The morning light filtering through the curtains of Elara's room woke her from a restless sleep. For a disoriented moment, she did not recognize her surroundings. The unfamiliar bed. The rustic yet elegant furnishings. The view of dense forest beyond her window. Then reality crashed back.
She was in the home of a werewolf pack. Their prisoner. Or their guest. The line seemed blurry after last night's events.
The pendant at her throat felt unusually warm against her skin as she rose and moved to the window. In the daylight, the Crescent Moon Pack's territory was breathtaking, to say the least. Ancient trees stretched toward a cloudless sky. A stream glittered in the distance. And the air held a pristine quality she had never experienced in the city.
It was beautiful. And terrifying in its isolation.
A soft knock at her door made her jump.
"Elara?" Cora's voice called. "Are you awake? Breakfast is being served downstairs."
Elara took a steadying breath before opening the door to find Damon's sister waiting. She was dressed casually in jeans and a light sweater that looked elegant.
"I was not sure if you would have clothes," Cora explained, offering a small bundle. "These should fit until we can get your things properly unpacked."
"Thank you," Elara said, surprised by the consideration. "That's very kind."
Cora's smile was warmer than Elara had expected. "Do not sound so shocked. We are not all fangs and claws." Her expression grew more serious. "Though I should warn you about breakfast. The entire pack will be there."
"How many is 'entire'?" Elara asked.
"Twenty three core members live on the property. It is our tradition to gather for meals. Especially when something significant happens." Cora's gaze was sympathetic. "And a Siren in pack territory is definitely significant."
There it was again. That word. Siren. Spoken with such certainty, as if Elara's identity was obvious to everyone but herself.
"I will get dressed," Elara said, unwilling to engage with the label. "Give me a few minutes."
After Cora left, Elara leaned against the closed door, anxiety knotting her stomach. Twenty three werewolves waiting to inspect her over breakfast. Like some rare specimen placed under a microscope. Or maybe like a lamb delivered to wolves.
She changed quickly into the borrowed clothes. Simple jeans and a soft blue top that fit surprisingly well. With trembling fingers, she fastened her pendant around her neck. Its familiar weight providing small comfort. Then, with no reason to delay further, she stepped into the hallway where Cora waited.
"Ready?" Cora asked.
Not even close, Elara thought, but she nodded anyway.
The murmur of voices grew louder as they descended the grand staircase to the main floor. Cora led her through a series of spacious rooms to a large dining area. The conversation died abruptly when Elara entered.
Twenty three pairs of eyes turned to her at once. Some curious. Some wary. Some openly hostile.
The dining room itself was impressive. A massive oak table dominated the space, surrounded by matching chairs that could seat at least thirty. Floor to ceiling windows offered views of the forest. Platters of food crowded the table's center, the scent of bacon, eggs, and freshly baked bread filling the air.
Damon sat at the head of the table, his posture straight. His expression was carefully neutral as he observed her entrance. Beside him sat Marlowe, the elderly pack elder, whose sharp eyes missed nothing.
"Elara," Damon said, rising slightly in acknowledgment. "I trust you slept well?"
Before she could answer, a man near Damon's end of the table snorted dismissively. Tall and broad shouldered with a jagged scar running from his temple to his jaw. He fixed Elara with a glare of undisguised distrust.
"Are we really going to play house with a Siren, Damon?" the man asked, his deep voice carrying easily through the now silent room. "Did the last two centuries of pack history mean nothing?"
"Thorian," Damon's voice was quiet, but carried an unmistakable warning. "We have discussed this."
"No, you discussed it. You decided. Without consulting the pack council." Thorian's gaze shifted from Damon to Elara, his lip curling. "I can smell it on her. That old magic. The same power that nearly destroyed our kind two centuries ago."
A ripple of unease moved through the room. Several pack members shifted in their seats. Eyes darting between Damon and Thorian. The tension was palpable. Thickening the air like smoke.
"You have made your position clear," Damon said, his voice controlled but with an underlying edge that raised the hair on Elara's arms. "And as Alpha, I have made my decision. Elara is under my protection. That is final."
Thorian held Damon's gaze for a long moment. A silent challenge that sent a fresh wave of tension through the room. Finally, he looked away, though the gesture seemed more strategic than submissive.
"Come," Cora whispered to Elara, guiding her to two empty seats midway down the table. The hostility emanating from various pack members was almost a physical sensation against Elara's skin.
