Chapter 70 — A Voice That Silences All Others
A hush rolled over the crowd like the wind before a storm as Rowan turned to face Rhea. The shifting rustle of clothes, the soft clearing of throats, the creak of floorboards beneath anxious feet—all of it fell away, swallowed by the silence that gripped the ballroom.
The only sound that remained was the quiet thudding of Rowan’s own heart.
She stood before him, still and elegant in a glowing white gown that shimmered beneath the lanterns overhead. Her long hair was swept over one shoulder, her posture composed, her expression unreadable. The flickering light cast soft gold across her skin, making her look almost ethereal.
His hand hung limp at his side, suddenly cold without hers.
Why did this feel wrong?
Why did the silence seem to press in on his lungs?
Rhea shifted under his gaze. Her fingers twitched slightly, then reached out and gently rested against his forearm. Her touch was feather-light, but it grounded him.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper. The simple question sent a tremor through his chest.
Her hand. Her voice. The calm curve of her brow as she waited for his answer. It should have been comforting. It *was* comforting.
But that strange pit in his stomach twisted tighter.
His mouth opened, but nothing came out.
He stared into her eyes, a warm chestnut ringed in gold. She looked back at him with unwavering patience, but just beneath it… was something more. Something urgent.
Rhea’s lips moved ever so slightly, but he couldn’t hear what she said.
A ripple of confusion passed through him. Had she said something? His hearing was fine, and yet… nothing.
The edges of the ballroom blurred. The crowd disappeared. The polished floors, the murmuring guests, the cloying scent of roses and candle wax—gone.
Only she remained.
Rhea.
Closer now. Too close.
Her scent wrapped around him like velvet—soft, heady, and so *familiar*. It curled through his chest, tightening something low in his stomach. His jaw clenched. He shifted slightly on his feet, trying to quell the building tension in his body, but it only worsened when she leaned in, just a breath away.
“I am right here with you, Rowan,” she murmured, voice soft as silk and soothing as rain.
Something inside him stilled.
Her words slid into his mind like a balm, easing the tightness in his chest, calming the rising storm of uncertainty. His shoulders dropped. The tension bled out of his arms.
He inhaled sharply—and exhaled her name.
Rhea.
He repeated it in his mind like a tether, like a promise.
She was here.
She was everything.
The moment stretched between them like a thread pulled tight. His pack waited below, but their faces were foggy blurs on the edge of his vision. The only thing that existed was her—the woman who had stood beside him through scrutiny and manipulation, who had played the part the Elders demanded… and who now looked at him like she had always been meant to wear the title of Luna.
Maybe… maybe he had been blind.
Maybe the Elders were right.
Because standing there, caught in her gaze, his wolf was silent, the chaos in his chest quieted, and all the doubt that once clawed at the corners of his thoughts was gone.
It was only her now.
And he didn’t want to look away.
Rowan swallowed hard against the tightness in his throat and placed a steadying hand on Rhea’s cheek.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered, voice ringing clear despite the hush. “Everything is perfect. I wouldn’t rather be standing here with anyone else in the world.”
Rhea’s dark eyes shone with relief, but as Rowan felt the warmth of her gaze, a faint ache blossomed in his chest—a pang so subtle he nearly missed it. He blinked, and it vanished as though it had never been.
He took a deep breath and reached for her hand once more, determined. But then his eyes flicked to the side of the stage where Charlie stood, arms crossed and brows furrowed. Concern etched her features so clearly that Rowan felt another spark of…something.
Worry? Guilt? It crackled in his mind, only to be brushed away the instant he tried to focus on it.
He blinked again, shaking his head slightly. Charlie’s gaze met his for the briefest moment before sliding away, her expression sliding into composure.
Rowan turned back to Rhea and smiled, pushing away the lingering sense that he’d forgotten something important. He settled his full attention on her.
“I promise you,” he said, voice soft but resolute, “you are my mate. My Luna. And no matter what comes, I’ll always choose you.”
Rhea’s smile widened, and for a heartbeat, all was right.
Rowan’s gaze wandered again—just for a breath, just long enough to catch the flicker of movement that drew his eye to the edge of the crowd. Charlie stood there, tense and unmoving, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Then her eyes glazed over, the faint shimmer across her irises unmistakable. A mindlink.
Rowan’s heart gave a sharp thud.
She’s speaking to someone.
The sight of it tugged at something deep in his mind—a flash of memory rising like a bubble to the surface. A face. Sharp jaw, stormy eyes.
Luther.
The name hit him like a jolt. His sister’s mate.
Rowan’s breathing caught as another thread of memory followed—Luther at his side. His voice, calm and cold. His strength. His protection.
He was doing something for him. Something important.
The thought gripped him, pulsed behind his eyes. Rowan closed them, pressing a hand to his temple as a sharp ache bloomed in his skull.
He squeezed harder, trying to push through the fog, to see.
But the more he reached for it, the further it slipped away. A wisp of smoke between desperate fingers.
Until it was gone.
Just… gone.
He lowered his hand slowly. The pressure eased. The pain vanished.
So did the memory.
He took a steadying breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, only Rhea was there. And that was the only truth he would hold.
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