Chapter 25 Blood on the table
Maureen Laurent
The dining hall was a cathedral of southern excess—crystal chandeliers dripping light like molten gold, white marble floors veined with green, the long table groaning under platters of roasted pheasant, glazed fruits, and delicate pastries that smelled like childhood summers I no longer owned.
I sat at Vuk’s right, the place of honor, my red dress a slash of northern blood against their pale elegance. His hand rested possessively on my thigh beneath the table, thumb tracing slow, grounding circles. A silent reminder: I’ve got you.
Across from us, Silas looked like he’d been carved from ice. Golden hair perfectly styled, blue eyes fixed on his plate as though it might save him. Celeste clung to his arm, green silk clinging to her body, lips painted the color of fresh venom.
The Southern Alpha—Alpha Rowan—sat at the head, all silver hair and practiced charm, pretending this was just another diplomatic dinner.
Servants poured wine the color of rubies.
I didn’t touch mine.
Celeste did. She lifted her glass with a delicate smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Maureen,” she purred, voice honey over broken glass. “What a surprise. I truly didn’t expect to see you again—least of all as the Alpha Devil’s… lady.” She paused, letting the word hang. “Or is it something more… temporary? A bed warmer, perhaps?”
The table went deathly still.
Vuk’s hand tightened on my thigh, claws pricking through the silk. A low growl rumbled in his chest—too soft for southern ears, but I felt it vibrate through my bones.
I laid my fingers over his, stopping him.
Then I smiled at Celeste. Slow. Sharp.
“No, Celeste,” I said, voice clear enough to carry to every corner of the hall. “I’m not that low. Bed warmers are for girls who have to beg for scraps of attention. I’m the Alpha Devil’s mate.”
Her glass froze halfway to her lips.
Silas’s fork clattered against porcelain.
Alpha Rowan’s brows shot up. “Mate?”
The word rippled through the guests like a stone dropped in still water.
Celeste recovered first, laughing—high, brittle. “That’s impossible. A southern girl—a Laurent—mated to the Devil himself? Surely you’re joking.”
I leaned forward slightly, letting the torchlight catch the mating bite on my shoulder. The raised, glistening scars gleamed like a brand.
“Does this look like a joke?”
Silence.
Then Alpha Rowan cleared his throat, glancing between us. “You… know each other?”
I let the question hang, watching Silas and Celeste avoid each other’s eyes. Neither spoke.
So I did.
“Silas was my fiancé,” I said calmly. “Before he murdered my parents, framed me as a witch, and sold me to northern slavers for a piece of land and a pat on the head.”
A collective inhale swept the table.
Silas went white as bone.
Celeste’s wine sloshed over the rim of her glass.
Alpha Rowan stared at Silas like he was seeing him for the first time. “Is this true?”
Silas opened his mouth. Closed it. Found nothing.
I tilted my head, voice dropping to something soft and deadly.
“Don’t you remember me, Alpha Rowan? I was once a wolf in your pack. The girl who brought gifts to the orphanage every solstice. The one whose family hosted half these lords at midsummer feasts.” I gestured around the table. “You toasted my engagement to Silas yourself. Called me ‘almost family.’”
Rowan’s face tightened.
The clink of silverware had stopped entirely.
Every breath in the vast hall seemed to hang suspended, waiting for what came next.
One of the older lords, Lord Harlan with his bushy gray beard, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Laurent… yes, I remember the name. Fine family. Tragic what happened to them.”
Another, Lady Elara, whispered to her neighbor, “The girl was accused of witchcraft, wasn’t she? Burned at the stake, or something dreadful?”
I heard every word. My heightened senses—courtesy of Vuk’s bite—picked up the murmurs like whispers in my ear.
I remained standing, letting the red silk of my dress pool like fresh blood around my feet. Vuk’s hand stayed on my thigh beneath the table—not restraining now, but anchoring. A silent vow that the next move was mine.
I turned my gaze fully on Alpha Rowan.
“Tell me, Alpha,” I said, my voice quiet enough that the elders at the far end leaned forward to hear. “Is this truly how you govern your people? With such… selective blindness?”
Rowan’s silver brows furrowed. He forced a smile that looked carved from wood. “Lady Maureen, I assure you—”
“You assure me?” I interrupted softly, tilting my head. “The way you assured my father his lands were safe under your protection? The way you toasted my engagement to Silas at the midsummer feast, calling me ‘almost family’?”
A few of the older lords shifted in their seats, recognition flickering in their eyes.
Rowan’s smile faltered.
I took one slow step away from the table, the heels of my black stilettos clicking sharply against the marble like gunshots in the silence.
“Your daughter,” I continued, turning my gaze to Celeste, “whom you have always paraded as the epitome of southern grace and integrity… is the same woman who helped steal another wolf’s fiancé. Who stood in my family’s home, smiling, while plans were made to murder my parents in their beds.”
Celeste’s wine glass trembled in her hand. A single drop of red slid down the crystal stem like a tear.
“She watched,” I said, voice dropping even lower, “as Silas drove the knife into my mother’s belly—my mother who was eight months pregnant with my little brother.”
A soft gasp rippled through the table. Lady Elara’s hand flew to her mouth.
Lord Harlan muttered, “Gods above…”
I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to.
The truth was doing the screaming for me.
“And then,” I went on, stepping closer to where Silas sat frozen, “your precious daughter helped sell the survivor—me—to northern slavers. For land. For status. For a few extra acres and a seat closer to your right hand.”
I stopped directly across from Silas.
He couldn’t look away now, even if he wanted to.
Every eye in the hall was on us.
