GREYSON PACK HOUSE
Khaelis' POV
It had been hours since the Fenris Sentinel arrived, and she still had not stepped out of her chambers. Not once.
I knew this because, like a jobless and deeply unwanted spy, I had stationed myself in the lobby overlooking her door, half concealed behind a carved pillar that fooled no one. I sat there with a straight back and folded hands, pretending I belonged, pretending this was not exactly what it looked like. Anyone with functioning eyes could tell I was watching that door like it might confess something if I stared long enough.
Her room was the next grand suite in the Alpha's house. At least, that was what I had pieced together from scraps of overheard conversations, the kind servants thought were private when they whispered in corners. Whenever her name surfaced, voices dropped, glances darted, and mouths snapped shut like the walls themselves were listening.
The door remained closed.
No footsteps passed through the corridor. No servants entered or exited. No sound betrayed movement within.
Only silence, thick and deliberate.
"Mum, why are you out here?"
Andrea's voice cut through my thoughts sharply enough that I startled, my balance slipping as I nearly slid off the bench I had claimed hours ago. She stood behind me with her arms folded, silver curls bouncing slightly as she tilted her head, studying me with that knowing little smirk she wore far too comfortably for a seven-year-old.
"It's unlike you to be outside," she added, her tone smug in a way that suggested she knew exactly how ridiculous I looked.
I often wondered where she learned that confidence. The audacity. The sheer nerve. Sometimes I had to remind myself she was seven, not forty.
"I'm just enjoying the ambience, sweetie," I replied, layering my voice with sweetness so thick it almost hurt my teeth
She squinted at me, unconvinced
The day had been draining in ways I did not have words for. Emotionally. Mentally. Spiritually. And, apparently, maternally.
"Come sit on mummy's thighs," I said quickly, patting my lap in a desperate attempt to redirect her attention.
She climbed up without hesitation, curling into me with practiced ease, warm and familiar. For a brief moment, the tight knot in my chest loosened. She smelled like sunshine and grass and childhood, nothing sharp or unsettling, nothing like the scent lingering behind that closed door.
Her small fingers tugged at my sleeve. "You're lying."
I sighed, resting my chin lightly atop her head. "Am I that obvious?"
She nodded once, firm and unapologetic.
My gaze drifted back to the corridor, to the Sentinel's door that loomed even from a distance, silent and watchful. Andrea followed my line of sight, curiosity sparking in her eyes.
"Who's staying there?" she asked.
"No one you need to worry about," I replied too quickly, and we both knew it.
She leaned back against me, eyes still fixed on the hallway. "She smells funny."
My breath caught.
Funny how?
I did not ask. I simply held my daughter a little tighter, my instincts screaming that whatever waited behind that door had already begun unraveling things I was not ready to lose.
And the worst part was that she had not even stepped out yet
A soft knock echoed down the corridor.
Not rushed. Not timid. Careful. As though the person standing there understood instinctively that demanding anything of the Fenris Sentinel would be unwise.
I straightened before I could stop myself.
A senior servant stood rigidly before the door, hands clasped behind his back, posture stiff as though he were facing judgment itself.
"Fenris Sentinel," he said after a measured pause, his voice low but steady. "Dinner has been prepared. You are requested downstairs."
Silence followed, stretching long enough that I wondered if she would refuse entirely.
Then the door opened, not wide, just enough.
"I'll come," she said.
Her voice was calm, smooth, unbothered. It carried authority without effort, the kind that did not require volume or repetition.
The servant bowed so deeply I thought his spine might crack, murmured his thanks, and retreated with near panic.
The door closed again.
I released a breath I had not realized I was holding.
"She's coming for dinner," I muttered.
"Mmm," Andrea replied absently, swinging her legs. "I'm hungry."
Of course you are.
"Let's go freshen you up," I said, standing. "Dinner matters."
She slid off my lap and grabbed my hand, tugging me toward our chambers as though this were not the most emotionally inconvenient evening of my life.
Andrea hummed cheerfully while I fixed her hair and wiped her hands, blissfully unaware of the tension saturating the Alpha's house. She bounced on her feet as though nothing strange had arrived at our doorstep.
"You can go ahead to the table," I told her gently. "I'll join you soon. I just need to freshen up as well."
She nodded eagerly. "Don't be long."
"I won't."
She ran off, silver curls flying, and I stood there alone, staring at my reflection longer than necessary.
You're the Luna, I reminded myself. Act like it.
I smoothed my dress, washed my face, and practiced a neutral expression, one that did not betray curiosity or insecurity or the quiet terror coiling in my chest.
Then I walked to the dining hall.
They were already seated.
Every single one of them.
Andrea. Isabella. Her husband. The cubs. And her.
The Fenris Sentinel sat where Theron should have been, at the head of the table, as though the seat had been waiting for her all along.
My steps slowed.
The table stretched long and heavy, carved from dark oak etched with ancient pack symbols. Platters of food steamed between candlelight and shadow. Roasted venison glazed with herbs. Thick cuts of seared boar. Bowls of blood stew spiced with roots only wolves could digest. Warm bread, butter melting into its surface.
A proper werewolf meal. Communal. Sacred.
I took my seat quietly.
Conversation flowed around me as though I were invisible.
Andrea sat close to the Sentinel, legs swinging as she talked animatedly, far too animatedly.
"You remember the creek near the eastern woods?" Andrea asked brightly.
The Sentinel smiled, soft and familiar. "The one that smells like iron and moss?"
Andrea gasped. "Yes! You do remember!"
"Of course I do," she replied easily. "You used to cry when your shoes got wet."
My fork froze halfway to my mouth.
Used to?
Andrea laughed. "You always carried me when that happened."
Carried her.
"That was years ago," Isabella said lightly, though her eyes flicked toward me for just a fraction of a second too long.
The Sentinel's gaze finally settled on me, measured and calm.
"You've grown," she said to Andrea. "But you still wrinkle your nose when you're lying."
Andrea grinned.
I tried to speak. Tried to reclaim my place.
Words died before they reached my tongue.
Then Andrea turned to me, tilting her head.
"Mum," she said cheerfully, "do you know this?"
I looked up.
"Do you know that the Fenris Sentinel used to live here?"
The room fell silent.
Across the table, the Fenris Sentinel met my gaze.
And this time, her smile was not kind
It was knowing.