Chapter 64
DEREK
Cassandra’s father, Alpha Bruce Laurent of the Eastern Ridge Pack, was the kind of man who didn’t believe in personal space or indoor voices. He had a laugh like an avalanche and a handshake that could fracture bone. We were only two courses into dinner and already I was counting the minutes until I could get the hell out of this meal.
He clapped me on the back again, making the silverware on the table jump. “Damn good turnout for this Summit, huh? Makes a man feel safer knowing all these Alphas are willing to talk, even if some of them have no backbone.” He let out another one of his roaring chuckles, then downed the last of his wine like it was water.
I gave a tight smile and signaled the waiter. Laurent had ordered the most expensive bottle
on the menu and expected me to cover it without so much as blinking. Not that I cared about the money–but the presumption grated.
“So,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, as if the entire restaurant wasn’t within earshot. “When are you going to make an honest woman out of my daughter?”
I swallowed a sip from my own glass and kept my expression neutral. “That would be
between Cassandra and me.”
He waved a thick hand. “Oh, don’t give me that diplomatic Alpha nonsense. You know what she wants. What this pack needs.”
His tone lowered. “We’re not all as big and fortified as Silverclaw, Derek. You marry her, our packs unify. We get a little breathing room. Maybe even enough to fend off these damn rogue raids.”
He didn’t seem to care what an alliance between our families would mean for my pack. That we would gain nothing but more mouths to feed and wolves to protect.
The guilt he was laying on didn’t hit like he wanted it to. Mostly because I’d heard it before. From Cassandra. From my Betas. From him.
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Always the same story–Cassandra’s a good match, think of the politics, think of the resources. Think of the alliance.
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The restaurant was one of the finer ones on the summit grounds, set apart from the hotel itself–quiet, elegant, private enough to avoid press but popular enough to attract the high–ranking. Most of the tables around us were filled with Alphas and Lunas from the conference, their voices low but intense as they navigated politics and posturing over wine
and seared steak.
I absently fingered the rim of my glass.
Across from me, Cassandra’s father laughed at his own joke, cheeks flushed from the wine. He clapped me on the shoulder again like we were old hunting buddies instead of two men with nothing in common but a tenuous alliance.
The soft chime of the door opening pulled my gaze away from his smug, wine–glossed grin.
And then I saw her.
Elena.
She swept into the restaurant like she belonged to a world most people only dreamed of. Dressed in deep green that made her eyes look like a storm at sea, her chin was held high, her shoulders squared with quiet grace.
She didn’t stride in like an Alpha ready for battle–she moved like someone born to royalty. Composed. Unshakable. The Luna she’d been raised to be, carrying her bloodline’s authority with elegance sharpened by steel.
My stomach clenched. Logan–who was here representing his own pack–walked beside her, saying something in her ear that made her lips twitch–almost a smile.
Laurent kept talking, but I couldn’t hear him anymore. My blood had started to buzz in my veins, the way it always did when Elena was close. I took a drink just to cover the fact that I couldn’t look away.
They were seated three tables over, Logan pulling out her chair for her like a dutiful escort
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Chapter 64
at cotillion. As soon as she was seated, her gaze swept up and met mine.
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She looked at me one more second that I had expected her to and then turned her attention
to the wine list.
Laurent finally noticed my distraction and turned, following my one of sight. “Moonstone girl,” he grunted. “Pretty, I’ll give her that. But trouble. You already had your go with that one, didn’t you?”
I didn’t answer. He knew as well as everyone else that I had. Afterall, it was still all over the news, though it had gradually leaked out of the headlines and into the gossip rags.
He smirked. “You certainly don’t need a second try. My daughter’s still waiting for you to
come to your senses.”
I was about to offer a response–probably one that would have ended dinner a lot earlier than planned–when the floor shook.
Not an earthquake shake. Not a dropped plate.
The wineglasses on every table rattled. The chandeliers above us swayed. A couple of patrons paused mid–bite, looking around in confusion.
Laurent sat up straighter. “What the hell was that?”
I was already on my feet. “Get down.”
Another boom. This one louder, closer. My instincts screamed.
People started shouting. Somewhere in the back of the restaurant, a server dropped a tray and glass shattered on the floor.
And then the third explosion hit.
The windows blew inward, glass slicing through the air like shrapnel. The lights flickered and died. Screams rose up all around us.
The wall to my right caved slightly, debris falling like snow from the ceiling tiles. Smoke
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began to curl in from the hallway, the acrid scent of burning plastic and chemicals stinging
my nose.
‘I didn’t hesitate.
“Elena.”
I moved, shoving past fallen chairs, slipping in someone’s spilled drink. The smoke thickened fast. Visibility dropped.
Across the room, I saw her. Logan had her by the hand and was already pulling her toward
the exit. Good. He’d keep her safe.
That should have been enough.
But it wasn’t.
Laurent shouted something behind me. I didn’t stop to listen. I ducked through a cracked pane of drywall, emerging into the hallway just as another explosion rocked the building- this one from above. Dust rained down, choking the air.
Guerrilla warfare, I thought.
It clicked into place in my brain as I ducked beneath a beam. This wasn’t random. This
wasn’t a tantrum from some scattered rogue faction. This was a planned assault. Timed.
Coordinated.
Targeted.
The Summit was the most strategic gathering of power we’d had in decades. Every major Alpha, every heir, every second–in–command. This was the perfect place to strike if you wanted to destabilize the whole damn region.
They didn’t want to wipe us out.
They wanted us afraid.
I rounded a corner and found a young warrior dragging an injured elder out of the smoke.
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“Get him to safety,” I barked. “Basement level. It’s the strongest part of the structure.”
He nodded and kept moving.
A low growl to my left made me turn. A rogue–tall, scarred, with eyes that gleamed red in the flickering light–emerged from the haze.
I shifted mid–stride, bones snapping, muscles tearing, the pain as sharp and familiar as breathing. Erebus exploded from within me, claws raking the floor as he launched himself forward with a howl of pure rage.
The rogue didn’t stand a chance.
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