Chapter 70
Chapter 70
The moment I pull my mouth away from Alaric’s, I feel it.
That stare.
It’s not subtle. It never is. His eyes aren’t on my face. They’re on my hand–still curled loosely at Alaric’s collar. On my thumb brushing the edge of skin I know by memory now. On how close my mouth was to the King’s ear.
Confusion hits him first. Then possession. Then something wounded and ugly crawls up behind it.
Good.
I break eye contact first–on purpose.
Not because I’m done. But because I want him to feel it. I look back at Alaric and I step back now that he’s surrounded by other Alphas who wants to talk to him. My smile doesn’t falter. It settles into place–polished, diplomatic, deadly calm.
The smile I perfected for years as Luna. Alaric’s jaw tightens.
Once.
Twice.
I know that look. I’ve seen it in battle councils and blood–soaked halls, when he’s deciding whether restraint is worth the effort. He looks like he wants to argue. As if he wants to grab me, haul me back to that throne, sit me on his knee in front of every Alpha here and make a very public fucking point. To not disturb us.
A reminder.
Mine.
The thought makes something coil hot and furious in my gut.
Instead, his gaze cuts past me.
And into Cassian.
Alaric’s eyes narrow, the room seeming to shrink around the weight of his attention. “Guard her,” he snaps, voice edged just enough to carry, authority cracking like a whip.
Cassian doesn’t even blink.
“I already am p>
Oh. That was a mistake.
Alaric’s head turns slowly, like a predator tracking something stupid enough to move. He glares at Cassian,
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Chapter 70
the kind of glare that’s ended bloodlines. “I wasn’t asking p>
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Cassian shifts his weight–just barely–but it’s enough. A deliberate refusal to bow, to soften, to back down. “I will guard her, Your Highness. You need not worry about her p>
The silence that follows is vicious.
For a split second, I swear Alaric’s going to growl. The sound is right there, low and feral, vibrating in his chest. I feel it more than hear it, a warning bell thrumming against my ribs like my body still knows his tells better than my mind wants to admit.
Around us, the gathered Alphas hold their breath. No one moves. No one dares.
Then Alaric exhales hard through his nose.
He straightens, every inch the High Alpha again, rage packed down behind bone–deep discipline. He doesn’t look at Cassian anymore. And with final look at me he turns toward the assembly instead, shoulders squared, crown heavy with the weight of what he didn’t do.
But I catch it–the last flicker of his restraint cracking.
And I know.
This isn’t over.
Not by a long fucking shot.
Well, I might have to think of that reward.
He leaves–but not before looking back at me. Once. Twice. Each glance heavy, possessive, promising retribution later for daring to shove a King away in public.
I turn to Beta Cassian instead and lift my chin like I’m not affected at all.
Let him stew.
As soon as he’s gone, I turn to Cassian. “You don’t need to stand guard p>
“I do,” he says calmly.
“You’re an envoy,” I remind him. “Your presence here is political, not decorative p>
“Still prefer standing with you p>
I snort quietly before I can stop myself. “You’re not the only one p>
That makes his mouth twitch, but his eyes stay serious. He scans the room–exits, corners, raised voices- before looking back at me. “You shouldn’t be alone p>
“I’ve been alone for a long time,” I say lightly. “This isn’t new p>
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He hesitates. I can see the calculation happening in real time. Duty versus instinct. King versus conscience.
“This is your only chance tonight,” I add gently, “to make alliances without Alaric looming over everyone like a fucking executioner p>
Cassian exhales. “You drive a hard bargain, Luna p>
“Former,” I correct. “And don’t call me that p>
Another pause. Then he nods once. “I’ll be nearby then, Your Highness p>
“Close enough,” I say.
He steps away reluctantly, melting into the crowd of Alphas like a blade sliding back into a sheath.
I’m alone.
And for the first time tonight, I can breathe. I walk off the thrones and down where the servants usually are.
The packhouse hasn’t changed much. Same stone floors polished to a dull shine. Same banners stitched with old victories that everyone pretends still matter. The ballroom hums behind me–music, laughter, lies layered over lies–but I drift away from it, slipping through an archway into a quieter wing.
This part of the house remembers me.
The light dims. The air smells like soap and linen instead of wine and sweat. I don’t make it three steps before someone notices.
An omega freezes mid–fold, cloth slipping from her hands as her eyes widen so fast it’s like the world just cracked open in front of her.
“Luna Sorin?” she whispers, barely breathing it, as if saying my name too loud might make me disappear.
Another omega looks up. Then another. A bowl tips, clattering softly against stone as someone’s fingers go slack. The sound echoes too loud in the narrow corridor, sharp as a gunshot.
Then they bow.
Not because they were told to. Not because they think. Pure reflex. Old loyalty burned into muscle and bone.
“Don’t,” I say immediately, stepping forward. “Please. Don’t do that p>
They hesitate, caught halfway between instinct and confusion, then slowly straighten. Disbelief fractures across their faces, raw and unguarded. One of them takes a step toward me, hands shaking as though she’s not sure whether she’s about to hug a ghost or get her heart broken all over again.
“You’re alive,” she says, voice breaking on the words.
