(Raiden’s POV)
I recognize this mask, this careful distance, all too well.
It mirrors the very treatment Lonce inflicted upon her, unaware or uncaring of its cruelty.
The irony burns me, bitter and undeniable, twisting painfully through my chest as she deflects each of my subtle attempts to shift the conversation away from business.
I watch her carefully as she flips through the documents, her slender fingers precise and efficient.
Her amber eyes skim briefly over each page, absorbing details effortlessly. She nods politely at my questions, answers succinctly and professionally, never allowing the smallest crack in her carefully constructed armor.
Five days she’s been her.
“You’ve barely glanced at those, and you already know what’s wrong, don’t you?”
“Page three–supplier invoice is missing. Page six–there’s a discrepancy in the totals.”
“Still sharp as ever.”
She nods, turning another page, “Is that all you
nee
“Just trying to have a conversation Siena. It’s been …it’s been so long.”
She finally looks up, “I thought we were reviewing documents.”
“You used to let me in more than this.”
“That was a different time. Different context.”
Different Luna.
She returns her gaze to the page, eyes flicking across the numbers like they’re more compelling than anything I could say.
“You don’t have to be this cold.”
“I’m being professional.”
She closes the folder with a quiet snap and sets it between us like a barrier.
For five agonizing days in which she’s moved gracefully and detachedly through Windhowl, checking in with Rairity, approving leadership structures, and quietly assessing pack progress.
Never once has she come to Silverfang, requested my input.
Asked me for…anything.
It’s as if she’s built an invisible wall around herself, one I can’t breach no matter how desperately I try. Worse still is the constant presence of Alaric, that foreign Alpha whose protective hovering around Siena
1/3
Chapter 18
425 Bonus
stirs primal, irrational jealousy in my wolf.
Each time I see Alaric’s hand brush lightly against her elbow, each time he leans in close, murmuring, softly with easy familiarity, something fierce and possessive snarls inside me.
I have no right to feel it–I forfeited that long ago–but my wolf refuses logic, driven only by raw instinct and regret.
The conference room buzzed with low, formal chatter as council members and delegates trickled in, taking their seats around the long obsidian table. I barely registered the words of the diplomat beside me–my eyes were already on her.
Siena.
She took her seat directly across from me, her posture composed, her expression unreadable. Alaric slid into the chair beside her with his usual quiet vigilance, an ever–present shadow. My jaw tensed.
What is he doing here?
As the meeting began, I tried–truly tried–to focus. Slides clicked forward. Figures were discussed. Strategies debated. But my gaze kept returning to her.
She spoke only when necessary, her tone even, her words concise. And yet, every time she opened her mouth, the room listened.
There was no bravado, no attempt to dominate. Just calm, measured authority that pulled attention toward her like gravity.
“Siena, do you have any updates on the venue’s security protocol?” Alpha Marcus fired off the question without warning.
Siena, replied in kind, without missing a beat “Yes. Local enforcement has been briefed, and we’ve completed the first round of sweep simulations. I’ll forward the updated risk assessment by end of day.”
Simple. Efficient. Perfectly controlled.
Even now, after everything
Siena sits directly opposite me, Alaric subtly positioned near her side.
Councilor Vass begins, “We’ll begin with final preparations for the SOA summit. Siena, your report on logistics?”
She nodded, calm as ever, and opened her folder with a soft click, “All five factions have confirmed attendance. Accommodations are finalized. The schedule is tight, but manageable. Security protocols are in place. Risk assessments have been updated and shared with your aides.”
Said Alpha Drenna, gruff, skeptical as always, “What about the southern border routes? That area’s been unstable lately.”
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
