26: Theodore

Emma's phone vibrated again on the table, the screen lighting up with the now-familiar name. She sighed, a sound of pure exasperation. "I'm going to murder Liam when we get home," she muttered, staring at the device as if it had personally offended her.

"Answer it," Elijah suggested. "Or he'll just keep calling."

She pushed back her chair, giving me an apologetic glance that made my heart beat faster than seemed reasonable for such a small gesture. "I'll be right back," she promised, before striding toward a quiet corner of the dining room.

I watched her go, unable to completely mask my attention. Even moving away, she drew my gaze like a lodestone draws iron. The crimson blouse emphasized the graceful line of her shoulders, the confident stride that spoke of a warrior accustomed to command.

"You're staring," Christian observed, his voice pitched too low for anyone but me to hear.

I forced my attention back to the table, but not before catching Elena's knowing smile. "The plans for Eclipse Moon," I said, deliberately redirecting the conversation. "How quickly can construction begin?"

As Christian outlined logistical considerations, I found myself aware of Emma in a way that defied normal perception. Though she stood across the room, her back to us as she spoke on her phone, I could sense her emotional state as clearly as if she were projecting it directly into my mind. Initial frustration had given way to focused attention, then to something sharper—not quite anger, but firm authority.

Aeson stirred restlessly within me, pushing toward the surface of my consciousness. ’Mate upset,’ he observed, though "upset" wasn't precisely correct. The emotion flowing through our bond wasn't distress but exasperation tinged with resolve.

"Theo?" Christian's voice pulled me back to the immediate conversation. "The distribution centers?"

"Sorry," I said, refocusing on the maps before us. "Yes, we'll need at least three—one in Eclipse Moon territory, one at the Silver Lake border, and one centrally located for the smaller packs."

Elijah nodded approvingly. "That matches our assessment. The central location is key—many of the smaller packs are reluctant to enter larger territories without explicit invitation."

"A legacy of territorial disputes that predates either of us," I acknowledged. "All the more reason to establish neutral sites for aid distribution."

As we discussed placement options, I remained peripherally aware of Emma across the room. The connection between us seemed to strengthen with each passing hour, allowing impressions to flow with increasing clarity. I caught fragments of her conversation—something about patrol schedules and training rotations for new recruits. The content was mundane, but the tone revealed much about her leadership style: firm but fair, detail-oriented without being micromanaging.

‘Good Alpha,’ Aeson approved, his assessment unsurprising but somehow validating.

"Two construction teams for each site," Christian was saying, making notes as he spoke. "With priority given to family dwellings before communal structures."

"Except medical facilities," Elena interjected. "Those need to be prioritized alongside housing. Silver Lake's healing centre was completely destroyed, and they've been operating out of tents since the earthquake."

I nodded, adding another item to the growing list of urgent needs. "Medical supplies will be dispatched immediately. And I want healers from the royal medical corps made available for consultation."

"That will require Chancellor Demetri's approval," Christian noted, naming the head of the royal medical council. "He's traditionally been... cautious... about sending Lycan healers to werewolf territories."

"Then he'll need to adapt," I replied simply. "The kingdom's resources belong to all its citizens, not just those with political influence."

A movement caught my attention as Emma returned to the table, her expression carefully controlled though I could sense her lingering irritation through our bond. She slipped into her seat with graceful efficiency.

"Everything alright?" Elijah asked.

"Davies is pushing boundaries again," she replied, her tone suggesting this was a recurring issue. "Insisting he's ready for solo patrols when he clearly isn't."

"He reminds me of someone," Elijah said, a pointed glance at his sister conveying volumes of sibling history.

Emma rolled her eyes, the gesture so unexpectedly casual that I found myself smiling. "I was never that reckless."

"You tracked a rogue alpha through the northern marshes," Elena reminded her. "Alone. Against direct orders."

"And found him," Emma countered, though her lips curved in reluctant acknowledgment. "But point taken."

This glimpse of her—not as the careful diplomat or the fierce gamma, but as a younger sister with a history of brave impulsiveness—added another layer to my understanding of her. I found myself wanting to know more, to uncover each facet of this complex woman who was, impossibly, my mate.

"We've made good progress here," Christian said, gathering his notes. "I'll draft formal orders for the aid distribution and construction teams this morning."

I nodded, aware that our breakfast meeting had stretched well into the morning. Around us, the dining room had gradually emptied as summit attendees departed for the day's scheduled activities.

"Thank you all," I said, meaning it more deeply than the simple words could convey. "Your insights have been invaluable."

"It's what packs do," Elijah replied, the statement carrying layers of meaning beyond its surface simplicity. "We help each other."

"A principle the kingdom would do well to embrace more fully," I acknowledged.

As we rose from the table, I found myself reluctant to end this collabouration. The morning had offered a glimpse of what might be possible—Lycans and werewolves working together as equals, sharing resources and perspectives without the burden of centuries of prejudice. More personally, it had allowed me precious time in Emma's company, watching her mind work, sensing her through our growing bond.

"The formal council presentation is at four," Christian reminded me, tucking his journal into an inner pocket of his jacket. "I'll have everything prepared by then."

"I'll be there," I promised, before turning to Emma. "Would you—" I hesitated, suddenly aware of how official our interaction had become, and how much I wanted something less formal. "Would you have dinner with me tonight? Just the two of us?"

Her eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across her features before she controlled it. Across the bond, I sensed a complex swirl of emotions—interest, caution, a thread of anticipation that made my pulse quicken.

"I'd like that," she said finally, her voice soft but steady.

Elijah and Elena exchanged a glance that contained an entire conversation, before Elena smiled warmly. "We have the reception with the Northern delegates this evening," she reminded her mate. "The one you've been looking forward to with such enthusiasm."

Elijah's expression of exaggerated dismay made Emma laugh—a genuine sound that seemed to brighten the room. "Oh yes," he deadpanned. "Three hours of discussing hunting boundary treaties. The highlight of my diplomatic career."

The easy camaraderie between them wrapped around me like an unexpected gift. This was what packs were meant to be—family bonds strengthened by genuine affection, not just duty or hierarchy. It was what I had tried to create within my own court, with limited success against centuries of rigid tradition.

"Then it's settled," I said, turning back to Emma. "Dinner at eight? There's a private dining room in the east wing that offers both excellent food and discretion from prying eyes."

She nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Eight it is."

As we parted ways in the grand foyer—Christian toward the administrative offices, Elijah and Elena toward the summit's morning sessions, and Emma toward her room to deal with her pack's concerns—I found myself watching her retreating figure with a sense of anticipation I hadn't felt in decades. Tonight would be just the two of us, without the buffer of diplomatic business or family presence.

The prospect was both exhilarating and terrifying. Two centuries of careful political calculation had not prepared me for the simple complexity of getting to know my mate over dinner. Yet as I turned toward my own duties, I felt a warmth in my chest, an expanding heat that I recognized not as apprehension but as hope.

My fingers still tingled where they had brushed against hers, but the physical sensation paled compared to the deeper connection that was beginning to form between us. The mate bond was still new, still tenuous, but already it felt more genuine than any political alliance I had forged in two centuries of rule.

Whatever came next—whatever complications arose from a Lycan king being mated to a werewolf gamma—at least I wouldn't face it alone. The thought carried me through the marble hallways toward the council chambers, where the day's political battles awaited.