Chapter 14 The Deal (Declan POV)
The summons came by courier, old-fashioned, wax-sealed envelope delivered straight to my dorm door at dusk. The crest pressed into the black wax was unmistakable: Nightshade’s thorned rose. Inside, one line in my father’s precise handwriting:
Study. Now.
I crumpled the note and shoved it into my pocket. The walk across campus felt longer than usual, every shadow sharper, every rustle in the trees louder. Students avoided my gaze; word had spread that the Nightshade heir was playing defense for the girl accused of ripping out Tyler Morrison’s throat. I could feel their stares like needles.
The study door was ajar when I arrived. Garrett Hale sat behind the massive oak desk, fingers steepled, face half in shadow from the single desk lamp. The room smelled of aged leather, whiskey, and the faint metallic tang of dominance, his, always his.
“Close it,” he said without looking up.
I pushed the door shut. The latch clicked like a gunshot.
“Sit.”
I stayed standing. “I’d rather not.”
His eyes lifted then, slate gray, cold as winter stone. “Sit, Declan.”
I crossed my arms. “You summoned me. Speak.”
He exhaled through his nose, the sound of long-suffering patience. “You’ve been busy. Trespassing in restricted archives. Harassing the coroner. Visiting the accused in her cell after hours. And now you’re collecting allies, Wesley Morrison, of all people. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
“I wasn’t hiding.”
“No,” he agreed. “You weren’t. That’s the problem.”
He rose, walked to the sideboard, poured two fingers of amber liquid into a cut-crystal glass. He didn’t offer me any.
“I’m going to make you an offer,” he said, returning to his chair. “One time only.”
I waited.
“Stop defending Rowan Ashford. Withdraw your support. Let the evidence speak. Let the trial proceed as it should, swiftly, cleanly. In return, at the Concordance ceremony, I will publicly name you Alpha-heir. Not provisional. Not contingent. Official. The packs will see unity. Strength. Continuity.”
The words landed like stones in still water.
I laughed. “You’re bribing me with my own birthright?”
“I’m securing the future of Nightshade,” he corrected. “You know how fragile the Concordance is. Three packs, one table, decades of bad blood. If we show division now, if my own heir is seen undermining pack justice, we lose leverage. We lose everything.”
I stepped closer to the desk. “And if I refuse?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “Then I disown you. Publicly. Before the Alphas. You will no longer carry the Hale name. No claim. No protection. No future in Nightshade. You’ll be rogue in all but name.”
The threat should have hit harder. Instead it felt distant, like someone else’s life.
“You’d really do that?” I asked quietly. “To your only son?”
“I’ve already lost one child to stubbornness,” he said. “I won’t lose the pack to it too.”
I leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. “Why do you care so much about one girl’s guilt? Rowan Ashford is nobody. A scholarship kid. A human, or so we thought. Why go this far to make sure she’s convicted?”
Garrett’s jaw tightened. Just a flicker, but I caught it.
“Because the alternative is chaos,” he said. “If she’s innocent, then someone in one of our packs is guilty. Someone with access. Someone with motive. Someone willing to murder a Concordance Committee member and frame a half-Turned girl to cover their tracks. We cannot afford division before the ceremony. Not now. Not when the treaty renewal is three weeks away.”
I studied him.
He knew.
Not just rumors. Not just suspicion. He knew more than he was saying, knew enough to be afraid of what would happen if the truth came out.
“You’re protecting someone,” I said slowly.
“I’m protecting the packs.”
“No.” I straightened. “You’re protecting yourself. Or someone close enough that their fall would take Nightshade down with them.”
His expression didn’t change, but the air in the room grew heavier, thicker with unspoken warning.
“Be careful, Declan.”
“I’m done being careful.” I pushed off the desk. “I’m not letting an innocent girl die to preserve your illusion of unity. And I’m not selling my conscience for a title I already earned by blood.”
Garrett set his glass down with deliberate care. The clink echoed.
“You’re making her mistake,” he said quietly.
I froze.
“Caring more about righteousness than survival.”
The name he didn’t speak hung between us anyway, sharp, accusing.
I felt the old wound tear open. The memory of her last night in this very study, arguing, shouting, then silence. Then the execution order. Then nothing.
“Don’t,” I said. My voice was low. Dangerous.
Garrett leaned back. “You think you’re honoring her by following the same path? She died for nothing. Don’t make her death meaningless by joining her.”
I stared at him. At the man who’d signed the order. At the father who’d never once spoken her name aloud in seventeen years.
“I’m not joining her,” I said. “I’m finishing what she started.”
He exhaled, slow, tired. “Then you leave me no choice.”
I turned toward the door.
“Declan.”
I paused, hand on the knob.
“When the Concordance comes,” he said, “and the Alphas ask why my heir stands against pack justice, I will tell them the truth. You chose sentiment over survival. You chose a girl over your people.”
I looked back at him.
“I’m choosing the truth over lies,” I said. “And if that makes me rogue in your eyes, then so be it.”
I opened the door.
“Think carefully,” he called after me. “Once I speak the words, they cannot be unsaid.”
I stepped into the hallway.
“I already have,” I said.