Page 23

Chris came to her door on Tuesday morning with a mug of coffee and a smile that was so sympathetic, it made her sick.

Sloane scowled at him when she opened the door. “I didn’t ask for this,” she hissed as a form of greeting. His smile did not disappear.

“The coffee or the security detail?”

“Either.”

He held out the mug. She took it because her hands needed occupation. The ceramic was warm against her palms.

“Kahn wants to move you into the Alpha house,” he said after an awkward silence.

“No.”

“I told him you’d say that.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because he told me to ask anyway.” He leaned his shoulder against the door frame. His hair was damp from the shower. He smelled like soap, clean and uncomplicated, a scent that had no business registering in her awareness the way it did. “He also wants you to attend strategy meetings.”

Her fingers tightened on the mug. “Why?”

“Because you know him. Garrett. Better than anyone.”

She looked at him. He looked back, directly. His face was an open book.

“Your presence is also requested tonight,” he said. “In the hall. Seven o’clock. For the ceremony… to formalize the pairing.”

“The pairing?”

She knew, even before he said it. Would have been foolish not to, and still she needed to hear it out loud. “Ours.”

He said it flat, without ceremony. She searched his face for the anger he must have felt when her name was called, the one person who hurt his sister, the one he despised: the cold refusal, the I didn’t choose this. It wasn’t there. Instead, the ridiculous sympathy remained etched on his features.

“I’ll be there,” she relented. “Don’t have a choice, I suppose.”

He nodded once, then stood. The mug still stood between them, a reminder of the inexplicable act of kindness.

“I don’t want to go,” she muttered out loud to herself, then sighed. Of course she did not want to go, but she wasn’t foolish enough to believe even for a second that she had a choice in the matter.

Seven o’clock came too quickly. She dragged her feet to the hall, finding a spot at the back near the eastern exit with her hands at her sides, her hair pulled back, her collar high enough to cover what remained of the bruising.

The pack filled the rows. She watched them settle into their seats the way she’d watched them for the last few years: from the outside, cataloging position, groupings, the unspoken hierarchies that determined who sat beside whom. Elena from the kitchen. The patrol leads by the door. Gideon in the front row, spine rigid, mouth a line.

Caitlynn stood at the ceremonial circle, her eyes fixed on Elianna who babbled incessantly on Olivia’s lap in the front row. Kahn was beside his wife on the dais, his posture carrying the formal stillness he wore for pack functions. Viktor stood at his right flank, all stone-faced.

Chris was near the front. His eyes caught hers, as though he could feel her gaze burning on him. Their eyes met, keeping still for a few seconds. Sloane stayed where she was, frozen in place.

“Sloane Mercer.”

Kahn’s voice rang through the hall, and every eye turned toward her.

Unfreeze, she commanded her body silently. Unfreeze and walk.

She moved slowly, overly aware of every eye following her silently. She kept her head high. She always did. The breath stuck in her chest even as she reached the front, where Chris waited beside the ceremonial candles with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, his hands loose.

Kahn stepped to the edge of the circle. He looked at Chris, not at her, when he spoke.

“By the law of Beaumont pack, the bond drawn between Chris Williams and Sloane Mercer is recognized. Their names are bound. Their protection is shared. Their territory is one.”