Chapter 33
Chapter 33
“Where’s the lead dancer?” I demand, my voice clipped.
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The Omegas shuffle like guilty schoolchildren, eyes darting everywhere but mine. One finally murmurs, “She… bailed p>
I blink. “Bailed p>
“Sshe slipped out the back and said she couldn’t take the pressure p>
My mouth falls open before I snap it shut, heat crawling up my neck. The pressure? Her part is the most important out of all of them. You can’t just dip out when the King himself is waiting.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” I mutter, hands on my hips. “You all realize this isn’t some tavern performance, right? The King is out there. Do you understand what happens if we fuck this up p>
Their silence is answer enough.
I’m two seconds from storming after the coward when the announcer’s voice thunders through the hall.a
“The ceremonial dancers will enter in two minutes p>
Two minutes. My chest tightens like a vice.
The Omegas glance at each other, then at me, like I’m supposed to magically pull a replacement dancer out of my ass.
My heart is hammering. Wade is out there. He is out there. Two people I swore I’d never let see me like this again. And now I’m considering walking straight into their line of sight.
I rub my hands over my face, pacing once before I stop. I don’t have a choice. Not really.
“Where’s the lead’s dress?” My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
Gasps ripple. Marg stares at me like I just volunteered for execution. “You can’t be serious p>
“I’m dead serious.” I’m already reaching for the garment, the fabric cool and heavy in my hands. My fingers shake as I pull it on, layer by layer. My stomach twists. The mask will have to be enough.
Marg grabs my arm. “Sorin–wait. What the hell are you doing? You can’t p>
“Do you have the ointment?” I cut in sharply.
Her brow furrows. “What for? Your scars are healed p>
“Just–do you have it p>
She hesitates, then digs into her pocket and pulls out the tiny tin. I snatch it before she can ask again. My thumb flicks the lid. open. My stomach drops. There’s barely anything left.
Fuck.
This ointment is the only thing masking my scent. The only reason I’ve been able to move around undetected this long. And now I’m about to perform in front of the most dangerous Lycan alive with a half–empty tin.
I scoop the pathetic remains onto my fingers and smear it across my wrists. Marg frowns. “Why are you putting it there p>
I don’t answer. I can’t. My throat is too tight.
Chapter 33
The announcer calls again, louder this time, his voice booming through the marble.
“Presenting the ceremonial dancers of the Imperial Pack p>
The double doors creak. The air in the hall goes still.
Shit. No time.
I close my eyes for a split second, whispering a prayer I don’t believe in, then step into place at the head of the line. The music swells, the heavy doors open, and we glide into the sea of masks.
The room is bathed in moonlight from the dome above, casting silver across marble floors. My pulse pounds so loud I can hear it over the violins.
And there he is.
The Alpha King.
Alaric Hayes lounges on his throne, cheek resting against his fist like he’s bored out of his mind. But his eyes–amber and sharp even behind the mask–arę locked on me.
My knees threaten to buckle. I force my body to keep moving. One step. Another.
I tear my gaze away, searching the crowd, and freeze when I find him. Wade. He’s here. His stare is fixed on the dancers, not on me. Not yet. My lungs feel too small.
The music shifts. My cue.
I start the steps, muscle memory guiding me. My feet glide, my arms sweep, the dress swirls around my legs. It’s mechanical at first, every movement drawn from years of practice, from a life I thought I’d buried.
But Alaric doesn’t look away. Not once. His gaze burns like it’s peeling me open, layer by layer.
My stomach lurches when his body suddenly tenses. He inhales sharply, his expression changing. Alert. A predator catching
scent.
Oh no.
His eyes snap to mine. Wide. Panicked.
Fuck.
I glance down at my wrists. The ointment is already drying, the faint sheen gone. My scent. It’s leaking through.
Panic claws up my throat. I spin too fast, my foot catching. I stumble, hit the floor hard. Gasps ripple through the crowd.
My palms sting against the marble. My mask slips slightly. I shove it back in place as I scramble up, but another dancer crashes into me. My shoulder slams into hers, sending me reeling again.
Laughter. Not kind. Not quiet.
I glance up just long enough to see Ariel smirking from the crowd, her eyes glittering with delight at my humiliation.
Rage burns hot in my chest, but I push it down and force myself back on my feet. One more chance. One more time.
The violins rise–my solo part.
I inhale sharply, block out everything–the crowd, the smirks, the danger–and let my body take over.
Chapter 33
And I dance.
Every movement is sharper, faster, heavier with years of pain and rage and betrayal. My chest heaves, my pulse roars in my
ears.
The world narrows until it’s just me and the moonlight.
Just me and him.
Alaric’s eyes never leave me.
Applause crashes around me, deafening, but it feels like the floor’s been ripped out from under me. My lungs can’t keep up. I’m still bowed low in front of the King, chest heaving, mask hiding the worst of my panic.
I lift my head just enough to meet him–and freeze.
