The council chamber trembled with unspoken fear. The air was thick, as though the walls themselves recoiled from the grandmother's words.
"The golden mark on her arm… I saw it," the grandmother declared, her voice shaking yet unyielding. "That is no wolf's brand. It is the seal of the witches who bound themselves to the Dragon Riders. Do not deny it, Owen. Isabella carries not only the blood of wolves—but also the legacy of their ancient alliance."
A storm of gasps erupted. The name Dragon Riders lingered in the air like thunder.
Owen's voice cracked with fury as he slammed his fist onto the council table.
"Silence! She is my blood, my child. You will not speak of her as if she is a weapon for your wars. That mark changes nothing of who she is."
But the grandmother's eyes burned with truth.
"You cannot bury what she is, Owen. She is the last heir of that bloodline. A bridge between two worlds. And one day, both wolves and dragons will come for her."
Inside, Theodore sat frozen, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Each word struck like an iron brand against his heart. His Luna—his wife, his mate—was half of them. Half wolf. Half witch-blood tied to Dragon Riders.
The council's voices blurred, rage and panic colliding into a tempest, but Theodore heard nothing more. His fists clenched, his jaw tight. Anger, betrayal, and a terrifying need to protect Isabella boiled within him.
Without a word, he pushed back his chair so violently it scraped across the stone floor. The Alphas turned to him, but he didn't stay—he stormed out, each step thunderous, until he threw open the chamber door.
His eyes—burning gold—landed instantly on Isabella. She stood frozen, clutching the small cub against her chest, her face streaked with tears.
The sight made his chest tighten, but anger drowned the softness. He strode toward her, his steps sharp, predatory.
"So," his voice was low, edged with a growl, "you heard."
Isabella flinched but said nothing, her arms curling protectively around the cub. Lucien whimpered, sensing the storm in his Alpha's voice.
Theodore stopped before her, looming like a shadow cast by rage itself. His hand trembled at his side, caught between the urge to shake sense into her and the urge to shield her from the very truth she had overheard.
"Do you have any idea," he hissed, "what danger you've walked into by listening to council secrets? Those old wolves—those vultures—would sooner tear you apart than see you for who you are. And now, because you could not stay where you belong, you carry knowledge that was meant to be sealed in blood."
Isabella's lips parted, but no words came. Only tears. The silence struck him harder than any reply.
He dragged a hand through his hair, jaw tightening. His voice, though still thunderous, cracked with something else now—worry.
"You think yourself clever, wandering halls in the dark? Do you think secrets do not cut? Do you think bloodlines are games?!"
He stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. His voice dropped, darker, heavier.
> "You are my Luna, Isabella. My wife. My mate. That means your blood is no longer only yours. It is tied to mine. Your legacy is my war to fight. Do you understand that?!"
Isabella's tears fell faster, dripping onto the cub's fur. Lucien licked at her cheeks, whimpering softly. For a fleeting second, Theodore's gaze faltered at the sight—his Luna weeping, the wolf pup trying to soothe her grief.
He exhaled sharply, forcing his rage into steel instead of fire. Then, without warning, he scooped her up into his arms. His hold was firm, almost harsh, as though daring anyone—even fate—to lay a hand on her.
"Enough," he muttered, his tone still sharp, though burdened with restraint. "You've heard too much already. You will not linger in these halls again. If the council wants war, let them come to me. But you—" his grip tightened, "—you will not break beneath their truths."
The door to the council chamber thundered shut behind him as he carried her away. Isabella pressed her face into his chest, silent, while Lucien whimpered between them.
The golden mark on Isabella's arm glimmered faintly in the darkness, but Theodore's eyes never left her face—both furious at her disobedience and consumed with the need to protect her from what she now knew.