Chapter 6 The King's Arrival

~~SERAPHINE~~

The weekend dragged, but by Saturday evening, I faced the gala.

I stood before my mirror, smoothing my black cocktail dress from clearance. It hugged my curves modestly, simple enough to avoid attention yet flattering.

My auburn hair fell in loose waves, and I applied mascara, hoping to hide the shadows under my green eyes from sleepless nights.

Andrew's words resounded in my head like a ringing bell. A mistake. That's all I was to him now. But his clenched jaw in that elevator, the flicker in his blue eyes, suggested a different story.

Or maybe I was just desperate to believe one.

The Smithwood Industries building loomed at night, a beacon for the city's elite. I flashed my employee badge at the door and stepped into the grand ballroom.

Chandeliers sparkled over tables draped in white linen. Waiters circulated with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Laughter and clinking glasses filled the air, mingling with expensive perfumes and the faint musk of wolves among humans.

I grabbed a glass of sparkling water and found a spot near the edge of the room, blending into the shadows.

My coworkers chatted in small groups. Jennifer waved me over, her red gown vivid against the muted decor.  "You made it," she said, pulling me into a light hug. "You look great. Nervous?"

"A little," I admitted, forcing a smile. "This is all so... fancy."

She laughed. "It's overwhelming the first time. But stick with me. Andrew's giving a speech soon, and then the real fun starts. Rumor has it his brother’s flying in tonight. Some big-shot from up north."

Anxiety shot through my stomach. The twin brother. Jennifer had mentioned him Friday, tied to ancient packs.

I scanned the room, spotting Andrew near the stage. He looked every inch the CEO in a tailored black tuxedo, his jet-black hair perfectly styled. He was surrounded by executives, nodding politely, but his posture was rigid, like he was bracing for something.

Before I could dwell on it, the lights dimmed a bit, and a spotlight hit the stage. Andrew stepped up to the podium and cleared his throat into the microphone. The room grew silent.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice filled with authority, "thank you for joining us at the Smithwood Industries Annual Gala. This year has been one of growth and innovation, but tonight, we're not just celebrating business. We're honoring the connections that bind us."

His eyes swept the crowd, pausing for a fraction of a second on me. My heart skipped anyway.

As applause rippled through the room, the double doors at the far end swung open. A murmur spread like wildfire. Two men entered, flanked by security that looked more like enforcers than event staff.

The one on the left was Andrew, but he had come from the side earlier. No… the man leading the way was identical.

He had the same height, broad shoulders, and the same other sharp features. But where Andrew's eyes were piercing blue, this man's eyes were a vivid green, surveying the room with predatory intensity.

He wore a suit similar to Andrew's, but it hung on him with an air of untamed authority, like he was used to wearing crowns instead of ties.

"Daryl," someone muttered nearby. "The Lycan King."

My heart skipped a breath. A Lycan? As in the ancient royal bloodline, hidden in the forests beyond Seattle?

I’d heard stories growing up, whispers of kings who ruled werewolf society from the shadows. But they were myths, or so I’d thought. Especially for someone like me, wolfless and overlooked.

Daryl strode forward, the crowd parting instinctively. Andrew met him at the edge of the stage, their handshake brief and tense. Daryl leaned in, saying something low that made Andrews jaw clench in fury.

Then Daryl turned to the microphone.

"Brothers and sisters of the pack," Daryl declared, his voice deep and resonant, carrying without effort, "and our human allies. I am Daryl Smithwood, King of the Lycans. I come tonight not just as Andrew's brother, but to share in this celebration."

Silence rippled in the atmosphere. Humans looked confused, but the wolves among us shifted uneasily, eyes glittering in recognition.

Daryl's gaze roamed around the room, deliberate, until it locked on me.

The world tilted.

A strange heat bloomed in my chest, like an invisible thread pulling taut. It wasn't painful. It was insistent, drawing me toward him and causing the glass in my hand to shiver.

Daryl's lips curved into a slow, possessive smile. He left the stage, ignoring the gasps, and headed beeline toward me.

The transfixed crowd watched as he stopped inches away, towering over me. Up close, he was even more imposing, his presence radiating power that made my knees weak.

"Seraphine Johnson," he said, his voice a low rumble meant only for me. "At last."

My mouth went dry. "How do you know my name?"

His green eyes bored into mine, intense and unyielding. "I would know you anywhere. The Moon Goddess has spoken. You are my fated mate."

The words hung in the air, then exploded into chaos. Gasps echoed as mutters turned to outright exclamations.

"Fated mate?" someone hissed. "But it's obvious she's wolfless!"

My face drowned in humiliation. How could I be fated to a Lycan King? It was impossible. Laughable. I was the girl who couldn't shift, who hid her lack of a wolf like a shameful secret.

"This is a mistake," I stammered, stepping back. "I don't... I can't be."

Daryl reached out, his fingers brushing my arm. The touch sent a jolt through me, electric and unwelcome. "The bond doesn't lie, little one. Despite your condition, you are mine and destined to be my Luna."

From the front of the room, a woman pushed through the crowd. Tall and blonde, her gown shimmered silver and it screamed wealth.

Christina Ashford, I realized, from the photos I'd seen in company newsletters. Daryl's rumored chosen mate. Her face was a mask of fury, eyes narrowed on me like daggers.

"Daryl," she shrieked, her voice piercing enough to cut glass. "What is this nonsense? You were about to announce me as your Luna tonight in front of everyone."

Daryl turned to her with a softened expression, but his hand stayed on my arm. "Plans change, Christina. I can't deny the Goddess’s choice."

Her laugh was bitter. “Her? A wolfless analyst? This is a joke. The packs will never accept it. You're ruining everything!"

The room buzzed with agreement from some corners, wolves muttering about tradition and bloodlines. I felt exposed, small, like I was on trial for existing.

Andrew appeared at Daryl's side, his face a storm cloud. "Brother, enough. This isn't the place."

Daryl shot him a glare. "It is exactly the place. My mate deserves to be claimed publicly." He faced me again, tightening his grip. "Come with me, Seraphine. We have much to discuss."

Despite my heart pounding, I yanked my arm free. "No. I don't want this. Any of it."

His eyes darkened, but before he could respond, Christina surged forward, her voice a venomous whisper. "You think you can steal my crown? Watch your back, wolfless."

She stormed off, the crowd swallowing her. Daryl watched her go, then focused on me again. "She'll come around. They all will. You belong to me now."

I looked to Andrew, pleading silently for help. His blue eyes met mine, filled with something raw, regret, anger, longing. But he uttered no word, his hands clenched at his sides.

The Lycan law.

I remembered that from old stories. No one could interfere with a fated bond; not even a brother.

Daryl gripped my hand again, pulling me toward the exit. "Let’s leave this circus. The palace awaits us."

As we moved through the stunned crowd, I glanced back. Andrew stood frozen, his gaze locked on us. And in that moment, I saw the truth in his eyes: he knew more than he was saying. But whatever it was, it was too late.

The doors closed behind us, sealing my fate in a world I never asked for.