“Last I checked,” I reply, forcing a crooked smile, trying to keep this from turning into something heavier than I can carry.
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Someone lets out a shaky laugh, half–sob, half–relief. The tension snaps, and suddenly they’re all talking at once–voices overlapping, colliding.
They thought I was dead. They were told I was dead. The pack mourned. The rites were done. Everything changed after I was gone. The hierarchy shifted. The rules hardened. And Ariel-
I lift my hand sharply. “Easy. One at a time p>
They quiet almost instantly, eyes locking onto me like I’m something fragile and sacred at the same time. Like if they breathe wrong, I’ll shatter.
I hate that look.
“I’m fine,” I say, firmer now. “I’m really fine p>
A few of them nod, but I can see it–they don’t believe me. One omega swallows hard, her throat bobbing. “We miss you. You were kind to us,” she says quietly. “You actually listened. You made things… safer p>
I blink, the words landing harder than any accusation ever could. My chest tightens. Just how exactly si Ariel treating them?
Before I can figure out how to respond without sounding like an idiot, someone opens their mouth and lets the truth spill out raw and ugly.
“She’s not,” an omega mutters, bitterness cutting through her voice. “The current Luna. She–she treats us like property. She p>
“Stop,” I snap, sharper than I mean to be, instinct kicking in. “Don’t say it p>
The damage is already done. I see it in their faces–the fear, the resentment, the exhaustion they’re used to hiding. I also see the way their shoulders tense, like prey that just realized it spoke too loud.
Too late.
Footsteps slam down the corridor, heavy and fast, boots striking stone with purpose. The sound isn’t rushed- it’s angry, the kind that makes spines straighten and mouths shut.
Every omega stiffens.
I step forward without thinking, positioning myself between them and the approaching threat, pulse hammering as the echoes get closer. Whatever’s coming down that hall, it’s not gentle.
And I already know exactly whose mess this is.
The smell of alcohol hits me before I even see him.
Sour. Stale. Heavy enough to coat the back of my throat.
An elder staggers into view, robe hanging crooked off one shoulder, belt loose, eyes bloodshot and sharp with the kind of mean that comes from thinking you’re untouchable. His gaze sweeps the group once, lazy and contemptuous, then locks onto the omega who spoke.
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Predatory. Certain.
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He crosses the space in three unsteady strides and grabs the Omega that spoke just now by the hair, fist tangling hard, yanking her backward with a snarl. Shit.
“Running your fucking mouth now?” he spits, breath reeking as he jerks her off balance.
She cries out, hands scrabbling uselessly at his arm.
I don’t think. I don’t hesitate.
I move.
My hand clamps around his wrist, iron–hard, stopping the pull mid–jerk. My grip digs in until I feel bone shift under skin. “Let her go,” I say, voice low and flat, every inch of it a threat.
He whirls on me, startled, eyes flicking up my face. For a heartbeat there’s confusion–then recognition curdles it into something ugly.
“You,” he slurs, lips twisting. “The whore Luna p>
That’s when he swings.
The blow comes fast and sloppy, knuckles smashing into my jaw. My head snaps to the side as pain explodes white–hot, ringing through my skull. I stagger a step, boots scraping stone–but I stay upright.
I taste blood immediately, copper sharp on my tongue.
For half a second, my senses flare violently. The corridor sharpens, sounds stretching too loud, too clear. I feel. something watching from the shadows, a presence pressing against my back.
Not Cassian.
Not Alaric.
Something else. Who is it? Why is he not helping?
Then it slips away, leaving my pulse roaring in my ears.
I straighten slowly, rolling my jaw once as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Blood smears across my skin. I look at it, then back at him.
“That,” I say calmly, “was stupid p>
The omegas don’t need to be told twice. “Go,” I bark without looking back. “Now. Find warriors to subdue the elder p>
They scatter instantly, fear snapping into motion. The omega he grabbed twists free as his grip loosens, bolts down the corridor sobbing, hair half–ripped loose.
It’s just us here now.
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He snarls and lunges again, fury replacing his drunken confidence.
I step in and kick him square in the knee.
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There’s a wet, satisfying crack. He screams, leg buckling as he crashes sideways into a table. Wood splinters. Dishes shatter, ceramic exploding across the floor. The corridor clears in a heartbeat, leaving broken plates, spilled food, and just the two of us.
And that unseen pressure again, faint but there, crawling up my spine.
He groans, then drags himself upright, eyes wild, spit flecking his mouth. “You think spreading your legs for the King makes you untouchable after leaving us?” he snarls, pointing a shaking finger at me. “You think that’s why you’re still breathing p>
I don’t react.
I just look at him.
“Say that again,” I tell him softly, voice even, dangerous in its restraint.
He sneers, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Everyone knows how you got his
attention p>
I breathe in slowly.
Breathe out.
The pain in my jaw fades into something distant, irrelevant. My stance settles, weight balanced, ready. Whatever happens next–whether this ends with guards, blood, or something far worse–I’m already prepared.
I don’t take a step back.
I don’t give him an inch.
And I let him see, very clearly, that whatever he thinks I am-
I’m not the one who should be afraid.
“Fucking whore.” he mutters again.
Okay, that’s it.
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