He’s there, of course, a fucking storm wrapped in black silk and gold embroidery, staring at me like I’ve just crawled out of his most violent fantasy. But it isn’t him that kills me.
It’s the man beside him.
Tall, broad, and the title Beta written all over his stance. My stomach caves in. His hand flicks, and I catch it—a silver glint. That ring.
My blood ices.
That’s him. The bastard from the lake. The only man in this godsdamn pack who knows exactly who I am. Sorin Carter. The disgraced Luna. The rogue who was supposed to be dead.
My throat goes dry. I don’t move. Don’t breathe. If I blink, I’ll give myself away.
Then Alaric’s voice cuts through the clapping. Deep. Commanding. Hungry.
“Remove your mask p>
The room stills. All those eyes swing toward me. He doesn’t even bother disguising the anticipation in his tone. He’s not asking. He’s fucking daring me.
My gaze jerks to the Beta. His eyes narrow, lips twitching like he’s about to open his mouth and ruin me.
“No,” I rasp.
Too soft. No one hears.
Alaric’s amber stare sharpens, pinning me like a predator waiting for me to twitch the wrong way. “Remove it. Now p>
The silence burns. My palms sweat against the satin of my dress. I force air into my lungs and make myself speak louder.
“I can’t,” I say, words sharp but shaky. “I’m hideous under this. Better you don’t see p>
A murmur sweeps through the hall, nobles whispering behind jeweled fans and wine glasses. The Beta tilts his head, almost amused, but I see the recognition in his eyes. He knows.
Alaric steps closer. “Hideous doesn’t scare me.” His mouth curves–dark, wicked. “Defiance does. And you’re dripping with it p>
My chest tightens. He’s enjoying this. He wants me cornered. He wants me to break.
But if I take this mask off, it’s over.
“I need to go,” I blurt, heart pounding, my body already shifting back a step.
Chapter 33
And then I bolt.
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Gasps rip through the crowd. My skirts whip around my legs as I sprint across the marble, straight for the side doors.
“Seal the halls!” Alaric’s roar explodes behind me.
The heavy wooden doors slam one after another, boom after boom, cutting off exits left and right. My pulse hammers as I dodge nobles and servers, shoving past gowns, knocking into trays of wine. I run harder, my shoes slipping on polished
stone.
The last door–the farthest one–is still open. Just a sliver. A heartbeat left.
I push harder, lungs burning, legs screaming.
And crash straight into someone.
The impact knocks me back a step. I glance up and my stomach caves in again.
Wade.
For one split second, everything stops. His familiar face, sharper than I remember. His eyes rake over me–curious, suspicious. Recognition flickers, like a match threatening to catch.
Fuck.
I shove off him and squeeze into the tiny gap just as the doors thunder shut. My skirts snag, but I rip the fabric free, tumbling into the corridor outside.
The slam echoes. My chest heaves, sweat dripping down my spine.
Then–shouts. Heavy boots pounding the hall. Warriors. They’re coming.
Move, Sorin.
I take off, skirts bunched in my fists, racing through the candlelit passageways, past carved columns and tapestries. My lungs are fire. My ears are sharp–every sound amplified.
I cut toward the servants‘ wing, heart hammering. The Omega quarters. That’s my only shot.
I burst inside, slam the door, and stumble to Marg’s drawer. Fingers shaking, I rip it open, toss aside linens, and find it–the ointment jar. Relief slices through the panic.
No time.
I strip out of the dance gown, tearing the damn thing off and throwing it over the balcony railing. My skin’s slick with sweat, goosebumps raising under the cool night air drifting through the window. I shove into one of the guest dresses–plain white, quick, safer.
Warriors‘ voices echo down the corridor. “Check every Omega! Masks off p>
Shit.
I climb onto the balcony, gripping the railing with scraped palms, and shimmy across to the dining hall’s terrace. My legs shake, my dress snagging on stone. One slip and I’m dead.
I drag myself up, swing onto the balcony, and straighten. My lungs are ragged, my whole body trembling.
Then I freeze.
Chapter 33
Wade.
He’s leaning against the balcony’s edge, cigarette glowing between his fingers. Smoke curls lazily in the air, wrapping around him like a ghost.
My heart stops.
He hasn’t seen me yet. Or maybe he has. I force my breathing to steady, force my legs to walk. Act like you belong here. Act cool.
One step. Two. My hand brushes the door handle. Almost there.
A grip clamps around my arm.
I whip my head, heart in my throat.
Wade’s eyes bore into mine, narrowed, sharp, too close. His voice is low, lethal.
“Who the fuck are you p>
Cedella
Cedella is a passionate storyteller known for her bold romantic and spicy novels that keep readers hooked from the very first chapter. With a flair for crafting emotionally intense plots and unforgettable characters, she blends love, desire, and drama into every story she writes. Cedella’s storytelling style is immersive and addictive—perfect for fans of heated romances and heart-pounding twists.