CHAPTER 3

The Council of Wolves

The air inside the boardroom was heavy with the scent of old paper and the intimidating, pressurized pheromones of the High Council. Four Alphas sat behind a crescent-shaped mahogany table, their eyes tracking Zyran and Aelin like hawks watching two mice enter a clearing.

Zyran didn't bow. He didn't even slow down. He stalked to the center of the room, his hand still firmly though notably less roughly anchored on Aelin’s elbow. He could feel her trembling, a constant, low-frequency vibration that seemed to grate against his nerves.

"You're late, Zyran," the Head Councilor, a silver-haired man named Marcus, stated. His voice was like grinding stones. "And you’re out of uniform."

"I wasn’t aware my leather jacket affected my DNA," Zyran countered, his voice dripping with boredom.

He took his own seat beside her. He leaned back, crossing his heavy boots at the ankles.

"Let’s skip the lecture. You wanted us here. We’re here."

Marcus shifted his gaze to Aelin. She felt the weight of it a cold, clinical stare that seemed to be looking for a serial number on her forehead.

"Miss Aelin," Marcus said, his tone softening into something far more dangerous than anger.

"Your intake files are... sparse. We’ve been told there was an 'incident' during your transport to the clinic. Tell us, what do you remember about your life before the Awakening?"

Aelin felt her throat close up. The white walls of the boardroom began to blur, reminding her too much of the clinic. She opened her mouth, but only a dry, shaky breath came out. She looked at her own hands, which were shaking so violently she had to tuck them under her thighs.

"I..."

"She’s overwhelmed," Zyran interrupted sharply, his voice cutting through Aelin's panic like a blade. "Look at the lights in here. You’ve got her under a spotlight like she’s a criminal."

"We are asking a simple question, Zyran," another councilor snapped. "Aelin, answer the Chairman."

Aelin felt a cold sweat break across her neck. *The lab. They’ll send me back to the lab.*

She looked toward Zyran. He wasn't looking at her; he was staring down Marcus with pure defiance. But then, beneath the table, she felt something. Zyran’s hand found hers. His palm was large, calloused, and incredibly warm. He didn't squeeze it- he simply covered her hand with his, a silent, grounding anchor in the storm.

"I remember the clinic," Aelin said, her voice small but steady. She kept her eyes locked on the table, drawing strength from the heat of Zyran's hand. "I remember being told my name. Everything else... it’s just fog."

A murmur went around the table. Marcus narrowed his eyes. "A total memory wipe? If she is structurally unsound or mentally compromised—"

"She’s not a bridge, Marcus. She’s a wolf," Zyran growled, his wolf ears pinning back flat against his white hair. He stood up abruptly, his chair screeching against the floor. "And she’s *my* candidate. If you want to poke around in her head, you’ll have to go through me first."

The room went deathly silent. Zyran was posturing a classic Alpha display of territorial protection but Aelin knew the truth. He was doing this to spite them.

"Are you claiming an interest in her, Zyran?" Marcus asked. "Your sister said you were planning to reject everyone."

Zyran glanced down at Aelin. His icy blue eyes were unreadable, but the corner of his mouth twitched into that familiar, arrogant smirk.

"I changed my mind," Zyran lied, the words coming out smooth and dangerous.

"She’s got a mouth on her. It’s entertaining. But we’re not signing any permanent bonds today. We want six months. A trial period. Away from the clinics and your 'diagnostics.' Just us."

Marcus looked at the other councilors. A trial period was unusual, but it kept the bloodline prospect alive.

"Six months," Marcus agreed slowly. "But she stays under your watch. If there are any... glitches... she returns to the facility immediately."

"Fine," Zyran snapped. He grabbed Aelin’s hand this time in plain sight and hauled her out of the chair. "We're done here."

He didn't wait for a dismissal. He led her out of the room and through the lobby, his stride so long she practically had to run to keep up. It wasn't until they reached the cool, open air of the parking lot that he finally let her go.

