Chapter 5

I wanted to scrub the skin right off my bones.

I had the faucet assembled to the max, letting the bite of the freezing water assault my wrists, but it wasn't enough. I could still feel the phantom weight of Jason's hand. It felt like a slab of rotting meat had been pressed against my flesh. Nauseating.

But I couldn't hide in here.

I killed the water and stared into the mirror. Black silk wrapped my body—impeccable, detached, cold.

For Drakon. For tonight.

And for Quinn.

My chest tightened at the thought of my son. He was out there somewhere with his father, waiting to make his entrance.

My brave little pup. He had never seen the cruelty of the pack I grew up in. I needed to be strong, so when he saw me, he wouldn't see a victim.

I pushed the door open and headed toward the side wing.

I didn't make it ten steps before Jason blocked my path. He stood there like a diligent guard dog, taking up the whole corridor.

He didn't look at my face. His eyes were glued to my evening gown, narrowing with suspicion and disgust.

"Where the hell did a stray like you get silk like that?"

He reached out, rubbing the fabric between his rough fingers before shoving me back. "Did you steal it? Or did you spread your legs for some senile elder to buy his way in here?"

He let out a scoff, his voice dripping with acid. "Fishing for a rich mate? You think wrapping a mutt in expensive fabric makes it a prize? You're pathetic."

He didn't bother waiting for an answer. With a sharp flick of his hand, he summoned two burly female warriors.

"Since she's clearly here to try and whore her way up the social ladder, let's remind her of her place. Put her in the service attire. Drag her to the back rooms. Don't let her embarrass us in front of the guests."

I clenched my fists. I could have snapped his wrist in a second. The urge to shift and tear his throat out was overwhelming.

But not yet.

I forced my muscles to relax, my hand drifting instinctively to my flat stomach.

Endure it, I told myself, swallowing the rage. Stay safe. For the pup. For the endgame.

In the cramped, airless changing room, the bundle of fabric was tossed at my feet.

Calling it a maid's uniform was generous; it was lingerie masquerading as clothing. The fabric was practically nonexistent, the neckline obscenely low.

I put it on. I looked in the mirror, and I smiled. But it didn't reach my eyes.

Good. Jason, Maggie. The more you humiliate me, the tighter the noose around your necks becomes.

Back in the main hall, the air was thick with the suffocating stench of opulence.

Cheap champagne, nervous sweat, and the cloying mixture of aggressive Alpha pheromones.

I stood in the corner, holding a tray. Gazes swarmed me like flies on rotting fruit.

The grand double doors swung open again.

Maggie walked in, arm in arm with an older man.

Varg. Alpha of the Steelclaw Pack. My stepfather.

Fifty years old, bloated, and radiating the decay of a man consumed by alcohol and lust. His cloudy yellow eyes scanned the room.

He spotted me instantly.

The revealing maid outfit was like tossing raw steak into a wolf den. Varg dropped Maggie's hand and made a beeline for me.

"Jason... he certainly knows how to serve up a meal."

Varg stopped right in front of me. His gaze felt like a slimy tongue, licking its way from my collarbone down to my thighs.

"Even for a wolfless runt, this flesh..." He clicked his tongue, making no attempt to hide his lechery. "It's ripened nicely over the last two years. Maybe I shouldn't have thrown you out so quickly."

A chill crawled up my spine.

He reached out a sausage-like finger, hooking it under my strap.

"Don't touch me." I stepped sideways.

"Playing hard to get?" Varg laughed, revealing yellowed teeth. "After tonight, you'll be begging for it."

Maggie sauntered over.

She had seen her father's look. Jealousy instantly twisted her harsh, made-up face into something demonic.

"You should be honored Father wants a piece of you," she sneered. Her voice was sugary sweet, but her eyes were venomous.

She wasn't holding a wine glass.

She had grabbed an entire decanter of freshly aerated red wine.

A flick of the wrist.

Splash.

The deep crimson liquid cascaded over my head, soaking my chest and shoulders.

