Chapter 48 The gala

Chapter 48 The gala
The Grand Aurora Hotel ballroom was already legendary before the Unity Ball even began. Thirty-foot ceilings draped in crystal chandeliers that looked like frozen starlight. Black marble floors veined with silver. Walls of smoked glass reflecting a thousand candle flames and the glittering gowns of every major pack leader in North America. The air smelled of expensive perfume, aged whiskey, and barely-leashed wolf.
Emily felt every eye on her the moment the private elevator doors opened onto the red carpet.
She wore silver.
Not just any silver—a liquid-metal gown that poured over her body like mercury, clinging to every curve before flaring into a subtle train. The neckline plunged to her sternum, framed by thin straps that crossed her shoulders and disappeared down her back in an intricate lattice that left most of her spine bare. A high slit on the left leg flashed thigh with every step—high enough to reveal the faint fingerprint bruises Liam had left there two nights ago. Around her throat: a thin platinum choker set with seven small diamonds—one for each brother—nestled just above the fresh bite mark Logan had renewed that morning.
She looked untouchable.
She felt like prey walking into a den of wolves who all wanted to devour her.
Logan walked on her right—black tuxedo cut sharp enough to kill, hand possessive at the small of her back. Lucas flanked her left—charcoal suit, tie the exact shade of her eyes, thumb brushing soothing circles against her wrist. Liam and Lowell moved ahead like twin enforcers—clearing space with sheer size and glare. Luke, Leo, and Levi formed the rear guard—Luke scanning every face, Leo mapping exits, Levi grinning like he dared anyone to try something.
The red carpet photographers lost their minds.
Flashes exploded.
Questions shouted.
“Ms. Anderson—is it true you’re Silverfang?”
“Alpha Logan—comment on the leaked photos?”
“Will you complete the mating bond tonight?”
Logan didn’t even glance at them.
He simply pulled Emily closer—lips brushing her temple as he murmured, “Eyes on me, sweet girl. Let them look. Let them choke on it.”
Inside the ballroom the music paused for half a heartbeat when they entered.
Hundreds of wolves turned.
Some bowed heads in respect.
Some stared with open hunger.
Some—Magnus among them—smiled with teeth.
Oscar stood beside him, glass in hand, eyes locked on Emily like she still belonged to him.
Her wolf snarled.
Logan felt it—his hand flexed against her back.
“Easy,” he whispered. “Not yet.”
They moved through the crowd like a blade—Liam and Lowell parting bodies ahead, the others closing ranks behind. Every step Emily took drew eyes to the way the gown shifted over her hips, the way the diamonds at her throat caught the light, the way seven alphas moved around her like she was the center of their gravity.
She danced with each of them—public, deliberate claiming.
Logan first.
He pulled her onto the dance floor—dominant grip on her waist, other hand capturing hers against his chest. He moved her like he owned every inch of her body—slow, commanding turns that pressed her breasts against his tuxedo jacket, thigh sliding between hers on every dip.
“You’re dripping already,” he growled against her ear. “I can smell it.”
She shivered. “Your fault.”
“Good.”
Lucas next—romantic, tender. He held her close, one hand splayed across her bare lower back, thumb stroking the sensitive dip of her spine. He danced her in slow circles—forehead to forehead—whispering love against her lips between turns.
“You’re breathtaking,” he murmured. “Every wolf in this room wishes they were me right now.”
She smiled—soft, real. “Only you get to take me home.”
Liam—primal.
He didn’t dance so much as stalk with her. Big hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him so she could feel exactly how hard he was. He moved her roughly—possessive dips, sharp turns—growling low every time another male’s gaze lingered too long.
“Mine,” he snarled against her throat. “Let them look. Let them see who you belong to.”
Lowell—playful, filthy.
He spun her fast—laughing when she stumbled into his chest—then dipped her so low her hair swept the floor. He kissed the exposed column of her throat—open-mouthed, sucking a fresh mark right above the choker.
“Gonna fuck you in this dress later,” he whispered. “Just push the skirt up and take you against the wall.”
She gasped—core clenching.
Luke—precise, intense.
He guided her with perfect control—every step measured, every turn calculated. His hand slid low—thumb brushing the top of her slit through the slit in the gown.
“You’re soaked,” he murmured. “I can feel it on my fingers. Such a good girl—holding all that need for us.”
Leo—controlled, strategic.
He danced her like chess—each movement deliberate, positioning her so no one could approach from behind. His hand rested possessively on her ass—squeezing just enough to make her whimper.
“When we get you home,” he whispered, “I’m going to spread you on the dining table and eat you until you beg. Then I’m going to fuck you slow—make you come on my cock while the others watch.”
Levi—youngest, hungriest.
He danced like fire—fast spins, dramatic dips, hands roaming shamelessly. He pulled her close—groin grinding against hers on every beat—mouth at her ear.
“Gonna knot you tonight,” he growled. “Fill you so deep you’ll feel me for days. Scream my name while I breed you, baby.”
By the end of the set she was trembling—nipples hard against silk, thighs slick, breathing ragged.
Logan caught her when she swayed—pulled her into his chest.
“Time to go,” he said.
They left the dance floor—security closing ranks.
Magnus watched them go—smile cold.
Oscar’s eyes burned.