Chapter 15
Violet's POV:
The heavy double doors of Blackwood Manor groaned open. Daemon stumbled across the threshold, his tie undone and the sharp scent of bourbon clinging to his suit.
Dominic and Victoria Blackwood sat on the velvet settees, their spines rigid. I stood silently behind them, hands clasped.
"Is this how the Alpha of the Frost Pack presents himself?" Dominic’s voice was a low rumble of authority. "Stumbling in at this hour, reeking of alcohol while your family waits?"
Daemon swayed slightly, his eyes narrowing as they adjusted to the light. "I had matters to attend to."
"Matters?" Victoria stood up sharply. "You left your wife alone in this house all night. You humiliated us, Daemon."
Daemon’s jaw clenched, a muscle feathering in his cheek. He looked ready to snap, but the weight of his parents' disappointment cowed him.
I stepped forward and held out a glass of water mixed with a sobering tonic.
"Here," I whispered.
Daemon snatched the glass, his fingers brushing mine with rough indifference, and drained it.
"Go to bed," Dominic commanded, turning his back in disgust. "We will discuss your behavior in the morning."
As his parents retreated upstairs, Daemon slammed the empty glass onto a side table. He spun toward me, a sneer curling his lip.
"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" he hissed, stepping into my space. "Playing the martyr. The perfect, victimized wife."
I met his gaze calmly. "I didn't have to act, Daemon. I am the victim."
I didn't wait for a retort. I turned and walked upstairs, leaving him seething in the hallway.
I reached the master bedroom first, stepping into the suffocating silence. A moment later, the door flew open. Daemon stormed in. He tore off his suit jacket with a growl of frustration and hurled it across the room. It struck the wall and slid down onto the armchair, but the force sent his personal phone sliding out of the pocket.
It tumbled onto the rug and skidded across the floor, stopping right at my feet. The screen lit up with a notification.
I looked down. It was a Facebook message preview from Celeste Morrison.
Alpha, thank you for your interest, but I already have a mate. Besides, you have...
A dark, twisted amusement curled in my gut. He had called her. He had tried to use that magnetic Alpha pull, only to be met with a moral brick wall.
"Don't touch it!"
Daemon moved with the speed of a striking viper, snatching the phone from the floor.
He saw that I had read it. His face darkened.
"Trouble in paradise?" I asked, leaning against the vanity, my voice laced with mockery. "It seems your charm has an expiration date."
He shoved the phone into his pocket. "Shut up."
"She turned you down," I said clinically. "It's embarrassing for the Pack. An Alpha chasing a girl who clearly has more moral fiber than he does?"
I took a step forward. "Let's be practical. You want her. She doesn't want a mistress title. There is a solution."
He narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"
"A Rejection Ceremony," I said clearly. "I'm offering you a clean slate. We frame it as a strategic necessity for the Pack's survival. I am merely a Chosen Mate, Daemon. She is your True Mate. Everyone knows an Alpha can only reach his full potential—and best protect his pack—with the bond the Moon Goddess intended. I play the gracious Luna stepping aside for the greater good; you look noble for prioritizing the Pack’s strength over a political union. You get the power, and the girl. Win-win."
Daemon stared at me. He looked for the jealousy, the tears, the begging of the past three years. But he found only cold calculation.
Slowly, a sneer replaced his shock. He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over me.
"You're in a hurry," he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "Why so eager to get rid of me, Violet? Have you found yourself a new wolf to warm your bed?"
I laughed, a dry sound. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm trying to vacate the seat because the girl in your texts thinks it's crowded."
"A favor?" He reached out, his hand clamping around my jaw, tilting my face up. His grip was firm. "Listen to me. We made a pact. Even if I don't love you, you are mine until I say otherwise."
Before I could retort, my phone buzzed on the vanity.
Daemon released my jaw, scowling. I picked it up. Zane calling.
"Hello?"
"Luna..." Zane's voice was a ragged wheeze, distorted by pain. "I need... help. Warehouse district... near the old docks..."
There was a sickening thud, and the line went dead.
"Who is it?" Daemon demanded.
I spun around, masking my panic with annoyance. "Sienna. She's drunk at some dive bar and needs a ride. Again."
I grabbed my leather jacket, pulling it on over my silk dress, and sprinted toward the garage.
The roar of the bike tore through the night silence. I kept the throttle twisted back, my high beams cutting a blinding white tunnel through the darkness of the industrial district.
I didn't slow down until I hit the coordinates Zane had sent. I swerved the heavy bike into the warehouse entrance, the twin LED columns sweeping across the gloom like lasers.
"What the hell?" a rough voice shouted.
The sudden, intense glare flooded the space. Two figures recoiled instantly, throwing their arms up to shield their eyes against the blinding assault of the headlights. They were forced to squint, unable to see anything but the searing white silhouette of the machine.
I saw two Rogues in tattered clothes standing near the wall. And at their feet, curled into a defensive ball on the cracked concrete, was Zane. He looked battered, clutching his ribs, his face pale under the unforgiving beam.
My heart hammered. Ember was still dormant; I couldn't shift. I had to be smarter.
I pulled off my helmet, shaking out my hair.
One of the Rogues, a man with a jagged scar on his nose, squinted at me. "Well, look at this. The cavalry is just a little girl in a dress."
"That's not just a girl," another muttered, stepping back. "That's the Frost Luna. That's Blackwood's bitch."
"Step away from him," I commanded, projecting every ounce of authority I possessed.
Scar-Nose sneered, grinding his heel into Zane’s shoulder. "Or what? You gonna call your daddy? This punk stole a bike and sold it for a fortune. We know he's got the cash, and we're just here to take our cut."
He paused, his greedy eyes locking onto the chrome machine beneath me. He pointed a jagged finger at it.
"And there it is. That bike."
"So you're the buyer?" He cracked his knuckles, looking back down at Zane with a predatory grin. "I knew it. And he had the nerve to lie to my face about it."
I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. I reached into my jacket, pulled out the registration card, and tossed it onto the wet concrete.
"Pick it up," I snapped.
Scar-Nose hesitated, then bent down to read it.
"Open your eyes," I said coldly. "The vehicle is registered to Violet Goldcrest-Blackwood. It’s a custom prototype. You thought a college student stole this?"
I leaned forward on the handlebars. "That exhaust pipe has a GPS tracker linked directly to the police and the Frost Pack security grid. The signal triggered the moment I stopped. You have about three minutes before the Delta unit swarms this place. And you know how Daemon feels about Rogues touching his property."
The color drained from Scar-Nose’s face. The mention of the Delta unit shattered their bravado.
"We... we didn't know," one stammered.
"Run," I said smoothly. "Before I decide to hold you here myself until my husband arrives."
It was a bluff. If they attacked, I was dead. But fear is a powerful motivator. They looked at the bike, looked at my imperious stance, and broke. They turned and sprinted into the darkness.
I let out a shaky breath and rushed to Zane.
It was nearly 3:00 AM by the time I got Zane admitted to the clinic and returned to the manor.
"Have fun?" Daemon’s low voice cut through the darkness.
"Shh," I whispered, climbing into bed but staying on the far edge. "I'm tired, Daemon. Sienna was a mess."
"You smell like exhaust and dirt," he muttered, his tone thick with suspicion. "Been running with strays?"
I ignored him, turning my back. "I'm moving to the guest room tomorrow."
The mattress shifted violently. Before I could react, a heavy arm clamped around my waist, dragging me backward until I collided with his hard, hot chest.
And then, pressed against the small of my back, I felt it.