Wolfless Omega, Claimed by Prince Lycan King novel · Chapter 22 of 24

Chapter 22: Luna

I held out my hand through the furs.

Oona put the phone in it.

"Hello?"

"Miss Moreland." The host's voice was bright and nervous. "I opened a closet on live television, and I've spent a month watching what came out of it. I'd like to hear it from you. Your words."

I looked at Evander standing in the doorway in nothing.

He shrugged. Your call.

"After Saturday," I said. "There's a ceremony first."

"What ceremony?"

"Mine," I said, and hung up.

The great hall had been dressed in pine boughs and candles all the way up the pillars.

Oona had chosen my dress, midnight blue, and refused to let anyone else near it.

"No white," she'd said. "White is ruined. White belongs to people who carry tea."

The packs that had stayed for Moon Court stood down both sides of the hall.

The Council sat on its step. Every seat filled, except for seat eleven, which they'd left empty on purpose.

Evander waited on the dais in a dark suit with the collar open, the bite on his neck showing above it.

He'd refused to cover it. He said it was the best thing anybody had ever given him.

I walked the length of the hall alone.

Nobody gave me away. Nobody had the right.

When I reached the dais, he held out his hand palm up, the way he had in front of the creek Alphas.

I took it and stepped up beside him.

The North stood, and read the old words out of his book, and for once nobody laughed at him.

"Hesper of no pack," he said. "Mate of the King. Luna of the Lycan Court."

The hall knelt.

All of it, in one rolling wave.

Except this time I was the one they knelt to.

I looked out over all those bowed heads, and my throat went tight.

Then the great doors opened at the back.

Forty wolves came in from the snow, two by two.

The Moreland pack.

My father's old beta walked at the front with a gold ring on his own fist now.

They came all the way up the aisle and stopped at the foot of the dais.

He held out his hand to me.

In his palm lay a silver pendant on a broken chain. A pine and a crescent moon.

"We fished it out of the punch bowl," he said. "The night you left. Nobody knew what to do with it."

I looked at it a long time.

"I'm not coming back," I said.

"We know." He swallowed. "We're not asking you to. We're asking you to keep it. So we can say a Moreland is Luna."

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