Chapter 162 You are Mine, not Theirs-We are Here, not There
Five miles away, Jax was a shadow among shadows. He watched through thermal binoculars as the Annex security lights flared, indicating the party was well underway.
"The distraction is working," Jax whispered into his comms. "The Council is so busy being offended by Leela’s dress and Fenn’s temper that they’ve pulled the internal guards from the Vane vault to watch the dining room perimeter."
Jax signaled to his team. Four elite Blackwood wolves, ghosts in matte-black gear, moved forward. They didn't use the doors; they used a ventilation shaft Jax had mapped out weeks ago.
"Target is the sub-basement vault," Jax commanded. "They’re trying to loll my brother into a seat while they burn the truth. We take the pictures, we pull the drives, and we get out before the dessert course. Go dark."
Jax dropped twenty feet into the darkness of the vault's intake, his heart beating with the steady, cold rhythm of a predator. While the Council was busy worrying about what Leela was wearing, Jax was about to show them what they had truly lost.
Back at the dinner, the air had turned stagnant. The Chancellor leaned in, his smile thin and oily. "Alpha, truly, the 'Drawing Room' protocol is for your own benefit. The topics we must discuss—vacancies within the High Council, specifically a seat for a man of your... caliber—are far too dry for the Luna. Surely, she would prefer the comfort of the conservatory."
Fennigan’s eyes went dark, but before he could speak, the room shifted.
Leela didn't move a muscle, but the elemental stone at her chest flared into a blinding, violent emerald. Suddenly, the massive mahogany table groaned. The heavy stone walls of the Annex began to shudder, the crystal chandelier overhead screaming as it swayed. A low, rhythmic boom shook the floorboards, sending wine slopping over the rims of the glasses.
"Good heavens!" the Chancellor gasped, gripping the table as the building rattled. "An earthquake? In these mountains?"
"The earth is very unpredictable ," Leela said calmly, her voice a cool contrast to the tectonic violence she was silently exerting. "Perhaps it's a sign that the night is over."
Fennigan stood, his hand resting firmly on Leela's shoulder. "We appreciate the hospitality, Chancellor, but my mate is tired. We are returning home."
"But Alpha! The seat! The openings!" the Chancellor sputtered, stumbling as another "aftershock" rippled through the room. "We have so much to discuss!"
"Send a letter," Fennigan threw back over his shoulder as he led Leela toward the door. "The night is over. And I find I’ve lost my appetite for your company."
The drive back toward the Blackwood lands was thick with a silence that wasn't peaceful; it was a pressurized chamber of adrenaline and unspoken fury. Every time Fennigan glanced at Leela, the sight of the gold chains biting into her tan skin and the steady, emerald glow of the stone reminded him of the vultures they had just escaped.
Halfway home, on a secluded stretch of blacktop flanked by towering pines, the tension finally snapped. Fennigan didn't say a word as he jerked the SUV onto the shoulder, the tires spitting gravel. He killed the engine and the lights, plunging them into the deep, velvet shadows of the forest.
The silence lasted only a heartbeat.
Fennigan reached for her, his large hand cupping the back of her neck with a proprietary force that pulled her toward him. He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, taking a deep, desperate breath of her scent—the mountain mint and jasmine she’d worn, now mixed with the heated musk of her own skin. A low, guttural growl vibrated against her throat, a sound of pure relief and ownership.
Leela didn't hesitate. The "Luna" persona she had maintained at the dinner shattered, replaced by a raw, hunger. Despite the gold chains and the heavy, liquid silk of the midnight dress, she began to climb over the center console. It was a chaotic struggle of limbs and fabric; the gold chains chimed rhythmically against the gear shift, and the silk bunched around her thighs, but the fever in her blood made the obstacles irrelevant.
She settled onto his lap, her legs straddling his hips. Fennigan’s hands immediately found the bare skin of her lower back where the dress dipped low, his touch searing. He pulled her flush against his chest, his mouth finding the sensitive line of her neck.
As his lips pressed into her skin, Leela’s body reacted with a surge of elemental power. A flush of faint white flowers began to bloom across her collarbone and shoulders—her skin’s literal blossom in response to his touch. She threw her head back, her fingers tangling in his hair, her own breath coming in ragged hitches.
"Fenn," she whispered, the name a plea and a command.
Fennigan didn't wait. His hands slid down, hooking under the hem of the silk and hiking it up to her hips. The gold chains that held the dress together at her navel strained and rattled, the metallic music of their movements filling the quiet cabin of the car. He found the heat of her, his touch urgent and unyielding, reclaiming every inch of her that the Council had dared to look at with their greedy, calculating eyes.
It was a hurried, feverish bonding—a desperate shedding of the political masks they had worn all night. Every touch was an assertion: You are mine, not theirs. We are here, not there. The emerald stone at her chest pulsed with a frantic, brilliant light, casting flickering green shadows over Fennigan’s face as he moved with her.
The SUV rocked gently as they found their rhythm, the scent of pine and rain-drenched earth swirling through the cracked window. In that darkened cabin, surrounded by the safety of their own territory, the Council's "golden cage" felt like a distant, pathetic memory. They weren't an Alpha and a Luna negotiating for a seat; they were two forces of nature colliding in the dark, weaving their souls back together after a night in the lion’s den.
When the storm finally broke, Fennigan held her tightly, his forehead resting against hers as they both fought for air. He traced the vine tattoo on her neck with his thumb, sending the little white flowers swimming across her skin. His gaze dark and territorial.
"Let them send their letters," he rasped, his voice thick with the afterglow of their connection. "They have no idea what they’ve actually unleashed."
Leela leaned into him, the white flowers on her skin slowly fading back into her tan, her heart finally finding its steady, natural beat against his.