Chapter 5

The day passed in a haze of pack meetings and war-council discussions. Father paced his command den, the scent of burning wolfsbane cigar drifting around him as he spoke about the latest movement from the Ashenfell Pack.

“Their influence grows by the moon,” he said, tapping ash into a carved moonstone tray. “Marcellus isn’t like his father. He’s sharper and more strategic. A union with him strengthens both our bloodlines.”

That night, I sank into my nesting furs, my mind heavy. The enchanted silk wraps curled around me as I reached for my moon-communicator. A notification glowed across the screen. From an unknown number.

My breath halted. [I heard what happened today. You handled yourself well. A true Rustpire. — Marcellus]

My fingers hovered, but before I replied, another message appeared:

[I keep eyes across the territories, Isolde. Your ex-mate made a grave mistake. One he’ll regret beneath the moon.]

A shiver ran down my spine—not fear, but recognition. Power. The world I’d tried to escape.

Another message, [Rest well. We’ll speak of our future soon. And Isolde… that strength you showed today? Perfect.]

I stared at the screen. He wasn’t just sending words. He was staking a claim—quiet, calculated, undeniable. And somehow… it didn’t scare me anymore. It felt like returning to my pack’s true scent.

***

The communicator vibrated against my cheek, waking me. The same unknown number flashed again. Marcellus.

“Good morning, Isolde.” His voice was deep and warm, like dark timber under moonlight.

“Good morning.” I sat up, brushing hair from my face.

“Sleep well?”

“Better than I expected,” I murmured, fingers tracing the silk furs. “Your messages were… interesting.”

A low chuckle rumbled through the line. “I meant every word. By the way, what’s your plan for today? I’d like to meet if you dint mind.”

The question lingered. Logic told me to refuse, but something else tugged—an instinctual pull.

“Isolde?” he murmured. “You’re thinking too hard.”

“Yes.” The word slipped out. “Well, I have no plans for today.”

“Perfect. Check your communicator in five minutes.”

I rushed through my morning routine, still breathless. After a quick shower, wrapped in a towel, I finally saved his number.

Right on cue, a message arrived, [Moonbrew Pavilion. Eleventh bell. I look forward to seeing you, Isolde]

***

I pushed open the carved doors of Moonbrew Pavilion. Cool enchanted air brushed my face. Crystal lights shimmered overhead, illuminating polished obsidian floors.

A server in midnight-black attire approached. “Luna Rustpire?” He bowed slightly. “Your table awaits.”

We wove through moonlit tables toward a secluded alcove—the Alpha section. I sat in a plush velvet chair, scanning the room. Old habits: always map your exits.

The door opened. The air shifted.

A male entered with the quiet authority of an Alpha born. Tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in a charcoal battlecoat tailored to precision.

Without trying, he commanded the entire space. His dark eyes found mine. A slow, knowing smile curved his lips as he crossed the room.

“Isolde.” His voice was exactly as his messages—rich, deep, magnetic. He extended his hand. I placed my hand in his.

Warm. Firm. A subtle spark shot up my arm.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over my knuckles before releasing my hand.

I inhaled, steadying myself. “About five years ago… I’m sorry I refused you.”

Marcellus leaned back, expression softening. “Don’t be. That rejection forged who I am today.”

My brows lifted. “What do you mean?”

“It pushed me to rise. To become someone worthy.” He folded his hands. “And I know why you turned away. The Axton matter isn’t exactly hidden.”

My mouth dried. Heat crept up my neck. He knew. The power plays, the threats, all of it.

“You…” I bit my lips hard. “You know everything?”

“Isolde, I make it my business to know the landscape of our world.” His eyes held mine. “Including why you’re considering bonding again.”

I pushed my chair back, hands trembling. “If you know all that, then I won’t waste your time. I don’t want you thinking I’m using—”

A low, full laugh cut me off. Marcellus shook his head.

“What makes you laugh?”

“You.” He wiped a tear. “I’m navigating ten steps beforehand, and you’re worried about how I feel?”

“What are you talking about?” I gripped the chair.

He gestured calmly. “Sit. Let’s speak properly.”

I lowered myself back into the seat. A server appeared with a bottle of lunar wine, but Marcellus waved him away.

“I’ll accept the union,” he said, voice dropping to a private growl meant only for me. “An alliance between our families strengthens every territory. And I give you my oath—I will protect the Rustpire line with everything I possess.”

My breath caught. So easily? It couldn’t be. There must be something.

“But…” He leaned forward, eyes dark and intense. “I want something in return.”

Of course. There were always strings—territory, power, dominance.

“What do you want?” My voice stayed firm.

Marcellus tapped one finger against the table, the only sign of tension. Sunlight filtered in through enchanted glass, casting sharp shadows along his jaw.

“Well?” I pressed. “What’s your price?”

A slow smile curved his lips, “I won’t ask for much. Fall in love with me.”

“What?” The word burst from me. My glass trembled in my hand.

“You heard me.” His gaze held mine. Steady. Fierce. “I want your real love, Isolde. Not just a pact between packs.”

My mind reeled. Of all the demands—a territory claim, sovereignty rights, blood-oaths—this wasn’t even close.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “You could ask for anything. Why this?”

“Because I know you’ve settled for someone you didn’t deserve.” He reached across the table, stilling my fidgeting hand.

Warm. Certain.

“You can’t order someone to fall in love. Love doesn’t work like that.” I breathed.

“I’m not asking for instant devotion.”

His thumb brushed circles over my wrist. “I’m asking for a chance. Real moments. Real honesty. No power games. No politics. Just us. Getting to know each other”

“And if it doesn’t happen?”

“Then at least we tried for something real.”

His eyes softened. “Aren’t you tired of unions built only on advantage?”

His words hit with the force of truth. Five years with Axton had hollowed me out. And now here was Marcellus, asking for the one thing I thought I’d lost the ability to feel.

“So, what’s your call?” he murmured, giving my hand a gentle squeeze, “will you give us a real chance?”