Chapter 172 – The Trap
Alaric
The courier’s words amuse me. They’re certainly not a surprise. Ronan Vale’s message is as predictable as snow in winter, but I savor it anyway.
He wants a meeting. He dares to ask that I open my halls, that I grant him audience. He offers no tribute, no apology, no terms of surrender. Only the arrogance of a wolf who believes himself beyond consequence.
He even lists the names of those he’ll bring. Mara, Hazel, Jace… and Eli.
The boy who should already be mine. The Omega with the gift that will crack the world wide open, if I can pry it from his stubborn hands.
I let the parchment curl in the fire until it blackens and falls to ash.
“Ronan thinks he has a plan,” I say, my voice echoing through the vaulted chamber. “But the fact that he comes with so few tells me everything. He believes himself untouchable. He believes I’ll honor the pretense of civility.”
Corin sits across from me, smirking. “He’s overconfident. He brings his mate to Silvercrest as if that doesn’t hand you a weapon straight to his throat.”
I arch a brow. “He’s playing right into our hands, but what choice does he have? He must know by now that he’s lost all his allies. He has nothing to bargain with. Maybe he’s sacrificing himself for the sake of his pack.”
Corin grins, sharp and cruel. “Further proof that he’s an idiot who got lucky.”
I rise, pacing to the window. The courtyard below seethes with the movement of mercenaries arriving. Men who kill without compunction. Men whose malice I’m buying with gold and silver.
They wear no colors, no banners, only steel. Ragged veterans with scars for faces. Cutthroats who follow coin instead of conscience. The sort of men Ronan Vale despises, which makes them all the sweeter to use.
They’ll hide in the antechambers of the great hall, waiting for my signal. My own court will play their part. Soft, untrained guards at the doors. My council members seated like docile lambs, completely unarmed. The moment Vale steps inside, the jaws will snap shut.
His companions will die screaming. I’ll have them butchered where Eli can see. His friends, his mate. The wolves he trusts to keep him safe. Their blood will spill across the stone until he understands what disobedience costs.
Only then will he be spared.
I close my eyes, inhaling the image. The Omega on his knees, slick with his packmates’ blood, his bond shredded by grief, his power ripe for harvest. He will break. I’ll make sure of that.
Vale’s mistake is assuming his bond with Eli is unbreakable. But I have time. I have patience. And I have methods Ronan Vale cannot even imagine.
“Make the arrangements,” I tell Corin. “I want the hall swept. The false panels tested. The mercenaries placed in every shadow. No one so much as sneezes without my permission.”
“And when it’s done?” Corin asks, eyes gleaming.
“When it’s done,” I murmur, “There will be no Ronan Vale. No Blackthorn. Only Silvercrest. And Eli’s power will be mine.”
Corin leans back, looking satisfied.
I return to my chair, pouring myself wine. The liquid is darker than blood. I swirl it in the glass, watching it catch the light. Imagining gallons of the stuff draining out of Ronan and his companions, drying on my floor.
I’ll leave Eli in here with their bodies. Locked in until they start to decompose. Shredding his sanity before I set to work.
I think of Ronan. That brute of an Alpha, drunk on his own authority. He believes his bond is untouchable. He believes love is a shield. Fool. Love is the weakest tether of all. Snap it, and everything falls apart.
When I strip Eli of it, when I drain him dry of devotion, there will be nothing left of Ronan. He’ll be forgotten. A name swallowed by history, a carcass buried under Silvercrest stone.
Eli will learn to look at me with new eyes. He will beg for my touch when I’m the only thing left standing in the ashes. He will forget the feel of Ronan’s hand on his skin, the sound of his voice in his ear. He’ll know only me, because I’ll carve the memory into him until it’s all he knows.
My mages assure me the Omega’s gift can be honed and refined. They say healing can become preservation, that flesh can be kept from decay if bound with the right ritual.
The thought makes me smile in satisfaction. Soon that power will be mine.
Kieran’s absence irritates me less than I expected. He slunk off like a beaten cur, probably hiding in whatever gutter he thinks will shield him from consequence.
He was always too soft, too sentimental. He’ll come crawling back, thinking blood buys forgiveness. But he’ll die like the rest. It makes no difference to me. He was never fit to inherit Silvercrest.
I rise again, restless, and leave the chamber with Corin at my side. We descend into the courtyard where the mercenaries spar. Their steel glints red in the torchlight. They don’t train like wolves. There’s no sense of unity. They thrive in chaos, and chaos is what I’ll give them.
“Get them used to hiding in the walls,” I command. “Two to a panel, making no sound. I want blades at the throats of every Blackthorn wolf before they know what’s happening. Kill anyone who struggles. Slowly.”
The captain nods, scars running down his cheek like a valley carved in flesh. His eyes are cold and merciless. I chose well.
Corin leans over, grinning. “What about Eli?”
“What about him?”
Corin’s smile sharpens. “What if he resists?”
“He won’t,” I say with certainty.
If he does, it won’t last long. I know Omegas. They cling to comfort, to protection, to whoever holds the leash.
When Ronan Vale is gone and his name is ashes, Eli will come crawling to me. At first he’ll do it to survive, but in time that will change. Habit becomes devotion, devotion becomes worship. Wolves are simple creatures when stripped of their illusions.
We walk past the stables, the kennels, the outer gates. Everywhere, Silvercrest pack members bow their heads when I pass. Fear keeps them silent. Fear keeps them mine. They know that disrespectful wolves disappear in the middle of the night, never to be seen again.
And Eli will understand that fear is the only true leash.
Back in my chambers, I sit again, this time with parchment before me. I sketch the hall in rough lines, marking where each mercenary will be hidden and where each Blackthorn pack member will be seated.
Eli will watch it all unfold. He’ll bleed grief until his soul cracks open. And then I’ll take him. Piece by piece. His body, his power, his memory. Vale will vanish from his mind like a nightmare at dawn.
I can picture it clearly. Eli seated at my side, head bowed in obedience, my scent all over him. His power flowing at my command, a well I’ll draw from until there’s no bottom. He’ll heal me when age threatens, when wounds fester, when death dares whisper my name. He’ll make me eternal.
The valley will kneel. Packs will grovel at my feet for scraps, begging for favor. Eli will become my shadow and my crown. And I will laugh, because fear is the truest music, and immortality the only throne worth sitting on.
The firelight paints the chamber red, shadows long across the stone. Power hums through my bones, heavy and certain.
By the time Ronan Vale realizes what he’s walked into, it will already be too late. His blood will stain my stone, and his mate will carry my mark. He thinks himself a strategist, but he is only a beast chasing love.
Soon, Blackthorn will be no more. Silvercrest will be eternal. And I will rule forever.