Chapter 703: Jack-In-The-Box Twins: Daddy Said No

Drakenfell had sent its finest to the war council.

Dexmon’s wolf wanted out. Gavriel’s magic wanted across the room. Hyran wanted a different seat. Hale wanted to be invisible. Four men. Four crises. One pew.

Gavriel shot out of his chair, completely unaware that Dexmon’s side of the sandwich had just been told to sit down by Tiberon.

Full height. Fists at his sides. Wolf flickering behind his eyes. He had no memory of making the decision to stand. His legs had filed a motion without consulting him and the motion had passed unanimously.

Tiberon’s head turned. The look arrived. The look was the same look.

Gavriel sat down so fast the pew creaked.

Hale dropped his head into his hands so hard it made a sound. His shoulders shook once. It could have been frustration. It could have been laughter.

Two men. Same pew. Same instinct. Same result. In between them, Hyran closed his eyes.

Gavriel’s ass was in the damn chair. Everything was fine. He was calm. He was breathing. He was going to handle this like a mature, well-adjusted Gamma. Then he looked at her again. Really looked at her. And the looking started a whole new fire.

Fuck, she looked beautiful. Too good. Why was she wearing makeup? Serena never wore that shit. Gavriel hated it. It needed to come off now. And why the fuck was her hair done too? Both of those things were just ridiculous. This room was full of Alphas. What the fuck.

Rook: This never bothered you before.

When Gavriel caught the dress under her Shadowclaw cloak, his nostrils flared once and his pulse thudded in his ears. Why was she not covered more? Too much skin.

Rook: You like dress.

Gavriel: It’s too revealing.

Rook: Where?

Gavriel: I saw her shoulder.

Rook: You did not.

Gavriel: I did. For half a second. That’s all it takes.

She had walked into a den of territorial wolves looking like that. On purpose. With her shoulder potentially visible. Gavriel needed to sit down. He was already sitting down. Tiberon made sure of that.

He pushed his magic again. Gentle this time. A trickle instead of a flood. Maybe a little could get under the door. Surely she would let him.

Denied. Instant block. She blocked it. Again. Instantly. Like she had her finger on the goddamn trigger waiting for him to try. His magic had not even cleared the threshold before it was bounced back. What kind of petty, stubborn, beautiful bullshit was this?

Gavriel’s jaw went tight. His wolf surged, his eyes turning molten gold, burning bright enough to light a room. Hyran gave him a look so flat it could have been used as a level. The look said: I have been sitting between you and the constipated prince for ten minutes and my patience left five minutes ago and if your eyes glow one more time I am going to solve this problem permanently.

Gavriel forced himself to breathe. Fine.

This little rebellious independence act was on borrowed time.

Borrowed. Time. Two words that contained a promise and a deadline and the deadline was approaching at the speed of Gavriel Sterling’s patience, which was currently clocking in at negative four.

All Gavriel needed to do was wait. She would sit down with the Shadowclaw delegation. He would mindlink her immediately and demand an explanation. She would give him one because she told him everything. She wouldn’t make her mindlink private because she and Elara still hadn’t figured that out. So Dexmon would hear it too. Everyone would be on the same page. Problem solved by the Gamma.

She also could not block his green and pay attention to a council at the same time. Once this thing kicked off, he would push it inside her and that shit would be fixed too. The plan was sound. Wait for distraction. Slip the magic in. Heal her before she noticed. Win-win.

He had done harder things. He had jumped on dragons last night. He had successfully turned off his green magic once. It turned right back on, yes. Immediately, yes. But the off part happened. Still counts. This was easier than that. Probably.

He was going to scold her for her outfit, demand answers, heal her, and refill her pink magic.

Easy. Doable. He was Gavriel Sterling. He had range. He had—

Serena pulled out Shadowclaw’s chair at the table and sat. Finnick Shadowclaw’s chair.

In. The. Goddamn. Alpha’s. Chair.

Gavriel’s jaw hit the floor. So did Dexmon’s. The testosterone sandwich had just experienced a synchronized structural failure, and Hyran was sitting between the wreckage.

Gavriel blinked. Blinked again. Squinted. Double-checked the image in his head to confirm his eyes weren’t making shit up. Nope. She was in the chair.

She was confused. Understandable. The chairs all looked the same. Also kind of cute. She thought that was for her. It happens to the best of us.

The Beta will tell her.

The Beta—

The delegation peeled off without a backward glance, moving to the Shadowclaw seating.

Any second now, Beta Sharpe would come back down. Gavriel waited. Maybe the Gamma would. The elder. Aeron. Anyone. Anyone at all. One person from that delegation was going to turn around and correct this.

Not a single person in the Shadowclaw delegation moved. Did they not see her?

Beta Sharpe sat down in the stands and crossed his arms.

He was not coming back down.

This was not a mistake.

She settled. Her posture said she had done this before and was going to do it again and the chair was hers.

That took balls. Gavriel would give her that. Big ones. He was not happy about the balls. But she had them. She had walked into a room full of Alphas, parked her ass in the king’s chair, and dared the continent to say something.

Her posture was fluent in a language Gavriel had never heard Serena speak, and the language said "this is my seat, this is my table, and if you have a problem with that, your problem can go fuck itself." Since when did she speak that language?

Little Miss rebellious down there was in big trouble after this. The kind of trouble that involved a conversation that would happen in private and would start with "what the hell" and end with him healing her whether she liked it or not.