As they sat, the conversations gradually resumed, though much quieter than before. Elara could feel gazes flickering toward her continuously, assessing, judging.
"Do not mind Thorian," Cora murmured, serving herself from a platter of eggs. "He was next in line to be Alpha before Damon. Still has not fully accepted it."
"What did he mean about 'the last two centuries of pack history'?" Elara asked softly, keeping her eyes on her plate.
Cora hesitated. "It is complicated. There is history between werewolves and sirens. Not all of it is pleasant."
A young woman quietly approached their section of the table, carrying a teapot. She looked to be in her early twenties, with warm brown eyes that lacked the hostility Elara had seen in others.
"More tea?" she offered softly, already pouring into Elara's empty cup without waiting for an answer. "It is a forest blend. Good for calming nerves."
"Thank you," Elara said, surprised by the small kindness.
The young woman gave her a brief, almost hesitant smile. "I am Nadia. I help with the kitchens and the healing herbs." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Not everyone feels the same way about visitors."
Before Elara could respond, Nadia moved on, continuing her rounds with the teapot. But the brief interaction left Elara with a warming sense that perhaps not every member of the pack viewed her as a threat.
"Nadia is Marlowe's apprentice," Cora explained quietly. "She is learning the old ways of herbal medicine. She tends to see people as people first, werewolf or otherwise."
"Is that a rare quality around here?" Elara asked, wrapping her fingers around the warm cup, drawing comfort from its heat.
Cora glanced toward Thorian, who was now engaged in intense conversation with two other pack members. "More rare than it should be. Especially recently."
The gentle warming of her tea and the small moment of kindness stood in stark contrast to the tension filled room. It was not much, but it was something to hold onto in this sea of hostility.
The breakfast continued in this strange, tense atmosphere. Occasionally, Elara would catch fragments of whispered conversations:
"can't believe he brought her here,"
"what if Viktor finds out"
"just like her ancestors, bewitching with that voice"
A woman in her forties with streaks of gray in her dark hair leaned across the table toward Elara, eyes narrowed. "Is it true what they say about Siren song?" she asked, voice dripping with suspicion. "That you can make anyone do anything? Even an Alpha?"
The question silenced nearby conversations. More eyes turned toward Elara, awaiting her response.
"I don't," Elara began uncertainly.
"Elena," Cora interjected sharply. "This is not an interrogation."
"Isn't it?" The woman, Elena, didn't back down. "We have a right to know what she is capable of. What kind of danger she brings into our home."
"I am not a danger to anyone," Elara said, finding her voice. "I am as much a victim in this situation as anyone."
Elena's laugh was harsh. "A victim? Is that what they called Sirens when they nearly wiped out three packs during the Blood War?"
"That is enough." Damon's voice cut through the tension like a blade. He had not raised his volume. But the authority in his tone was undeniable. The entire table fell silent. "Elara is not on trial here. She is under my protection. And she will be treated with respect in my house."
"Your house," Thorian muttered. Just loud enough to be heard. "Not the pack's house anymore, it seems."
Damon's eyes flashed gold. A brief, startling glimpse of the wolf within. "Would you like to challenge me formally, Thorian? Here and now?"
The tension in the room escalated to something almost unbearable. Elara felt it strongly pressing against her. Several pack members shifted uncomfortably. Some even beginning to rise from their seats. As if preparing to move out of the way of an impending fight.
Thorian's expression tightened. But after a long, tense moment, he shook his head. "Not today, Alpha."
The way he said 'Alpha', as if it were an insult rather than a title of respect, spoke volumes about the pack's internal politics.
"Then I suggest you remember your place," Damon said, his voice dangerously soft.
An uncomfortable silence followed. Broken only by the clink of silverware against plates as people resumed eating with forced casualness.
"I think I need some air," Elara whispered to Cora, feeling suffocated by the hostility and tension.
Cora nodded in understanding and rose with her. As they moved to leave, Marlowe's voice stopped them.
"Child," the elder called, her wizened face unreadable. "The pendant you wear. May I see it more closely sometime? It seems familiar to me."
Something in the elder's tone made Elara hesitate. "Of course," she agreed reluctantly.
Marlowe's smile did not reach her eyes. "Excellent. We have much to discuss, you and I."
Outside on the sprawling porch, Elara gulped in the fresh morning air, trying to calm her racing heart. The confrontation at breakfast had left her shaken. Not just by the open hostility but by the references to a shared history she knew nothing about.