QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)

Chapter 440: Elara

My legs tremble as they shake, and I cannot take it anymore—but her tongue is relentless. It is not her human tongue. It is rougher. Bigger. I grip the sheets, my breath catching in my throat.

There is a knock on the door.

I ignore it.

Just a bit more.

"Sister." My brother’s voice comes through.

I ignore him, pressing her face closer.

"Elara." My brother says, obviously amused, taking joy in interrupting me. With wolf hearing, I know he can hear everything. But he is still here.

I reluctantly pull away.

"I have to go, my mate," I say, feeling unsatisfied.

She looks disappointed but nods.

I dress quickly, smoothing my hair, trying to look like I have not just been thoroughly distracted. I open the door.

Eric is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a knowing smirk on his face.

"Finally," he says.

"What do you want?" I snap.

"I need you for something." He straightens, his smirk fading into something more serious. "It is pack business. Since I have no Luna, you, my sister, have to help."

I exhale.

I look back into the room. She winks at me. I smile.

My brother shuts the door between us.

"You will find your mate later," he says, pulling me away. "Come on. Let us go."

Honestly, I wish he would get a mate of his own. Then he would have someone else to bother.

We walk through the halls of the main building. The pack house is quiet at this hour—most wolves are asleep or out under the moon.

I am only a few steps into the guest room when a wolf drops herself at my feet, crying.

"I do not want to leave Redmoon, please!" She sobs.

I recognize her. She is a teen wolf—cute, with dark curls and wide eyes. I see her on runs sometimes, always laughing, always surrounded by friends. Now she is crumpled on the floor, her face wet with tears.

Her hands clutch at the hem of my dress.

"Get up," I say gently. "Tell me what is wrong."

She looks up at me.

"My mate is from one of the other packs," she says. "They want me to go with him. To his pack. But I do not want to leave Redmoon. I do not want to leave my family. I do not want to leave everything."

I crouch down beside her.

"It is okay," I say. "Let us calm down first."

I look up. Her parents are standing in the corner of the room—her mother wringing her hands, her father with his arms crossed, his jaw tight. The girl’s name is Mira. I remember now. She is seventeen. She just found her mate a few weeks ago.

A young wolf from Shadowfang Pack.

"Mira," I say gently, "tell me what happened."

She takes a shaky breath.

"I met him at the gathering," she says. "The one between the packs. We—we felt the bond. It was instant. I thought it was wonderful. I thought it was magical." Her voice cracks.

"But then they told me I would have to leave. That I would have to go to his pack. That is the rule."

Oh dear.

"I would rather break the bond than leave Redmoon!" she says.

Her mother gasps.

I hold her shoulders.

"Mira, my sweet girl, do not say such things easily, okay?" I say to her. "Having a mate is a wonderful, magical thing given to us by the goddess. You said it yourself, did you not? It was magical when you met him."

She nods, sniffling.

"See? So do not say that." I cup her cheek.

"But I do not want to live with... them." she says, crying again.

I understand. Redmoon is her home. Her family. Her everything.

"I will head over there tomorrow," I say. "I will see what I can do, okay? Let us make a decision after. Hmm?"

She looks at me. Her eyes are red, her cheeks wet.

"Promise?" she whispers.

I smile.

"I promise."

*

My mate refused to come to this meeting, opting instead to go and play with Lyra. I understand. She sometimes needs her alone time.

In my dreams of my lives with her, she has never been one for community. She has always chosen to keep to herself—and to me.

She does not do well with pack politics, with endless meetings, with the slow, tedious work of negotiation. She is happiest when she is moving, when she is doing, when she is with her daughter.

I do not blame her.

Opposite us sits the young wolf’s family. The boy is apparently the nephew of one of the Luna’s mates, so she is here as representative for his family.

She sits across from me, her posture rigid, her expression unreadable.

I look at the boy. He looks at Mira. Mira looks away.

It is now that I see the difference between the two packs. A meeting between the families of potential mates is a big deal. One ought to wear their best.

The boy’s shirt is torn at the collar. His jeans are faded—not the designed fade I see in human fashion, but the kind that comes from years of wear, from being passed down, from being worn until the fabric is thin and soft. The rest of his family is not any better. The Luna herself sits opposite me in a simple dress, her hair ...wild.

I do not understand how these wolves can be so ...unkempt. Your appearance is how you portray yourself to the world.

"I do not understand the call for this meeting," the boy’s mother says, clearly unhappy. "They are mates."

I keep my voice calm.

"It is not so simple," I say. "I am here to suggest that the boy mates into our pack."

The boy’s family gasps.

The Luna’s eyes narrow.

"You cannot be serious," she says.

"I am perfectly serious."

"He is a male wolf. He is supposed to bring his mate to his pack."

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