I angled my chin to face him. “Just tell me what’s going to happen.”

“I’m going to plead my case before the president and his advisors. If they deny our union, I’m renouncing my pureblood status.”

It sounded simple enough, except the tension thickening in the SUV’s cabin convinced me that the ramifications of Aric’s actions could be severe.

Koda veered left through a break in the trees. We’d arrived. Just like that. Too late to turn back. Shit.

Aric kissed my cheek before helping me out.

“Son of bitch.” Taran emerged from the SUV behind us with Emme, Bren, Gemini, and the Elders.

Emme hurried immediately to my side and squeezed my hand. “Do you know something I don’t?” I asked her.

She nodded and glanced at Aric. “I’ll take care of everything,” he assured me before I could ask. “I promise, I will.”

Koda approached a giant slab of stone the size of my house. He muttered some words in ancient Ute and then stepped away. The giant slab vibrated, thinning to a clear shield before disappearing completely and revealing a modern fortress. Sixteen weres dressed in black capes and dark military fatigues marched toward us in synchronized rhythm. Most were Native Americans and held holsters on their sides and machine guns draped across their chests. I could smell the gold from the bullets in the weapon chambers and in the extra clips secured to their belts. It was the first time I’d ever seen weres packing heat. But I supposed if their job was to keep other weres in line, it was easier to fire off shots than to fight with claws and fangs.

My sisters and I stiffened when they encircled us. None of our weres responded aggressively or prepared to fight, except for Bren. He cracked his knuckles as he often did in anticipation of a brawl. In perfect unison, the soldier weres turned and led us into the mountain. The backs of their capes depicted the silhouette images of their beast forms in silver embroidery. The group was composed mainly of bears and wolves—except the one on my right. He was a wolverine…and somehow appeared the most threatening.

The best way to describe the inside of this Den was a colossal cave crossed with modern comforts and technology. Large brass sconces that flickered like torches lit the open expanse and the multiple levels spiraling high above us. Administrative staff shuffled around the floor or typed feverishly on their flat-screen computers situated atop shiny oak desks.

Everyone dressed in long capes, similar to the guards except in varying shades of earth tones. Those who passed us bowed regally at Aric and Eliza. They nodded back in acknowledgment, stopping only when a cluster of young weres knelt before them and the Elders. Each of the young carried a large red velvet box.

Aric and Eliza removed beautiful red capes from the first set of boxes. The capes—satin-lined velvet with flowing trains and trimmed with white fur and jewels—resembled something a king might wear on his coronation. The backs bore silhouettes of wolves howling at a moon fashioned from small black diamonds. If that wasn’t bad enough they pulled crowns—honest-to-Betsy crowns—from the next set of boxes.

Eliza adjusted her dazzling tiara. “Don’t worry, dear. It’s just a formality.”

“Damn,” Taran muttered.

Aric had dressed in a black suit and tie and black silk shirt. I’d slipped into a sleeveless maroon dress and silver sandals, elegant enough for a formal wedding, but certainly not enough for a coronation! I couldn’t believe he hadn’t warned me. As I took him in, I understood why. Aric tugged on the cape the exact same way he pulled on one of his tight-fitting T-shirts. And his command remained no bolder than usual—even with the damn crown. He was troubled by what we might potentially face, but these adornments, all the pomp and ceremony, didn’t affect him in the least.

I reached up and kissed his lips. I wasn’t sure if it was allowed, but I didn’t care. His humility made me proud.

He smiled and cupped my faced. “I love you,” he said.

“I know,” I whispered.

Aric gripped my hand as the guards escorted us away from the open area and down a long hallway. We entered a large auditorium where rows of seats carved into the reddish brown stone ascended upward. The twenty weres present wore elaborate capes and crowns in different variations and colors. Spongy soft chairs shaped like boulders replaced more traditional seats, strange yet befitting a cave full of supernatural beasts.

The president waited before us on a more traditional-looking throne, its dark wooden back extending several feet past his head. Something about him seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

We bowed our heads respectfully. He inclined his chin, saying nothing. I watched him closely, careful to keep my eyes averted from his. Four weres sat on either side of him, though at least twelve could sit comfortably behind the long stretch of carved marble podium they ruled behind.

The president resided as the sole lion among the pack of wolves making up his advisors. His crown—surprise, surprise—was the biggest of all and perched on his head like the Pope’s miter. Etched in gems into the stone plate before him was his name, President Omar Gris de Leone. My lower lip dropped to my chest. I scanned the room until I spotted Tye. Sure enough, he lounged lazily in the second row of seats nearest to me. He danced his eyebrows and flashed me his dimple. I could have killed him. How could he have never mentioned that the president of the North American Were Council just happened to be his father?

Tye donned a dark blue cape, just like good ol’ Dad. I’d never had the chance to thank him for his help. He’d left during the first few days of my recovery, without much word to anyone. And yet as shocked as I was to see him, I hadn’t expected to find none other than Destiny cuddled against him. His arm slung around her like the old pals he professed them to be. I feared her ability to predict the future had brought her to help determine Aric’s fate. Her presence wasn’t a welcoming comfort. And neither was her attire.

Destiny had really outdone herself. She wore neon-pink zebra-printed boots and white and black polka-dot tights. A sparkly silver cardigan partially covered a hot pink minidress that in no way matched her shoes or the flamingo feathers sticking out of her tight bun. She was, hands down, a walking hodgepodge fashion disaster. And, truth be told, she scared me senseless.

She waved at me excitedly, sending some of her flamingo plumage into the air. I gave her a half-assed smile and turned to the President of the North American Were Council, believing him to be less frightening.