Celeste finally found her voice, though it cracked like thin ice. “Lies! All of it! She’s twisting the truth to—to slander us!”
Silas swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Maureen… you don’t understand. It wasn’t like that. Your father… he was plotting against Alpha Rowan. We had no choice.”
The hall erupted in whispers.
Alpha Rowan shot Silas a warning glare. “Silence, boy.”
But Silas, desperate now, leaned forward. “She was unstable! The witchcraft accusations—they weren’t baseless. We had to protect the pack!”
Vuk’s growl deepened, audible this time. Several southern wolves flinched, their instincts recognizing the superior predator.
I laughed softly. “Unstable? Is that what you tell yourself at night, Silas? When you dream of my mother’s blood on your hands?”
He flinched as if struck.
I turned back to the table, addressing the guests directly. “Many of you were there that night. Or heard the rumors the next day. My family’s estate burned. Bodies found—throats slit, bellies opened. And me? Gone. Sold north like livestock.”
An elderly lord at the end, one I remembered from childhood feasts, cleared his throat. “I… I recall the fire. Terrible business. But the council ruled it rogue attack.”
“Convenient,” I said. “Especially when the ‘rogues’ were never found. And the land? It went to Silas’s family. Celeste’s dowry swelled nicely, didn’t it?”
Celeste’s face twisted. “You bitch—”
“Enough!” Alpha Rowan roared, slamming his fist on the table again. Plates jumped. Wine spilled.
He turned to Vuk, desperation creeping into his eyes. “Alpha Devil, this is ancient history. Grievances from a troubled time. Surely we can discuss reparations in private. Gold, land—whatever you desire.”
Vuk remained silent, his golden eyes unblinking.
I stepped closer to Rowan. “Reparations? You think gold erases blood?”
Rowan’s jaw tightened. “What do you want, then? Justice? Here, in front of my pack?”
“Yes,” I said simply. “I want them to see you for what you are.”
The hall fell silent again.
One of the younger lords, a cousin of Silas’s perhaps, stood abruptly. “This northern whore comes here, mated to the Devil, and accuses our Alpha? Our future Luna?” He gestured wildly at Celeste.
Vuk moved then. Not fast—just a shift in his seat. But the air thickened with his power. The young lord sat back down, pale.
I smiled at him. “Whore? Is that what Celeste called me when she helped chain me in the slaver’s cart?”
Celeste shrieked, “Father, do something!”
Rowan rubbed his temples. “Celeste, Silas—explain yourselves. Now.”
Silas stammered, “It… it was for the good of the pack. The Laurents were weakening us. Ties to northern sympathizers—”
“Liar,” I cut in. “My father was loyal. You wanted our lands bordering the river. Prime territory for trade.”
Lord Harlan nodded slowly. “The river lands… yes, they did go to Silas’s kin after the… incident.”
Murmurs grew louder.
Celeste burst into tears—crocodile tears, I knew. “She’s going to ruin everything! Father, she’s with him—the Devil! They’ll conquer us all!”
Rowan turned desperately to Vuk. “Alpha Devil, surely this can be resolved privately. We can offer reparations—”
Vuk’s hand settled on the table.
Claws extended.
Five faint, smoking grooves appeared in the ancient wood.
His voice was quiet.
Almost gentle.
“The only reparation I will accept,” he said, golden eyes fixed on Rowan, “is your immediate abdication.”
Rowan blinked. “You cannot—”
“I can,” Vuk cut in, still soft. “Step down tonight. Name a successor whose hands are not stained with the blood of my mate’s family. Or I will dismantle this territory piece by piece until there is nothing left for you to rule.”
The hall was so quiet I could hear Celeste’s ragged breathing.
Rowan’s face drained of color. “You’d start a war… over an old grudge?”
Vuk leaned forward. “It’s not a grudge. It’s justice. And my mate deserves it.”
I looked at Silas one last time.
He was staring at his plate, shoulders curled inward, the golden boy reduced to ash.
But I wasn’t done.
I turned to the table again. “And what of the slavers? The ones who took me north? They were southern wolves, weren’t they? Paid by you.”
Silas whispered, “No proof…”
“There is now,” I said. Through the bond, I felt Vuk’s approval. His pack had investigated—quietly—while we traveled south.
One of the servants, an older beta with trembling hands, stepped forward. “I… I saw the payment. Gold from the Alpha’s vault. Marked for ‘disposal.’”
Gasps.
Rowan surged to his feet. “Traitor!”
The servant bowed his head. “No, Alpha. Just… tired of lies.”
Chaos threatened to erupt—shouts, accusations.
Vuk stood slowly, his presence commanding silence.
“Enough,” he said. “Rowan. Abdicate. Or face the consequences.”
Rowan looked around—at his crumbling allies, his weeping daughter, his broken future son-in-law.
He sat heavily.
“I… will consider it.”
“No,” Vuk said. “Tonight.”
I felt a surge through our bond—pride, love, fierce protection.
Celeste lunged suddenly, claws extended toward me. “You’ll pay for this!”
Vuk caught her wrist mid-air, twisting just enough to make her yelp.
“Touch my mate,” he growled, “and you die.”
He released her. She crumpled, sobbing.
Silas finally looked up, eyes pleading. “Maureen… please. Mercy.”
I met his gaze.
“Mercy?” I echoed. “Did you show my brother mercy? He never even cried.”
Silas broke then, head in his hands.
The guests began to rise, some bowing to Vuk, others slipping away.
Lord Harlan approached cautiously. “Lady Maureen… if this is true, the south owes you a debt.”
I nodded. “It does.”