Chapter 12 THE COST OF SURVEILLANCE
"We play now, Dorian. Otherwise, this bunker will be our grave tonight."
Serra's words resonated with resolve. The muscles in Dorian’s arms twitched with the glow of the seal. The faint rustling sound outside indicated that agents were listening right above the stone lid of the bunker entrance.
Dorian’s eyes fixed on Serra. There was no more questioning. Only necessary compliance. Instantly, that seductive, dangerous Alpha mask returned to Dorian's face.
"Then, Luna," he said, his voice husky and passionate. "Let's show them just how desperate we are."
Dorian pulled Serra toward him. This was not an act of love; it was a stage performance. Serra buried her face in Dorian’s neck. The hot breath on her skin transmitted the intensity of the role he was playing, not his uncontrolled power.
(PERFORMANCE AND TACTICS)
"They want you," Dorian whispered, his voice sounding like a seductive murmur to the outside. "I know why Marius is waiting in this territory. I'm going to take you from him."
Serra dug her nails into Dorian’s shoulder. This was a warning, disguised as passionate surrender: "Where are the ritual texts?"
"Check the box under the altar. Do it now," Dorian whispered back, nipping her ear. "While they think we are otherwise occupied."
Serra pretended to struggle to break away from Dorian. Dorian pulled her back, pressing her against the wall. This was a public display, showing the Pack a desirable conflict—resistance against his power. Serra used the moment to press her neck close to Dorian’s ear.
"The seal," she whispered. "How much is the humidity affecting you? What's the plan?"
"To protect you," Dorian answered, his breath searing her skin. "And to maintain our lie. The Pack loves the Luna’s resistance, but they love her defeat more."
Dorian released Serra. Both appeared winded, as if recovering from a momentary burst of passion.
(THE DISCOVERY OF RITUAL TEXTS)
Dorian looked around the dim light of the bunker. "They will think I lost control when they find us like this," he said, keeping his voice low.
Serra, while Dorian was distracted, headed toward the crack beneath the altar. She reached her hand inside. Her touch landed on a damp, dusty piece of parchment. She quickly pulled the scroll out.
It contained handwritten texts from the Shadow Age. The ink was old but vivid. This was the ritual text they were searching for to break the curse.
"We found it," Serra whispered. She hurriedly unrolled the parchment.
The text detailed Dorian's seal and the nature of the curse. The curse did not merely restrain an Alpha's power; it was locked onto that Alpha's deepest familial bond.
"Dorian," Serra breathed, reading a sentence on the parchment. "There is a ritual to break the curse. But it requires the blood of someone from the lineage that caused the curse."
Dorian turned to her in shock. "There's no one left in my lineage. My bloodline... only Kael and Valeria."
"No," said Serra, shaking her head. "The ritual requires the blood of the lineage who created the curse. That means, to break your curse, my blood is required."
(THE COST OF SURVEILLANCE)
Just then, a loud chuckle and talking were heard immediately outside the bunker entrance.
"They're inside, boss. I bet the Beta girl has already started playing the role she was meant to."
Dorian and Serra froze. The voices were loud and clear. The agents were not just listening; they were taunting them by showing they were under surveillance.
Dorian's face hardened with fury. This was the ultimate insult to an Alpha's pride: the violation of his control and privacy. The seal on his chest began to burn.
Serra quickly folded the parchment. "Not now, Dorian. They are provoking you. Your seal is strengthening."
"I know who sent them," Dorian said, his voice husky. "They are Marius's former chief spies. They won't leave us alone for another day."
Serra moved close to Dorian and placed her hand directly over his seal. This was not just a touch; it was a power transfer. Her Red Alpha energy flowed into Dorian's constrained power.
"Then tonight, we give them a honeymoon they'll never forget," Serra whispered. "This isn't just a bunker; it's a trap. And they are about to walk right into it."
(SETTING THE TRAP)
Serra’s hand slowly soothed the burning sensation on Dorian’s seal. "We have to set a trap. I know they're two. A male and a female. Marius's right-hand spies, Cassian and Lyra."
"And what do we do, Luna? Invite them to our bedroom?" Dorian’s voice was a rough growl.
"No. We’re going to make them believe that our bedroom will be our grave." Serra carefully tucked the parchment into her inner jacket. "You continue to play the role. Create a suitable moment for them to believe they have won. Then, release your Alpha power for just a split second. It needs to look like I've completely brought you under control just before the lid opens."
Dorian’s eyes lit up with a dark, calculating glint. "And then?"
"You'll shock them while I turn the lid handle. Our mission is to stop Marius. And that begins by silencing every listening ear." Serra moved toward the damp stone. The surveillance agents' laughter continued to echo from outside.
"That is not a move worthy of an Alpha, Luna. That is worthy of a Queen of Spies," Dorian said, the corner of his lips curling into a slight smirk.
(THE TRAP SPRINGS)
Dorian moved to the center of the bunker. He closed his eyes. The energy Serra had transferred to him was enough for a contained explosion of power, one that wouldn't cause him to lose control completely. His seal glowed dark crimson for a second, as if his heart was about to burst.
Outside, the two spies, Lyra and Cassian, felt the sudden surge of pressure on the lid. Lyra's chuckle turned into a gasp of dread. "Pull back, Cassian! The seal... the seal is strengthening!"
At that exact moment, a muffled roar from Dorian echoed out of the bunker. The sound was saturated with raw Alpha power, close enough to burst the eardrums of the listeners. It sounded like the final cry of defiance from within the bunker.
As Lyra and Cassian recoiled, Serra quickly turned the lid handle. The loud clank of the lock was drowned out by Dorian's roar. The lid slid sideways like a tombstone.
As the light flooded the bunker, Dorian and Serra stood directly opposite the two bewildered agents.
"Our honeymoon is over," Dorian said, his voice now carrying a deadly calm.