Cold. Bone-chillingly cold.

The thin, flimsy fabric of the maid costume became instantly translucent, plastering against my skin.

"Oops. My hand slipped," Maggie squealed theatrically, her eyes dancing with malicious delight.

"Hold still. Let me clean you up."

She reached out. On her hand sat a massive diamond ring. A square-cut stone composed of countless sharp facets—a serrated edge disguised as jewelry.

She turned the ring inward toward her palm, pressing the sharp diamond edge hard against my wine-soaked chest.

Then, she dragged it down. Hard.

Rip.

It wasn't a wipe. It was a laceration.

The sharp edge of the diamond sliced easily through my skin.

There was a sting, then a burn. Blood welled up instantly, mixing with the dark wine, snaking down my pale chest in a grotesque river. The metallic scent of copper hit the air immediately.

Maggie leaned close to my ear, her voice a hiss:

"Now you look like the whore you are. Dressed perfectly for an Alpha's bed."

The crowd erupted in laughter.

Varg stared at the bloody scratch. He wasn't angry. He licked his lips, aroused. His eyes were greedy, his wolf surfacing.

Jason stood to the side, sneering coldly. "Aren't you going to say thank you? Being Alpha Varg's plaything is the highest rank you'll ever achieve."

Everyone laughed. Everyone watched.

Watching the pack reject, the waste, finally crumble.

I didn't cover the wound. I let the blood and wine drip onto the polished floor.

Past Maggie's twisted grin, past Varg's disgusting hunger, I looked toward the closed, gilded doors at the far end of the hall.

"Laugh," I whispered.

My voice was soft, but it cut through the noise.

"Enjoy it while it lasts. Because in a few minutes, you won't even be able to scream."

"You crazy bit—" Maggie started.

BOOM!!!

It wasn't the sound of a door opening. It was a detonation.

The massive gilded doors weren't just opened; they were blasted inward as if hit by a battering ram.

Wood splinters flew like shrapnel. The crystal chandelier overhead groaned under the shockwave, swaying violently.

A terrifying pressure—Dominance.

Pure Alpha power rolled into the hall like a physical weight, crushing everyone's lungs. It was an aura of absolute violence, freezing the air in the room instantly.

The laughter died in their throats.

Varg's lecherous grin froze. Jason's knees buckled, his wolf instinctively cowering. Even Maggie, arrogant a second ago, went pale as a sheet, her clutch dropping to the floor with a clatter.

The dust settled.

A figure stood in the wreckage. Tall, dark, radiating a lethal, predatory stillness.

Drakon.

He wore a heavy cloak of black wolf fur over his broad shoulders. In one arm, held tight against his chest, was a small, trembling figure.

My one-year-old son.

Silence. Absolute, dead silence.

Jason reacted first. His face drained of color, turning a sickly gray.

"Shit. The Lycan King."

He scrambled toward me in a blind panic, grabbing my arm with bruising force and yanking me violently behind him, trying to shield my disheveled state with his body.

"Hide! Don't let him see you looking like trash! If you offend the Lycan King, we're all dead!"

His grip was crushing my bone. He was shaking uncontrollably.

Drakon didn't look up. His nostrils flared.

He was scenting the air.

Blood.

In that split second, I saw it clearly. His pitch-black eyes were swallowed whole, replaced by glowing, violent gold.

"Mama!"

Quinn wrenched himself free from his father's arm.

The little boy stumbled into the crowd, his eyes wide with terror as he saw me. He didn't see the maid outfit. He didn't see the wine. He only saw the red cut on my chest.

He ran straight toward me, his little legs pumping fast.

"Mama! Blood! Hurts!"

The cub's cry tore through the silence like a siren.

The oxygen was sucked out of the room. Every wolf present felt their inner beast whine in terror.

Drakon slowly raised his head.

Those raging golden eyes locked onto Varg's dirty hand, which was still hovering in mid-air, inches from where I had been standing.

Jason turned white. I could hear the vibration in his voice.

"That child... what did he just call her?"