.

"We have no intention of challenging you in any way." One of the young women stepped forward, breaking the tension in the air with precise timing. Her smile was flawless. "We are genuinely looking forward to learning from you, Luna."

Her name was Helena, from the formidable Vance family. I studied her in silence — the long dark-brown hair, the amber eyes that carried a sharp, commanding energy, the tall frame and perfectly straight posture. Looking at her, I felt a faint vertigo I couldn't suppress, because in her I saw the shadow of my sister, Seraphina.

My gaze shifted to the other young woman — Margot, from a branch of the Ashford family. Ashford was the Pack Seraphina had married into. Powerful bloodlines always bred internal fractures, and Margot's branch had been pushed to the margins before eventually pledging themselves to Bloodmoon. There was something in the set of Margot's brows and eyes that carried the same quality as Seraphina — the same particular grace.

Standing there with the three of them before me, I was struck by an absurd sensation, the kind that comes with one of those human games: spot the difference. The Pack Council had gone to considerable trouble selecting these two candidates, and between them and me, what was the only distinction?

Apparently, nothing but my silver-white hair. Among werewolves, silver hair was supposed to signify the most exalted bloodline — provided it belonged to an actual wolf.

The atmosphere at dinner that evening was suffocating enough to turn the stomach.

Lydia's fingers tapped lightly against the rim of her wine glass. The clean, crisp ring of crystal cut through the low murmur of silverware. She rose from her seat with unhurried ease.

"Let us drink to the Vance family and the Ashford family." Lydia tilted her glass in turn toward Helena and Margot. "Helena, I've heard the wolf inside you is an extraordinarily rare Red-brown Wolf — built strongly enough to keep pace with the guard unit during a hunt. And Margot, your combat record in the Western Territory has drawn praise from the elders themselves."

Helena responded with a composed smile. Margot gave a slight bow of her head. Neither spoke, though Lydia had no need of their replies. Her gaze moved like something slick and unhurried across the length of the table until it came to rest on me.

"Bloodmoon is truly fortunate to welcome two women of such genuine strength. After all, the Full Moon Festival at the autumn equinox isn't far off. To channel the wild energy of a pack in full frenzy requires a wolf who can stand beside the Alpha and howl beneath the moon."

She let the word wolf land with deliberate weight, then followed it with an affected sigh.

"Our Luna spends her days shut inside the Apothecary where no daylight reaches, tending to fragile glass vials and dried roots, patching tapestries — worn thin by all these little domestic concerns. Now that you two are here, Luna can finally rest and recover, and leave the duties that require real teeth to those who are better suited to carry them."

No one agreed. No one objected. Silence, in its own way, was a slow blade.

I listened to every word without moving. The medium-rare steak on my plate bled quietly into the dish, its iron-rich scent hanging in the air, but I had no appetite left. I set down my knife and fork and looked toward the man at the head of the table.

"Alpha."

When that word left my mouth, it carried a specific weight — I was speaking as a Luna, demanding an equal response from the leader of the Pack.

"Three years ago, this family needed a Luna, and you chose me." My gaze held steady on his dark eyes. "Was that a mistake?"

The color drained from Lydia's face. She opened her mouth and swallowed the words back down. The question had not been directed at her, and speaking before the Alpha responded would have been a transgression against rank that no one at that table could afford.

Damien's amber-gold eyes locked onto mine without blinking. Helena's attention shifted quietly between us. Margot's hands tightened around the dinner napkin in her lap. Every person at the table was watching the man at its head from the corner of their eye.

At last, he lowered his gaze and reached for his wine glass.

"Finish your dinner."

He hadn't said I was right. He hadn't said I was wrong. To everyone listening, that deliberately vague command opened itself to entirely different interpretations. The corner of Lydia's mouth curved back into a satisfied smirk. Helena and Margot exchanged a glance that needed no words. And I — after a brief, sharp flash of satisfaction — felt nothing but a hollow ache spreading through my chest, as though something dull and serrated were working its way slowly through my heart.

After dinner, Margot intercepted me at a bend in the corridor. She glanced in both directions, and once she was certain no one was watching, the composed pride she had carried all evening collapsed. She dropped her voice low, and what came through was something close to urgency. "Luna, please forgive me for tonight. I didn't come here by choice."

I stopped and watched her carefully.

"I only want to survive." A flicker of fear crossed the back of her eyes. She bit her lower lip, then offered what she clearly believed was her most valuable card. "Do you know what your sister's situation is inside Ashford? If you're willing to shelter me, I'll give you everything I know in exchange."

The bait was obvious — my sister, and whatever was happening to her. But I didn't ask. I simply turned and walked away.

Inside Bloodmoon, my sister was a secret no one was supposed to name.

My instincts told me that something dangerous was already moving through the currents I couldn't see.

The following morning I left Bloodmoon briefly and returned to my birth Pack's territory. When I pushed open the door to my father's study — Elder Whitmore's — the smell reached me before anything else. His scent was normally the warm depth of aged rum, but what met me now was something soured, fermented, gone wrong.

He was afraid. His scent had curdled with it.

"Father." I frowned. "What has actually happened to Seraphina in Ashford?"

He jerked his head up. His eyes were bloodshot and they fixed on me without answering. Instead of speaking, he grabbed the edge of his desk with both hands, his knuckles going white with the force of it.

"Go back." His voice had gone rough. "Go back to Bloodmoon. No matter how cold Damien is toward you, no matter how many replacements the Pack Council pushes in front of you, you have to stay. You have to hold that position."

"What are you talking about?" I pulled my arm free. "What has happened?"

"Perhaps you could speak with Elder Silas — he's praised you publicly, hasn't he? He saved Damien's life once. Go to him. Ask for his help."

He wouldn't answer my question. He refused to give me anything concrete, circling back again and again to how essential it was that I remain in place. But through the fragments of his fractured, incoherent words, I caught something — a single thread I could follow.

The west.

Something terrible was building in the western territories. Whatever it was had shaken my father badly enough that he needed me embedded in the heart of Bloodmoon like a nail driven into wood, holding fast — his last hope of shelter against something he couldn't bring himself to name.