#Chapter 103: Zion’s Support
(Siena POV)
Evening settles over the charity headquarters like a velvet blanket, transforming the utilitarian space into something almost magical.
Outside, raindrops begin their gentle percussion against the roof tiles, their rhythm soothing despite the tension knotting my shoulders.
The scent of an approaching storm mingles with the reassuring smell of old books and dried herbs, which defines this space–my space, the one place in pack territory that feels truly mine, untainted by power struggles and politics.
My wolf stirs restlessly beneath my skin, responding to approaching footsteps long before the gentle knock at the door registers in my consciousness.
The scent reaches me simultaneously–winter pine and frost, entirely incongruous with the summer warmth yet unmistakably Zion.
“Enter,” I call, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in my voice.
Four days since the council hearing, since their public display of aggression on my account and Raiden’s failed attempt to shut down the northern settlement.
Four days of constant vigilance as I wait for his next move in this dangerous game he seems determined to play.
Zion steps through the doorway, his silver hair damp from the increasing rainfall, droplets clinging to the broad shoulders of his charcoal jacket.
His usual confidence seems muted tonight, and his approach is more careful as he takes in my disheveled appearance, the scattered papers representing hours of verification work to satisfy council observers.
“You look terrible,” he says, the blunt assessment softened by genuine concern in his voice. “When did you last sleep? Or eat something that wasn’t delivered to this desk?”
I laugh despite myself, the sound rough with fatigue. “Your charm remains unparalleled.”
He moves closer, carefully maintaining respectful distance while examining the organized chaos spread across my workspace. “Preparation for tomorrow’s council review?”
“Verification documentation for every supply chain decision for the past six months.”
The magnitude of the task settles over me again, momentarily overwhelming. “Raiden may have lost the initial skirmish, but the council observers are being extraordinarily thorough in their examination.”
Zion’s expression darkens, jaw tightening visibly. “As expected. Santos may present as neutral, but he’s been aligned with Raiden’s father for decades. The thoroughness isn’t coincidental.”
“It won’t matter how thorough I am if predetermined conclusions override evidence.”
I push away from the desk, suddenly needing movement to dispel the helplessness threatening to overwhelm me.
“Forty–three refugees, Zion. Twelve pups who finally feel safe enough to play outside without fear of Silver Pack hunters. All of it balanced on political whims and power struggles.”
My voice breaks on the last words, emotion finally breaching the professional facade I’ve maintained through days of council scrutiny.
The weakness embarrasses me immediately. I’ve fought so hard to be seen as competent, independent, and strong enough to stand alone without Alpha’s backing.
Instead of the judgment I expect, Zion’s expression shifts to something softer, more genuine than the calculated support he’s offered in the past. “Come with me,” he says quietly, extending a hand without quite touching me. “Just for a moment.”
Curiosity overrides caution, my wolf equally interested in this uncharacteristic gentleness from a male usually defined by strategic calculation.
I follow him through the headquarters toward the eastern balcony–a small architectural indulgence in an otherwise practical building. It offers views across refugee gardens where displaced wolves have created beauty from borrowed and
The rain falls steadily now, silver sheets illuminated by enchanted lanterns that line the garden paths.
The scent of damp earth rises from below, mingling with night–blooming jasmine planted by refugee pups as their first act of claiming new territory.
Successfully unlocked!
The delicate rainfall creates a momentary sanctuary om pack pontics, from the constant strategy required to maintain what I’ve built.
“Look at what you’ve created,” Zion says, standing close enough that I feel his warmth without actual contact. “Not just buildings or programs, but hope. Community. A future for wolves who had none.”
173
#Chapter 103: Zion’s Support
Below us, despite the steady rain, a young female refugee adjusts protective coverings over seedling plants.
Two adolescent males repair a garden trellis under the shelter of an awning, their quiet conversation punctuated by occasional laughter that rises above the rainfall.
