The lunar ceremony was the pack's oldest tradition, a monthly gathering under the full moon to reaffirm their bonds to each other and to their Alpha. Tonight, the great courtyard of Silverfang Keep was bathed in silvery light, the air thrumming with the low, resonant hum of hundreds of shifted and unshifted wolves. It was a spectacle of unity, a living tapestry of the strength Lyra and Kael were fighting to protect.
But beneath the surface, a different current flowed.
From their position on the central dais, Kael and Lyra presided over the gathering. They were the picture of Alpha and Luna, radiant and powerful. Lyra wore a gown of moon-white silk, the faint, fresh marks on her neck from Kael's teeth visible to any who looked closely—a deliberate, primal declaration. Kael stood beside her, his hand resting on the small of her back, a constant, grounding touch. To the pack, they were unshakeable.
