Chapter 7

Seraphina Silvermoon POV:

In the days that followed, we were prisoners in our own home. Warriors were posted outside our shack day and night. The pack was waiting, watching. Alaric Stonefang was still visiting, so they couldn't act openly, but their greed was a palpable thing, hanging in the air like a foul stench.

The quarterly pack council was convened to assign duties and positions. It was a chance for warriors to prove their worth. With a nervous flutter in my stomach, and with Dravon's quiet encouragement, I decided to do something I'd only ever dreamed of.

I walked into the great hall of the Packhouse, my limp feeling more pronounced than ever under the dozens of hostile stares. I made my way to the center of the room.

"I am Seraphina Silvermoon," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "I wish to apply for the position of Assistant Tactical Strategist."

Silence. Then, an explosion of derisive laughter.

"A cripple wants to command warriors?" one of the elders scoffed from his seat. "That's the best joke I've heard all year."

Elara, standing beside her father, the pack's Gamma, smirked. "Seraphina, perhaps the kitchens or the laundry would be a better fit for your... abilities."

Heat flooded my cheeks, but I held my ground. I held up a roll of parchments I had spent years preparing. "These are my proposed revisions to our patrol routes and defensive formations. They could increase our border security by twenty percent. I ask only that the council review them."

A hulking warrior snatched the scrolls from my hand and tossed them to the floor without a glance. "Don't waste our time. Get out."

Grandmother Moira, presiding over the council, delivered the final blow, her voice cold and devoid of any emotion. "Seraphina Silvermoon. Your application is denied. Reason: physical disability renders you unfit for duty."

The words were a dagger to my heart. It didn't matter how smart I was, how hard I worked. All they would ever see was my leg.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I turned to leave, to retreat back into the shadows where I belonged.

That's when the doors to the hall swung open. Dravon stepped inside.

He walked to the center of the room, the temperature seeming to drop with every step he took. The laughter died in everyone's throats. He bent down and picked up my scrolls from the dusty floor, carefully brushing them off.

He lifted his head, his dark eyes sweeping over the council. "You rejected her because of her leg?" His voice was quiet, but it carried an unnerving weight.

"That's right," Moira answered, her voice strained. "A wolf who cannot run cannot lead a fight."

Dravon's gaze found mine, and in their depths, I saw a fierce, protective fire I had never seen before. "And what if her leg could be healed?"

The hall erupted in murmurs of disbelief. My leg was a birth defect. Our pack healer, Calyx Thorne, had declared it hopeless years ago.

"Impossible!" Elara shrieked. "You're a liar! Who do you think you are, the Moon Goddess herself?"

Dravon ignored her. He walked to me and did something that shocked the entire room. He knelt before me, on one knee, so that we were at eye level. A male, kneeling to his mate. It was unheard of.

"I, Dravon," he said, his voice a solemn vow meant for me alone, yet heard by all. "I promise you, my mate, Seraphina. I will heal your leg. And I will make every person who ever mocked you for it choke on their words."

His conviction was absolute. I found myself nodding, a wild, impossible hope blooming in my chest.

He stood and faced the stunned council again. "Three days," he announced. "In three days, she will stand before you as whole as any of you. And then, you will give her the fair chance she deserves."