Loving Young

Chapter VI

The council room was colder than I expected, not in temperature but in the energy that pressed against my skin. It was subtle, barely noticeable if I hadn't been paying attention. But as I stepped inside and took my place at the large, oval table, the cracks within this pack became clearer.

Cyrus sat at the head, his gaze steady but a heavy sigh escaped him as the doors shut behind us. To his right, Toran leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his posture brimming with tension as his eyes met mine for a fraction of a second before dismissing me altogether. Across from him, Rhea held her usual poised, sharp expression, while Malek thumbed through a set of documents with an air of practiced indifference.

I sat quietly, observing. There was more than just political maneuvering happening here—there was distrust, deeply rooted and fraying the edges of the pack's leadership.

Cyrus cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "We need to address the rogue situation first and foremost," he began, his voice carrying authority. "Our borders are weakened, and it's only a matter of time before they strike again."

The room remained silent, but the shift in the atmosphere was palpable. Rhea's fingers drummed lightly on the table while Malek continued to flick through papers. Toran, however, broke the silence first.

"What we need is strength," he growled, his eyes narrowing. "More warriors, better training. None of this... diplomacy." His words dripped with disdain as he glanced in my direction, making his feelings about my presence clear.

I stayed still, refusing to rise to his bait. But Nyx stirred at the insult, a low growl rumbling in my mind.

I tilted my head, meeting Toran's gaze evenly. "Strength without strategy is just wasted effort," I said calmly, my voice firm but not confrontational. "We can train warriors all day, but if they aren't trained to fight together, to anticipate their enemy's moves, they'll fall just as easily as before."

Toran's jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he might argue, but Malek spoke up before he could.

"She has a point," Malek said, his tone measured. "The last attack showed us that we aren't prepared for the kind of coordination these rogues are demonstrating. More bodies won't solve the problem alone."

Toran's glare shifted to Malek, but he stayed silent, though the tension in his muscles told me the discussion was far from over.

Cyrus exhaled quietly, leaning back in his chair. "Then we're agreed," he said. "We need more than brute force to defend this pack. Strategy, alliances, training." His eyes flicked to me, and I felt the weight of his expectations settle on my shoulders.

I nodded slowly. "We need to strengthen our defenses, but we also need to show strength to the other packs. If they believe we're weak, isolated, they won't hesitate to pick us apart."

Rhea's sharp eyes softened for a moment, her lips pursing thoughtfully. "You're suggesting we call a summit?"

I nodded my head. "Yes. If we invite neighboring packs to witness our progress, to see our defenses firsthand, we can rebuild trust and form alliances. But it has to be done carefully. We can't let them think we're desperate."

A murmur spread around the table, some nodding in agreement while others remained skeptical. Toran's eyes flickered with a challenge, but he remained silent, for now.

Cyrus leaned forward, folding his hands together. "The summit, if we choose to call one, will require preparation. We can't afford to look weak in front of the other packs. And with the rogue attacks still a looming threat, we have limited time."

I could sense the apprehension in the room, the unspoken fears that if they failed to prepare properly, the consequences would be catastrophic. But it wasn't just the summit that worried them. This pack, though resilient, was fractured—each of its leaders pulling in different directions.