The Luna's Vow

Chapter 1. The Veiled Stranger

After a year as the Pacific North-West pack's Luna, the Council of Betas was my least favorite part of the position. I endured it for my most favorite part, Alpha Blake, who sat to my right. He studied the speaker from under furrowed brows.

If the brewing storm in Blake's eyes was directed at me, I would have lost my nerve, but Conan, the oldest wolf on the council, didn't flinch.

"If we don't turn the rogue out, we should make him wait. Show him his place before we listen to him," he said.

"That's the right thing to do," I replied and paused.

Conan's glance flickered from Blake's face to mine. Same with about half of the gathering. They didn't expect an easy win, and I wouldn't give in, not when they were digging under my most cherished idea.

"It's the right thing to do, if we want to appear petty, not the great pack we are." My voice gathered strength, to fit the fighting words. "The pack that can bring the rogues into the fold, fresh blood, not snap at them across the boundary line. Treat Dirk Steinar with respect—"

"Rogues don't deserve our respect!" Conan snapped at me.

Blake bared his teeth. "My Luna didn't finish speaking, Beta Conan." The first rumble of his Alpha's roar laced his voice, like he wanted to tell them, give me a reason.

I fought back a sigh. I hoped we were past this, but here we go again. Blake just had to step in at the slightest hint of aggression directed at me...it was both frustrating and exciting. It made my heart flutter and tingle with love for my mate, while my mind protested the primal emotions. Worse, I suspected by the stiffness of Blake's shoulders that he agreed with them, while letting me have my say, and it didn't come easy to him.

"Many more will come before Alpha Blake asking for a place to belong," I said, locking gazes with him. After a year together, his fern-green gaze sent a warm heavy wave through my core. If I wasn't already seated, I would have had to sit down.

"That's what I'm worried about," Conan said, sneering. "Their place is in the gutters of the human city."

And you know all about it, when you hadn't set foot in Seattle since the nineteen-thirties. Seattle, the city I grew up in...and, yes, those weren't happy years, but it was my city.

"Even the wayward are our kin," I said. "People change. If we give the rogues a chance, some might reconnect with the forest, find their true wolves within, and contribute to our pack's prosperity."

Conan grunted. "Great, more Omegas."

"Yes, I agree, that would be terrific!" I locked my gaze on Conan with such intensity, the slow clap from the doors of the boardroom gave me a start. I lifted my eyes and gasped at the sight of the stranger who stood there.

The man who entered unannounced, did so despite Gamma Mie's efforts to stop him. Even her kitsune's magic must have failed, judging by her pained expression and the white-knuckled grip on the door.

"Please, Mister Steinar, they're not ready for you," Mie said.

"Don't worry, my foxy friend, I am used to this," the rogue—because who else would that be but our petitioner, Dirk Steinar—replied to Mie, whipped his cloak over one shoulder and rolled his chest forward. "Nobody is ready for the messenger of Fate!"

The dramatic pause allowed me to fully appreciate Steinar's appearance.

He wore a velvet cloak and matching gloves, and knee-high boots, but his hat took the cake. Wide-brimmed, it was studded with brass astrological signs. I recognized the moon, the sun and Zodiac among more arcane stuff. It sat low on his forehead, shadowing his face, and that wasn't enough layering for him. He draped a scarf over his chin and wore a cloth mask. Those too had plenty of symbols.