21: Emma

I'd overslept, my body still recovering from the night run with Theodore and the overwhelming sensations of the mate bond we'd discovered. My fingers trembled slightly as I finished the call with Liam, our senior security trainer back at Blood Moon. The weight of responsibility never quite left, even here in the gleaming heart of the Royal City, hundreds of miles from my territory's borders. I hung up, my stomach growling a reminder that I'd missed the first half of breakfast, and that a certain Lycan King would be waiting.

The hotel suite felt too grand, too foreign – all polished marble and moonstone accents that caught the morning light in ways that made my eyes ache. I smoothed down my blouse, a deep crimson that matched our pack colours, and tried to quiet the restless pacing of Artemis within me. She'd been insufferably smug since recognizing Theo's Lycan as her mate, projecting memories of their moonlit run with the persistence of someone proving a point.

’We found our true mate,’ she kept insisting, her joy bubbling through our shared consciousness like champagne. ‘Strong. Respectful. OURS.’

"I know," I murmured aloud, running a hand through my hair one last time. "But let's take this slowly, okay?"

Her response was the mental equivalent of an eye-roll.

The corridor outside my room stretched before me like a path into uncertain territory. Each step toward the dining room echoed against marble floors, the sound too sharp against my sensitive hearing. My wolf's senses remained heightened since our run last night, as if reluctant to dull after experiencing the intoxicating scent of our mate.

The dining room doors loomed ahead – massive oak panels carved with intricate forest scenes that managed to be both beautiful and subtly exclusionary. The trees depicted werewolves as smaller, less significant figures compared to the towering Lycans who dominated the landscape. A small detail most wouldn't notice, but to me, it spoke volumes about the subtle ways prejudice had been woven into every aspect of this society.

I pushed through the doors, the rich aromas of breakfast striking me immediately – maple syrup, fresh coffee, cured meats, and beneath it all, the distinctive cedar-honey-lightning scent that I now recognized as Theodore's. My eyes found him before I'd fully entered the room, an instinctive pull that made Artemis hum with satisfaction.

He sat at a corner table with Elijah and Elena, along with another Lycan whose resemblance to Theodore marked him unmistakably as family. They were deep in conversation, Theodore leaning forward with that intense focus that seemed to be his natural state. His dark hair caught the morning light, the platinum crown absent now, making him appear both more approachable and somehow more powerful – a king confident enough to occasionally set aside the symbols of his status.

I collected a plate from the buffet, loading it with pancakes drizzled with syrup and several strips of crispy bacon. My hand hesitated over the sausages, remembering belatedly that they might be prepared with silver seasoning – a Lycan delicacy that would burn my werewolf throat raw. One more subtle reminder of where I was, of what I wasn't.

When I approached their table, Theodore sensed me before the others did. He turned, his amber eyes finding mine with such immediate intensity that my steps faltered momentarily. In that single glance, the events of the previous night seemed to crash back through me – the mate bond recognition, our moonlit run, the cautious beginning we'd agreed to explore.

"Good morning, Emma," he said, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. His voice carried that subtle accent that somehow made even simple greetings sound like promises.

"Good morning, Theo," I replied, the informal address still new on my tongue.

At the sound of my voice, something remarkable happened. His amber eyes shifted, suddenly blazing with that otherworldly purple-blue light that signaled Aeson's presence pushing forward. The change lasted only seconds, but it sent a ripple of heat through my body, Artemis responding with immediate, eager recognition.

‘Mate’, she whispered, pressing against my consciousness.

I tightened my grip on my plate, anchoring myself against the pull of instinct. Around us, conversation continued unabated, no one else seeming to notice the momentary flash of Lycan eyes or the slight catch in my breathing.

"Please, join us," Theodore said, recovering his composure quickly as he gestured to the empty chair beside him. Then he stepped aside, revealing the other Lycan more fully.

The stranger rose with the same innate grace that Theodore possessed, though his movements carried a different quality – more contained, more precise. His features mirrored Theodore's aristocratic lines but were somehow sharper, his eyes a calculating gray rather than warm amber.

"Emma, this is my brother, Christian Lykoudis," Theodore said, his hand hovering near the small of my back without actually touching me – a consideration that didn't go unnoticed. "Christian, this is Emeline Maxwell of the Blood Moon Pack."

Christian extended his hand, his smile polite yet assessing in a way that made me instantly wary. "Call me Chris," he said. "My brother's mate is family."

My fingers went cold despite the warmth of the dining room. The casual acknowledgment of our mate bond – something we had barely begun to process ourselves – spoken so openly in public sent a shock of vulnerability through me. I forced a smile that felt brittle against my face.

"Lovely to meet you," I managed, taking his offered hand briefly. His grip was firm but carefully modulated, the touch of someone very aware of their strength. "I didn't realize Theodore had mentioned our... situation."

Chris's grin widened, revealing perfect teeth. "He didn't need to. It's rather obvious to anyone with eyes and a functioning nose." He tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. "Your scents are already blending. Subtle, but unmistakable to family."

I felt heat crawl up my neck as I took my seat. Theo settled beside me, his presence both comforting and overwhelming in its intensity. Under the table, my fingers curled into fists on my lap, nails pressing into palms as I fought for composure.

Theodore leaned closer, his voice low. "I apologise for my brother's directness. He means well, but subtlety has never been his strong suit."

"Unlike diplomacy, which has never been yours," Chris countered, clearly having heard every word despite Theo's attempt at privacy.