Chapter 23 chapter 23
Ava's POV
Our mothers were sisters. The words were a fissure, splitting the foundation of my world. I was a Royal Lycan. Marcus’s mother and my mother were sisters. That meant Nathan and I… we were cousins. And the billion-dollar contract my father had guaranteed wasn’t just a political agreement, it was a family matter. A secret so dark and tangled it had been buried for thirty years.
I shoved my phone back into my pocket, my mind reeling. The assembly hall, the challenge from the elders, it all faded into a distant, meaningless noise. I looked at Marcus, who was still staring at me with a dawning, confused awe. The truth was a physical barrier between us. He thought he’d seen a flicker of unusual power. I now knew I was a living myth, tied to his family by blood and lies.
“The assembly is dismissed,” I said, my voice ringing with an authority that surprised even me. The pack, still unsettled by what they had witnessed, dispersed without another word.
We returned to the penthouse. After a week in hiding, it felt both familiar and alien. Kael’s security team had swept every inch, installing a new, military-grade security system. Renovations, which had begun before Marcus’s return, were now complete. The cold, sterile bachelor pad had been softened. Bookshelves filled with my favorite novels now lined one wall. A corner of the vast living room had been transformed into a bright, airy art studio, complete with an easel and canvases. He had been creating a home for me, for us, even while our world was falling apart.
In the midst of the silent, looming war, we found a strange, domestic rhythm. The fortress had been a war room. The penthouse became a sanctuary. We fell into a routine, our days filled with plotting and strategy, our nights with a quiet, shared intimacy that blurred the lines of our contract.
One evening, I found him in the kitchen, a space he usually avoided, staring at the contents of the refrigerator as if it were a complex algorithm he couldn’t solve.
“I don’t understand,” he said, a note of genuine frustration in his voice. “There is food in here, but none of it is… food.”
I laughed, a real, unrestrained laugh that echoed in the quiet of the kitchen. “It’s called ingredients, Marcus. You have to cook them.”
He looked at me, a slow, grudging smile touching his lips. “And I suppose you know how to do that?”
“Luna School didn’t cover basic survival skills?” I teased.
That night, I taught him how to make pasta from scratch. We stood side by side, our hands dusted with flour, our shoulders brushing. The easy, domestic act was more intimate than any kiss. We worked together, a seamless team, the rhythm of our movements as synchronized as our battle plans. The simmering tension of the mate bond was a constant, warm hum beneath the surface, a fire banked but never extinguished.
Later, we sat at the kitchen island, sharing a bottle of wine, surrounded by financial projections and logistical charts. The city glittered below us, a silent, sleeping beast.
“You were right,” he said, his voice a low murmur in the quiet room. He swirled the deep red wine in his glass, his gray eyes thoughtful. “About seizing the assets. You saved us, Ava. Not just millions of dollars, but you gave us back control. You saw a move I didn’t.”
“You taught me how to look,” I said quietly.
He shook his head, his gaze meeting mine across the island. The intensity in his eyes made my breath catch. “No. I taught you the rules of the game. But you… you have the instinct. The vision. I brought you into this as a partner for revenge. A means to an end.” He paused, searching for the right words. “I was wrong. I respect you, Ava. More than I ever thought I would.”
The confession hung in the air between us, more potent than any declaration of love. It was a recognition, a validation of everything I was becoming. It was the truth.
I wanted to tell him my truth. About Nathan’s texts, about the Royal Lycan blood, about our mothers. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but the fear held me back. How could I add this burden to his shoulders, the knowledge that our families were so deeply, poisonously intertwined? How could I tell him the prize his brother wanted was a power I was only just beginning to understand I possessed?
So I said nothing, and the moment passed.
The next morning, I woke to the smell of coffee. I walked into the living area to find Marcus standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a mug in his hand, staring out at the sunrise. He had been up all night, I could tell. A new set of satellite images were displayed on the large screen, showing various properties in Silvercrest territory.
“He’s moving,” Marcus said without turning around. “Garry. Rachel’s sources confirmed he’s not in rogue territory anymore. Nathan has him.”
I came to stand beside him, our shoulders almost touching. The easy intimacy of the night before felt like a distant memory, replaced by the cold reality of our war.
“She traced the audio file from the other night,” he continued, his voice tight. “It came from an old, abandoned hunting lodge deep in Silvercrest territory. The property is owned by a shell corporation. Untraceable.”
“But Rachel traced it,” I said.
“She’s good,” he admitted. He finally turned to look at me, and his eyes were bleak. “Too good. She’s getting closer to the truth about Sarah’s murder. And I think Nathan knows it.”
My phone buzzed on the coffee table. It was an alert from an unknown email address. My heart hammered against my ribs. I picked it up, my hands trembling as I opened the message.
There were no words. Just an attachment.
It was a short, ten-second video file.
I pressed play. The image was grainy, shot from a hidden camera. It was a dark, rustic room, a hunting lodge. My ex-fiancé, Garry, was tied to a chair, his face bruised and swollen.
Nathan stepped into the frame, his silver eyes glittering with amusement. He held a phone to Garry’s ear.
“Say hello to your brother’s whore,” Nathan’s voice snarled.
Then, a new figure stepped out of the shadows. My blood turned to ice. It was a woman, her face a mask of cold, vengeful fury.
It was Sarah Mitchell’s twin sister. The private investigator. Rachel.
She smiled, a chilling, terrifying smile, and pressed a gun to Garry’s temple.