A Quiet Moment
As the festivities swirled on inside, Draven guided Isla through a side door and into the quieter gardens that surrounded the packhouse. The shift from the warmth and noise of the ball to the cool serenity of the night was jarring but welcome. The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the trees, painting everything in hues of silver and shadow. Isla inhaled deeply, letting the crisp air calm her nerves. The garden felt like an entirely different world—intimate and untouched by the weight of expectation that followed her inside.
“You needed this,” Draven said, his deep voice breaking the silence as they walked along a winding stone path lined with flowers. His tone was matter-of-fact but carried a warmth that made her chest tighten.
“I needed to escape,” Isla admitted, glancing up at him. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, but she still felt the echoes of tension coursing through her. “I’m still not used to all of… this.”
“This is who you are now,” he said simply, his eyes scanning their surroundings. “The Luna of Crimson Fang.”
She hesitated, her footsteps slowing until she stopped entirely. Her hand brushed against the edge of a low hedge, the sensation grounding her. “It doesn’t feel real. Sometimes I wonder if I belong here at all.”
Draven turned to face her, his movements deliberate. His expression was calm, but there was an edge to his tone when he spoke. “You do belong here. And if anyone doubts that, they’ll answer to me.”
The certainty in his voice was like an anchor, pulling her from the storm of self-doubt she so often found herself in. Isla searched his face, looking for any flicker of hesitation or uncertainty, but there was none. His conviction was solid, unshakable, and it wrapped around her like a shield.
“You make it sound so simple,” she said, her voice soft and unsure.
“It is,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “You’ve already proven yourself, Isla. The rest is just noise.”
Her lips parted, but the words she wanted to say tangled in her throat. The space between them seemed to shrink, the silence charged with something she couldn’t quite name. Draven reached out, his hand brushing a strand of her hair from her face. His touch was light, barely there, but it sent a shiver down her spine. The gesture was brief but intimate, as if he were peeling away a layer of her fear and replacing it with something steadier.
“You always know what to say,” she murmured, her voice almost lost to the night.
Draven’s lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, a rare softness that made her heart ache. “That’s because I mean it.”
The warmth of his presence pressed against her, and Isla felt the tug of something dangerous and comforting all at once. The walls she had built around herself, meant to keep her safe, felt thinner under the weight of his gaze. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what it would feel like to let them fall completely.
But the vulnerability of the thought was too much. She glanced away, her fingers toying with the edge of her gown. “We should go back,” she said after a moment, though her voice lacked conviction.
Draven didn’t move immediately. His eyes lingered on her, as if trying to memorize something in the moonlight. Finally, he nodded, his voice quieter now. “We should.”
They walked side by side down the path, the silence between them no longer heavy but contemplative. The cool breeze carried the faint scent of roses, mingling with the distant sounds of music from the ball. Isla’s thoughts raced, jumbled with the weight of his words and the unspoken things that hung in the air between them.
As they neared the doors of the packhouse, she stole a glance at him. His profile was sharp, his expression unreadable, but his presence was steady. He made her feel like the world wouldn’t crumble if she stumbled, like she didn’t have to be perfect to stand beside him. And yet, that same steadiness terrified her. She wasn’t sure she could ever be the person he seemed to believe she was.
“Draven,” she began, her voice faltering.
He glanced down at her, his dark eyes softening slightly. “What is it?”
She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. “Thank you. For… this.”
He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “You don’t need to thank me.”
The simplicity of his reply sent warmth spreading through her chest, but it also left her with more questions than answers. As they stepped back into the light and noise of the ball, Isla felt the weight of her title settle over her once more. The moment in the garden felt fragile, like a dream she wasn’t ready to wake from. And though she couldn’t fully name the feelings stirring in her, one thing was clear: Draven was becoming far more than just her Alpha.
As they moved through the crowd, she caught sight of the council elders watching her with sharp, assessing eyes. Whispers followed her like shadows, but for once, they didn’t sting as deeply. Draven’s earlier words echoed in her mind. You’ve already proven yourself, Isla. The rest is just noise.
She clung to that thought as the music swelled again, signaling the start of another dance. Draven’s hand rested lightly on her back, guiding her toward the center of the room.
