Alistair POV
The wolves did not retreat immediately.
They gathered in the lower courtyard of the Arcanum, silver-eyed and restless, half-shifted forms pacing broken stone. Blood stained the ground — some hunter, some theirs.
Rhyssa stood at the center.
Waiting.
Of course she was.
I descended the outer steps slowly. The witches watching from the balconies did not interfere.
This was Pack business.
Rhyssa didn't smile when I approached.
"That was reckless," she said.
"That was necessary." I countered.
"You broke the decree." She argued.
"You threatened her."
Her jaw tightened slightly.
"You chose her."
"Yes."
The word did not hesitate.
A ripple went through the wolves behind her.
"You understand what that means," she said quietly.
"I do."
"You are no longer Moonveil."
"I never was," I replied evenly.
That flickered something in her expression — not sympathy. Recognition.
"You carry our blood."
"I carry more than that."
Her eyes sharpened.