“They trust that they’ll be here to see those plants mature,” Zion continues, voice lowered as though sharing sacred knowledge. “That the work they invest today matters because tomorrow is guaranteed. You gave them that, Siena. Not Raiden. Not the council. You.”
Zion turns toward me, rain–misted and silver in the lantern light, his expression strieged of the calculated charm he typically wears like armor. “You won’t lose it, the funding for your initiative.”
“You can’t know that. You’ve seen how the council defers to him, how even falsified evidence nearly succeeded in shutting down the settlement.”
“I know because I’ve watched you build this from nothing.”
His certainty feels like a tangible force, pushing back against my fears.
“Watched you overcome every obstacle, navigate every challenge, create something extraordinary through sheer force of will. The Siena who accomplished all this doesn’t surrender, doesn’t yield when those who depend on her need her strength.”
My wolf stirs at his words, responding to the conviction in his voice.
For months, she’s maintained cautious distance from Zion, instinctively wary of his too–perfect support and calculated positioning as my champion. Tonight, something shifts–her interest is piqued by this glimpse of authenticity beneath his strategic exterior.
“I’m tired of fighting,” I admit, the confession costing more than I want to acknowledge.
“Every step forward requires battles on multiple fronts–council skepticism, resource limitations, neighboring packs‘ suspicions.”
Zion moves closer, his presence somehow both protective and non–threatening in this moment of vulnerability. “You’re not fighting alone.”
The simple declaration hangs between us, weighted with implications neither of us fully articulates. Rain continues falling, creating a curtain of silver around the balcony that feels almost magical, separating us momentarily from pack politics and power struggles.
“Why?” The question emerges before I can reconsider, driven by the need to understand his continued support despite the risk to his own position. “Why stand with me against your Alpha? Against pack tradition that places his authority above all else?”
“Because you see possibilities where others see only tradition. Because you build rather than simply maintain. Because your vision for what this pack could become aligns with what I’ve always believed possible.”
The rain lightens momentarily, allowing glimpses of stars appearing between drifting clouds.
“I’ve watched Raiden diminish you from the beginning.”
“He believes he’s protecting pack interests,” I say, the defense emerging automatically despite everything. “Maintaining hierarchies that have preserved our kind for centuries.”
Zion turns back toward me, rain beading on his eyelashes as he studies my expression. “Is that your defense of him?” The question hangs between us, impossible to dismiss yet dangerous to answer.
Before I can answer–a tall figure in dark clothing moving through the rain without concern for the downpour, face lifted toward our balcony.
Raiden.
Even at this distance, through sheets of rain and gathering darkness, the bond between us flares with recognition. His presence radiates power that transcends physical proximity, Alpha energy that makes my wolf stir with instinctive response despite our ongoing conflict.
He stops directly below our position, rain plastering dark hair against his forehead, soaking the simple black t–shirt that outlines the powerful frame of his body.
I feel the sharp spike of something primal and possessive at finding me alone with Zion in the gathering darkness.
“We have an audience,” Zion murmurs, having followed my gaze to the figure below. Rather than stepping away as protocol might dictate, he moves subtly closer to me, the challenge in the gesture unmistakable.
My breath catches at his deliberate provocation, at the dangerous game he plays with an Alpha already balanced on the edge of control. “Don’t,” I warn quietly, though I make no move to increase distance between us.
The moment stretches between the three of us.
#Chapter 103 Zion’s Support
Without warning, Raiden turns away, disappearing into the darkness beyond the lantern–lit paths
The abruptness of his departure leaves me momentarily unbalanced, the bond between us pulsing with emotions too complex to untangle–rage, jealousy, possession, and beneath it all, a wounded pain that catches me off guard.
“He’ll retaliate for this,” I say quietly, the certainty settling cold in my stomach despite the mild evening air. “Not just against me now, but against you as well.”
“Let him come.”
E
Subscribed
0 Likes
