In that moment, Avery cast a discreet, pleading glance toward Ewing, her silver eyes shimmering with the unease of a trapped animal. She had no desire for the vanity of a Great Banquet; to her, it was a scent-trail that would only draw predators.

Noticing her distress, Ewing subtly cleared his throat, his deep voice cutting through the tension. "Grand-Alpha, we must honor Avery’s own spirit in this," he interjected, his gaze lingering on her. "If her wolf is not at ease with such a display, perhaps we should let the moon pass in silence."

Tyrone paused, his heavy brow furrowing as he weighed Ewing’s counsel. He saw the merit...