Chapter 101
Lirael
I watched the exchange from my position near Damian, champagne flute raised to hide my trembling hands, my pulse hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat.
Even disguised as Sophia Thornwood, even wearing another woman's face and scent and carefully practiced mannerisms, I recognized the danger radiating from that elderly figure with the walking stick and the disturbingly familiar amber eyes.
That's Sebastian's father.
The man who shaped him into what he is.
Oh God.
My fingers tightened around the champagne flute until I was surprised it didn't shatter.
If Sebastian was a predator who'd learned to wear civilization like an ill-fitting coat, then Victor Blackwood was something older and infinitely more dangerous—a creature who'd never bothered pretending to be anything other than what he was, who'd built his empire on blood and fear and the understanding that mercy was weakness.
I forced myself to breathe slowly, evenly, even as my heart tried to claw its way out of my chest.
Seventeen minutes until extraction.
Just seventeen more minutes and I'm gone.
Unless he recognizes me.
Unless this disguise fails.
Unless I've just walked into a trap I can't escape.
"Elwin." I barely moved my lips, keeping my gaze fixed on the two men across the room. "Tell me everything you know about Victor Blackwood. Quickly."
The boy shifted closer, tension in every line of his body despite his carefully maintained composure. "He's the real power behind the Blackwood empire. Sebastian might hold the Alpha title, but Victor still controls the family council and the money. Word is he's grooming his son for complete succession but hasn't been willing to let go yet. Some say he's testing Sebastian. Others say he's just too power-hungry to admit his own mortality."
Which means Sebastian answers to someone.
Still has to justify his obsessions to a higher authority.
Still isn't the absolute sovereign he pretends to be.
The realization should have been comforting, but instead it just added another layer of terror to the situation, because if Victor disapproved of his son's fixation on me, he might simply order my elimination as a distraction from more important family business.
I watched Victor's right hand gesture as he spoke to Sebastian, the moonstone ring catching the light, and felt my breath strangle in my throat as recognition slammed through me.
That ring.
Oh fuck.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
"Elwin." My voice came out choked, barely audible. "The moonstone on his finger. Do you recognize it?"
He followed my gaze, and I saw the exact moment comprehension hit him—color draining from his face, eyes widening with the kind of shock that couldn't be completely concealed.
"That's..." He swallowed hard. "Lirael, that's Sophia's ring. The heirloom from her grandmother. She never took it off. Ever. I'd recognize it anywhere—it's been in her family for six generations."
The ballroom tilted sideways, and I had to lock my knees to keep from swaying.
Sophia didn't just disappear.
She was taken.
And Victor Blackwood either did it or knows exactly who did.
And he's wearing her fucking ring like a trophy.
My free hand clenched at my side, nails biting into my palm hard enough to draw blood beneath Sophia's stolen skin.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
Don't give yourself away.
I forced myself to unclench my jaw, to relax my shoulders, to maintain Sophia's gracious smile even as fury and panic warred in my chest, each emotion threatening to break through my carefully constructed facade.
Sixteen minutes until extraction.
Sixteen minutes to keep this charade going without revealing I know what that ring means.
Sixteen minutes before I can run and never look back.
Unless...
"Miss Thornwood." Victor's voice was cultured warmth as he reached our position, his smile perfectly calibrated to convey grandfatherly charm while his eyes remained cold and assessing as a snake's. "Young Damian has spoken highly of you. A pleasure to finally meet."
I extended my hand with Sophia's practiced grace, hyper-aware of the stolen ring as his fingers briefly clasped mine—warm, dry, strong despite his age.
And God help me, I felt something respond to that touch, some deep recognition that this stone had belonged to someone of my kind, that it carried traces of elvish magic woven into its very structure, that it was crying out in silent anguish at being worn by the wrong hands.
He knows what it is.
Knows what it means.
And he's wearing it anyway, like a hunter displaying his kill.
It took everything I had not to rip my hand away, not to claw at his face, not to demand answers about what he'd done to Sophia.
"Lord Blackwood." I kept my voice steady through sheer force of will, though my pulse was hammering so hard I was surprised he couldn't hear it. "The honor is mine. Your reputation precedes you."
You fucking monster.
What did you do to her?
Where is she?
"All terrible things, I'm sure." His smile widened fractionally, revealing teeth still sharp despite his age. "My son tells me you have a keen interest in biomedical research. A rare passion in someone so young and, if I may say so, remarkably lovely."
The compliment felt like a threat wrapped in courtesy, and I manufactured Sophia's modest pleasure while my mind raced through increasingly desperate calculations.
He's testing me.
Seeing if I react to the compliment, to his proximity, to the fucking ring he stole from a woman who might be dead.
"I find the intersection of magic and medicine fascinating, my lord." I kept my voice light, enthusiastic, everything Sophia would be. "The potential applications for healing, for understanding the fundamental mechanisms that govern life and death—"
"Indeed." His gaze sharpened with something that might have been approval or might have been predatory hunger, and I couldn't tell which possibility terrified me more. "You know, we maintain extensive research facilities at the family estate. Generational archives, experimental laboratories, specimens collected over decades of careful acquisition. I'm certain someone with your intellectual curiosity would find them... illuminating."
The word hung in the air like a noose disguised as an invitation, and I felt Sebastian's attention lock onto our conversation with laser focus, his amber eyes narrowing as he registered his father's interest in "Sophia Thornwood" and began calculating implications.
Across the room, I saw Damian's expression shift from calculated neutrality to genuine alarm, his hand twitching toward his comm unit before he caught himself.
He knows this is a trap.
Knows I should refuse and extract immediately.
Knows I'm about to do something monumentally stupid.