The disciplinarian, the man who lectures Pack heirs without flinching, who punishes reckless wolves emotionlessly suddenly crumbles. He grabs Amias’s coat sleeve, clutching it with the frantic, desperate grip of a drowning man. The strength of his fear makes his fingers tremble violently.
"Amias, please. Please!" Corvin begs, his voice cracking high and thin, completely unrecognizable as the strict man everyone knows.
He sounds like a child caught stealing a valuable heirloom. He is begging Amias like a kid. "Don’t do this. I’ve kept your family’s affairs clean, and I’ve always been discreet. I’m asking you, I’m begging you as one of the few wolves who ever did anything decent for you—protect this."
His secret is the one thing he holds dear, the reason why he’s so disciplined. He has to keep everyone on a leash, so his secret does not leak.
Amias watches him with a cold and deadly satisfaction coiling in his gut. This is the power he needs. This is the only way to protect what is now his—or what he desperately wants to be his.
Amias peels Corvin’s trembling fingers from his coat like he’s detaching a leech. He doesn’t look angry anymore; he seems sly like a villain in a movie who has just secured the winning hand.
"I wouldn’t hurt you, Corvin. Not if you make me happy."
He steps back, reclaiming his personal space and watching the effect of his words. Corvin is panting, tears actually slicking the corners of his eyes. It’s a detail Amias finds both pathetic and useful.
"We should both make each other happy, wouldn’t you agree?" Amias purrs. "So you better do what I ask of you."
Corvin’s face is a study in defeated misery. He nods frantically, clutching his own coat to his chest as if to hold himself together. "I will. I will, Amias. Tell me. Just tell me what to do. I don’t... I don’t know how to go about this. They’ll see through a simple dismissal. I can’t just erase the files I opened for the case."
"No," Amias agrees.
His own mind runs cold and fast, plotting the necessary deception. This has to be believable. It has to look like due process, not a cover-up. "You won’t erase the files. That’s sloppy."
Now... What can Corvin do?
"On Monday, when the parties present their evidence—Heidi, Maribel, Ginny, Sierra... all of them—you will allow the presentation of evidence to happen. You’ll listen to the noise, the threats, and the demands for retribution. Then, you will declare the complexity of the case, involving multiple pack claims and Moon Blessed status, requires a higher council review. You will promise to forward the case to the Alpha Council for a ruling. A promise that must never be met. The case is filed, but it is stalled indefinitely. The Belligerent Pack Members will think their concerns are being respected by the highest office, and they will wait. And wait. And wait."
"A-Amias, you’re telling me to act on Monday... to turn their vindictive, political theater into an infinite intermission for Heidi’s sake?" Corvin blurts like he can’t believe the lengths Amias would go for an ordinary pack girl.
Amias gives a slow, heavy nod. The pain of losing her to his little brothers still burns, but the execution of this cold power play has gifted him a strange, brittle energy.
"Something like that, Corvin. Something exactly like that." Amias’s gaze is unwavering, cementing the pact. "Now, I have other places to be. Keep your mouth shut, keep your ledger clean, and keep me out of your problems."
He can see the unarticulated ’why’ in the man’s eyes, something he dares not voice.
Utterly defeated, the disciplinarian straightens up slowly, brushing the grime of the graveyard off his coat. He looks ten years older and a hundred times less formidable. "I understand. The matter is... sealed in limbo. Forever."
Amias turns away from the sundial and the pathetic, ruined man, leaving him with the smell of old stone and the stench of his own secret fear.
.
.
He walks with a proud smile toward the Bellamy suite building. He’s done something tangible for her—he’s kept her out of trouble... His mate. His body is still humming with the static of adrenaline and the raw ache of his self-inflicted wounds, but his mind is clear, focused entirely on the small, private victory he just secured for Heidi. He has taken the first decisive, undeniable action for her, and the protective, possessive thrum of the mate bond that used to be a source of chaotic pain, now feels like a shield of solid gold.
He pushes through the ornate doors of the suite block. The air inside is cleaner here, layered with the expensive, subdued scent of the Bellamy family and the other Pack heirs. He heads straight for his room to grab the small travel bag he had packed earlier, anticipating an early departure.
As he exits his suite, tugging the leather strap of his bag over his shoulder, he sees a movement down the hall.
Lo and behold, it’s Isolde! His half sister who is by far his favorite. She possesses none of the brutal arrogance of their brothers, nor the pompous traits of Daphne. Isolde, tonight, she looks dull, like a piece of finely wrought silver left out in a storm.
"Isolde. You’re leaving early too?" The razor-edged tone Amias used on Corvin has now been softened to a sweet baritone at the presence of one of his cherished souls—which aren’t many, by the way.
She jumps slightly, her eyes wide and startled, as if he’d caught her lurking. Her dark hair is pulled back messily, and her delicate wildflower fragrance is now clouded with a confusing undertone of distress.
"Amias," she replies thinly.
She lets out a deep shuddering sound that makes his brotherly concern spark immediately, cutting through the haze of his own self-pity.
"What’s wrong?" he asks, stepping closer. He reaches out a hand, hovering awkwardly, unsure if she wants contact. "You look like you’re in a mess."
Isolde drags her fingers through her hair. "I am. A total mess. It’s... I can’t even explain it here. It’s big, Amias."