#Chapter 97: Zion’s Proposal
#Chapter 97: Zion’s Proposal
(Siena POV)
The late morning sun filters through the branches of an ancient maple, casting dappled shadows across my sketchbook. Three days since the confrontation with Raiden. Three days of silence stretched between us like an uncrossable moat.
The severance ritual lingers on the horizon–scheduled for the full moon, just four nights away. The thought sends a physical pain through my chest.
Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with the mingled scents of lavender, fresh earth, and wild honeysuckle.
A new scent cuts through the floral–winter pine and midnight, with undertones of something distinctly feral. My wolf stirs beneath my skin, alert but not alarmed.
“Your thoughts must be miles away,” Zion’s deep voice breaks the garden’s tranquility. “I’ve been standing here for almost a minute.”
Opening my eyes, I find him watching me with that characteristic intensity, silver eyes reflecting the dappled sunlight.
He’s dressed more formally than usual–dark jeans and a charcoal button–down that emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders and the lean strength of his frame.
*Just enjoying the quiet.” Setting the sketchbook aside, making room on the bench, though part of me craves continued solitude. “It’s in short supply these days.”
He sits beside me, careful to maintain a respectful distance despite our familiarity.
His movements are fluid and controlled–reminders of the predator beneath the civilized exterior.
“The pack is talking.” His voice drops lower, meant only for my ears despite the garden’s emptiness. “About the severance ritual.”
A cherry blossom lands on my knee. I brush it away, watching it tumble across the flagstone path. “Let them talk.”
“Siena.” Something in his tone draws my attention back to his face. Concern etches lines around his eyes, usually hidden behind his carefully maintained mask of indifference. “Severance is dangerous. Painful.”
“What choice do I have?” The question emerges more vulnerable than intended. “Stay bound to someone who sees me as a convenient replacement? Who believes I’m manipulating him and the pack?”
Zion’s scent shifts subtly, sharpening with frustration. “You have choices beyond Raiden.”
A bee drifts past, pausing briefly to investigate the wild roses climbing the nearby trellis. Its gentle buzzing counterpoints the sudden tension humming between us.
“Why are you here, Zion?” The directness of the question feels liberating after months of diplomatic pack–speak and veiled implications.
He studies me for a moment, then he reaches into his pocket and withdraws a folded document, offering it without explanation.
The paper feels heavy and expensive.
Unfolding it reveals official letterhead from the Interpack Coalition, the governing body overseeing werewolf affairs across
the continent.
My breath catches as I scan the contents, understanding blooming slow but certain.“This is…” Words fail as questions cascade through my mind.
“Full approval for your cross–territory refugee program.” Zion completes the thought, a rare smile softening his usually stern features. “With guaranteed funding for five years, diplomatic immunity for staff, and access to all major pack territories.”
My hands tremble slightly, causing the paper to rustle.
“How did you get this?” Suspicion creeps in, tempering the initial surge of excitement. “The Coalition hasn’t approved a cross–territory initiative in decades.”
“I have connections.” He shrugs, the gesture casual, but his eyes remain intent on my face, gauging my reaction. “And I’m not the only one who believes in your vision.”
“Why?” The question escapes before I can filter it, raw with suspicion and hope in equal measure. “Why would you do this?” Zion shifts on the bench, angling his body toward mine. A shaft of sunlight catches his face, illuminating features that manage to be both harsh and handsome–the straight nose, high cheekbones, and the small scar bisecting his right eyebrow from some long–ago battle.
“Because I believe in you.” The simple statement hangs between us, disarming in its directness. “Because I’ve watched you fight for others while accepting scraps of respect and recognition for yourself. Because the work matters, and you’re the
one who should lead it.”
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#Chapter 97: Zion’s Proposal
“There’s more to it than that.” My wolf senses the undercurrents, the things left unsaid. “Be honest with me, Zion. No games, no pack politics.”
He holds my gaze, something shifting in his expression–a lowering of defenses I’ve rarely witnessed.
“You deserve better than what he’s given you.” The words emerge rough, as though dragged from somewhere deep “Better than being a second choice or a second chance for that matter.”
The intensity of his declaration sends heat coursing through my veins.
It is not entirely unpleasant, but unsettling in its timing.
