Alpha Jackson Reynolds
The air in the Alpha suite—still saturated with the heady scent of the claimed mate—had been replaced by the sterile, ancient scent of the Council Chambers: old parchment, beeswax, and concentrated magic. The shift was deliberate. After the initial joy of the family breakfast, the time for celebration was over. Now, it was time for governance.
“Are you ready, Luna?” I asked Amethyst, adjusting the fine silver cuff on her wrist. The lavender dress was replaced with a deep sapphire velvet gown, subtle but authoritative, emphasizing the fierce red mark on her neck.
She met my eyes, the familiar warmth now tempered by the White Wolf Queen’s steel. “I am ready, Alpha. They need to see our unity, not just our marks.”
“They will,” I assured her, resting my hand on the s