He turned to her, the protective Alpha facade vanishing instantly. He looked annoyed, his chest heaving as he reached for his motorcycle's handlebars.

"Six months," he muttered, shaking his head. "I must be losing my mind."

"You... you lied to them," Aelin whispered, hugging herself as the wind caught her cardigan. "Why?"

Zyran stopped and looked at her really looked at her- and for a fleeting second, the hardness in his eyes faded.

"I told you," he said, his voice returning to its cold, straightforward tone. "I hate them more. Now get on the bike. We're leaving before they change their minds."

-----

The elevator ride up to the penthouse was silent, the tension between them humming like the high-speed motor. Zyran leaned against the mirrored wall, his eyes fixed on the floor numbers as they climbed. Aelin stood in the opposite corner, her reflection looking small and fragile against the sleek metal.

When the doors slid open, they stepped out into a space of glass and steel cold, modern, and far too large for one person.

"I just needed someone who can understand me," Aelin whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the city below. She looked down at her hands, the fear of being a burden weighing her shoulders down.

"Help me with being myself. Even if I don't know who that is yet."

Zyran paused mid-pace, turning back to face her fully. The raw vulnerability in her voice caught him off guard, stirring something protective in his otherwise rebellious heart. He hadn't expected sincerity from any of these arranged meetings.

"Help you be yourself?" he repeated softly, his usual cocky demeanor fading into something more genuine. "Yeah, I guess I can do that. It's better than pretending to be some perfect Alpha boyfriend anyway."

He moved closer, stopping just a couple of feet away so he didn't crowd her. His wolf ears perked up slightly, picking up the subtle shift in her scent as she spoke openly about wanting freedom.

"You want someone who understands what it's like to feel trapped by expectation?" Zyran asked quietly, his own frustrations echoing in the question.

"Believe me, princess, I'm an expert on that subject."

His icy blue eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of manipulation, but he found only a hollow, haunting honesty.

"So... let's keep our distance when it's not necessary," Aelin suggested, her eyes flicking toward the vast, empty living room.

Zyran's lips quirked into a wry smile. "Distance it is. Consider us roommates with benefits namely, helping each other escape this ridiculous setup."

He backed off completely, creating a comfortable buffer zone between them. His movements were fluid and confident, even in his relaxed stance. "Just because we're faking this doesn't mean we can't be civil," he added with a shrug. "I'm not some monster who'll treat you like property once we're married on paper."

He tossed his keys onto a marble counter and turned to her, his expression shifting to genuine concern.

"So, what's your story anyway? How'd you end up with memory loss?"

"I just woke up like this," she said, her voice flat.

Zyran ran a hand through his white hair, his sharp blue eyes searching her face.

"Just woke up? Like, no concussion? No trauma you can remember?" his voice lost its casual drawl, replaced by a low, serious tone.

"That's messed up, sweetheart."

He gestured toward the sprawling sofa.

"My sister went through something similar after a bad heat cycle," he continued, his tone becoming more somber.

"It took her months of therapy to piece everything back together. If you're genuinely missing chunks of your life..."

"Maybe it's for the best," Aelin interrupted, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the blurred lights of the city. Her voice was resigned, as if she were afraid of what she might find if she looked too closely at her past.

Zyran's expression darkened, his jaw tightening with an anger directed less at her and more at the circumstances.

"Don't say shit like that. Memory loss isn't a death sentence."

He sat on the edge of the coffee table, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, focusing on her with unwavering intensity. The casual bad-boy act had fallen away completely.

"You can't just give up hope because you woke up confused. My sister fought like hell to get her memories back. It sucked for a while, but she's fine now."

His wolf ears flattened slightly against his skull as frustration crept into his voice. "Listen, whatever happened to you whether it's trauma or some medical condition we'll figure it out together. That's what partners do. Even fake ones like us."

Zyran stood abruptly and began pacing again, unable to sit still. "You aren't a burden, Aelin. You’re a mystery. And I’ve always been a fan of solving things the government tells me to leave alone."

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