Chapter 238
JACOB
The rogue girl surprised me.
I’d expected someone wild, sharp–edged. Maybe hollow–eyed with hinger or scarred from a life lived too long in the dirt. That’s how rogues usually showed up–half–feral, eyes darting like cornered animals.
But Maggie Thorn didn’t flinch. She didn’t posture or plead. She sal straight–backed on the witness stand, voice steady, and told a room full of powerful wolves that she would do it all again if it meant her people had a shot at something better.
Her people.
Not “my faction.” Not “the rogues.” Her pack.
And she said it like she believed it. Like that fractured, lawless sprawl of wolves living on the edge of our territories was a real pack, not a mess of survivalists clinging to the scraps of what our world refused to give them.
It stirred something in me, watching her. Maybe because I’m used to rogue excuses sounding like, “I needed food, so I took it,” or “He looked at me wrong, so I snapped his neck.”
Not this girl. Not Maggie Thorn. She talked about structure. About change. About vision.
And she wasn’t even the most shocking part.
That came when Elena Hart–the Moonstone princess herself–stood up for her.
I remembered Elena from the Alpha Ball. Of course I did. Everyone did. She was elegant and bright in that gorgeous dress, shoulders squared and eyes fierce even as she pretended she didn’t know every unmated male in the room was staring.
I’d made a point of saying hello that night. She was the kind of person you made time for.
I’d seen her again in Barbados. Briefly. Just long enough to admire the curve of her legs beneath a linen wrap and remind myself that some wolves wore power like perfume–light enough to disarm, strong enough to choke if you got too close.
But nothing prepared me for seeing her on the witness stand.
Not testifying about her pack. Not making a diplomatic statement. Defending a rogue. With passion. With fire. She looked every bit the Luna she was bred to be–only fiercer, sharper, completely unbothered by the scandal it might spark.
She called out bias. She challenged protocol. She told the truth, even when it made her look fragile.
It was intoxicating.
So when I walked into the hotel bar after the verdict and saw her sitting alone–her fated mate, Derek King, stalking off like a storm cloud–I knew I wasn’t leaving without a conversation.
And if Derek saw me sitting beside her?
Even better.
There’s a special kind of pleasure in needling someone like Derek. It’s not just the rivalry–we all have those. It’s that he’s so painfully aware of it.
Derek King, all muscle and discipline and brooding intensity, has been my opposite since we were boys. Where I flowed, he braced. Where I charmed, he growled. And Goddess, did it eat at him when I smiled my way into wins he had to bleed for.
He hated that I made it look easy.
He hated it even more when it actually was.
So yes–when I saw him sit down beside Elena, and she turned away, jaw tight and eyes shadowed–I paused. Waited. Watched.
Chapter 238
+25 BONUS
When he stood up, resigned and clearly dismissed, my smile practically stretched itself. It was an opening I couldn’t have scripfed better.
slid into the seat he’d just left. Still warm. The woman beside it? Still tense.
Her shoulders were tight, fingers wrapped around her drink, knuckles pale. She didn’t look at me right away.
So I broke the silence. “You caused quite the stir in there.”
The rest was instinct.
Wit. Patience. A little curiosity, real or not, layered with just enough intrigue to keep her from shutting down. Elena Hart didn’t suffer fools, that much was obvious. But she wasn’t immune to being seen. Really seen.
So I gave her that. I listened. I complimented without flattery. And then, just when she was starting to ease into the conversation, I asked about the foundation.
I expected hesitation. Maybe even a brush–off.
What I got was honesty. That rare, spine–straight certainty that cuts through noise like a blade.
“I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean,” she said.
And I believed her.
It was, surprisingly, not a bad idea. A foundation to help reintegrate rogues. Give them structure. Safety. A shot at something that wasn’t just blood and exile.
If she built it, it could actually shift something in our politics. And if I was publicly aligned with it–well, that kind of goodwill carried weight. Council favor. Press opportunities. Hell, my PR manager might even kiss me on the mouth for that one.
But the real prize?
Time with her.
Time beside her. Around her. Her scent. Her fire. Her presence. Derek may have been her fated mate, but he clearly didn’t know what to do with her. He’d let her walk into a political firestorm alone. Let her sit at this bar alone, too.
And I?
I had a seat beside her. A glass in my hand. And
now, her interest.
When I handed her my card, I watched her fingers brush the edge of it like she wasn’t sure what it meant to accept. I could practically feel the moment her pulse ticked up.
She didn’t expect me to care. She didn’t expect me to see her, not beyond the scandal headlines and courtroom speeches. But I did. And even if half of it was calculation, the other half was something stranger. Something more dangerous.
I wanted her.
And not just in that typical, wolfish sense. Not just the curve of her mouth or the way her voice sharpened when she got serious. I wanted the force of her. The cause in her. The Luna buried beneath years of pain and politics.
Could I sleep with her? Maybe.
Would it drive Derek King absolutely insane? Definitely.
And wasn’t that just the cherry on top?
As I walked away from the bar, leaving my drink untouched and her fingers curled around my business card, I felt the same thrill I used to get before a competition. That sweet electric anticipation of the first strike.
This wasn’t just about attraction.
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Chapter 238
This was a game now.
And I was going to enjoy every damn move.
+25 BONUS
I woke the next morning before dawn. Old habits. I ran before breakfast, then spent an hour sparring in the hotel gym with one of my enforcers. It helped focus my energy. Kept my instincts sharp
But even as I worked through footwork drills, my mind wasn’t fully on the fight.
It was on her.
I imagined her reading the card. Imagined her talking about the foundation to her pack. Wondering whether Derek had said something to her after I left. If they’d argued. If he’d apologized.
If she’d forgiven him.
I doubted it.
She’d looked tired. Raw. Not like someone ready to slide back into fated mate bliss. No, Elena Hart was at a crossroads. I could see it plain as day. She didn’t want comfort. She wanted purpose.
And that was something I could offer.
Later that morning, I called my assistant and told her to begin drafting a proposal for a philanthropic grant series focused on rogue reintegration initiatives. I had no intention of launching it without Elena. But I wanted to be ready.
Because if I was going to play this game, I needed to be near the board.
And Elena Hart? She wasn’t just a piece on it.
She was the game.