“And you think you’re the one to give me better?” The challenge slips out before I can reconsider, bolder than intended. His laugh surprises me–genuine, without the sardonic edge it usually carries. “I’m not proposing mating, Siena. Not yet.” The “yet” hangs between us, loaded with future possibilities and potential for pack–disrupting chaos.
“What exactly are you proposing?” My voice remains steady despite the tumult of emotions churning beneath the surface. “Partnership.” He gestures to the document still clutched in my hands. “I have the connections and resources to make your vision a reality. You have the compassion and leadership to execute it properly. Together, we could build something revolutionary.”
A gentle breeze stirs the garden, carrying the distant sounds of pack life–pups laughing in the training fields, voices calling greetings across the compound. This place has been home, yet never quite felt like mine.
“And what do you get from this arrangement?” Folding the document carefully, buying time to process. “You’ve never struck me as the philanthropic type, Zion.”
His smile turns wry. “Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think.”
Before I can respond, a shift in the air–a new scent carried on the breeze, familiar as my own heartbeat. Cedar and smoke with undertones of power.
Raiden.
Zion notices the change in my expression, his nostrils flaring slightly as he catches the scent as well. His posture straightens, and his shoulders square in unconscious challenge.
Following my gaze, he spots what I’ve already seen–Raiden standing at the garden’s entrance, partially hidden by the shadow of the stone archway.
Even at this distance, the rigid set of his shoulders and the tight line of his jaw speak volumes.
“Your timing is impeccable as always, Alpha,” Zion calls, making no move to create distance between us on the bench. Raiden steps fully into garden, sunlight glinting off the silver threads in his dark hair. He’s dressed formally–the charcoal suit and blood–red tie he reserves for official pack business. The ensemble emphasizes the power in his frame and the predatory grace in his movements.
“I need to speak with my-.” His voice carries across the garden, the emphasis on “mate” unmistakable. “Seina, alone.” “Interesting…” Zion’s response carries just enough insolence to be dangerous, skating the edge of direct challenge. Raiden’s eyes flash gold momentarily, his wolf rising closer to the surface. “Pack business, Zion. Not your concern.” My wolf stirs restlessly, responding to the territorial display despite my irritation at being discussed as though absent.
“I believe Siena can decide for herself who stays or goes.” Zion remains seated beside me, a deliberate show of defiance.
Both men turn to me, waiting for a decision that suddenly feels weighted.
The document in my hands represents freedom, opportunity, a future defined by my own choices rather than the whims of an Alpha whose heart has never fully been mine.
“I’d like to finish my conversation with Zion.” The words emerge calm, definitive. “We can talk afterward, Raiden.”
(Raiden)
The garden path stretches behind me, cherry blossoms scattered across the flagstones like pale pink constellations. Each step away from them feels leaden, weighted with the pride that prevents me from turning back, from interrupting whatever conspiracy they’re weaving in my own territory.
From the shadowed colonnade running alongside the garden, I pause, unable to stop myself from one last glance back. The sight drives a physical pain through my chest–Siena leaning forward, her copper hair catching fire in the sunlight as she studies whatever document Zion has presented. The animation in her features, the spark of excitement I haven’t seen directed at me in months.
She’s beautiful in her engagement with ideas, in her passion for helping others. It’s what first drew me to her, beyond the physical attraction.
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#Chapter 97: Zion’s Proposal
After Lila…
The name no longer evokes the obsessive yearning it once did.
Instead, her memory is a reminder of wasted years chasing someone who saw me as nothing more than a stepping stone
to power.
Unlike Siena, who saw everything–my strengths and flaws, my capabilities and vulnerabilities–and stayed anyway until I drove her away with suspicion and control disguised as protection.
The realization comes too late, bitter as unripe berries. The severance ritual looms four nights away, an ending I set in motion with wounded pride and hasty words.
Zion leans closer to her, pointing at something on the paper. Their shoulders brush, a casual intimacy that sends a surge of primal rage through my blood.
My wolf howls within, furious at the proximity of another male to our mate.
The sound nearly escapes my throat before I swallow it back, forcing control over instinct.
She laughs at something Zion says. The sound carries across the distance, achingly familiar yet suddenly foreign, no longer mine to inspire.
Now I can only watch, paralyzed by the consequences of my actions.
Is this truly the end? Have I lost her for good?
Either way, nothing will ever be the same again–Zion can’t be trusted.
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*Chapter 9 tentation
