You handled that well, he projects, his mental voice soft, intimate.
I’m tired of handling it, I project back, leaning into his touch. I’m tired of being the diplomat. I just want to be the Luna.
You are the Luna, Kade replies, his mental voice fierce, unyielding. And the Luna holds the pack together. Even when the pack is made of wolves and humans.
Night falls over the Academy.
The physical scars of the day have been integrated into the architecture. The cracked ceramic pots in the grand hall have been swept away. The ancestral stones in the eastern grove are quiet. The air smells of pine, damp earth, and the faint, sweet scent of blooming jasmine.
I stand on the balcony of our suite, a mug of hot tea warming my heavily bandaged hands. The night is quiet, save for the distant, rhythm
