Chapter 172

Chapter 172:

“I have known for five years,” I confessed, the words heavy with the weight of my silence. Since the day she turned eighteen and I caught her scent on the wind across the border. I had watched her. I had waited for her to be safe, to be ready. Every shadow that had protected her was me. Every threat that had vanished was my doing.

Augusta’s face drained of color. “Five years? But the Alpha code p>

“Screw the code,” I snarled, leaning down until we were nose to nose. “She is not a pawn in your political games, Augusta. She is not a temporary distraction. She is my endgame p>

I straightened up, adjusting my cuffs, the amber fading from my eyes though the threat remained. “Do not cross her. Do not look at her wrong. Because if I have to choose between the Pack and her, there will be no Pack left p>

Leaving Augusta stunned into silence, I turned and walked out.

𝘛hous𝗮𝗇𝖽𝗌 o𝖿 r𝖾𝘢𝗱er𝘴 on

The drive to the city was a blur of anticipation. On the passenger seat lay a bouquet of Moonflowers — rare, nocturnal blooms that only opened in the dark. They smelled like her. Like peace.

Tonight, I would tell her everything. No more secrets. No more watching from the shadows.

But as I pulled the Maybach up to the curb outside S&D Design, a cold claw of dread scratched down my spine.

The street was too quiet.

The studio was dark. The “Open” sign had been flipped off, but Adella wasn’t waiting on the steps as she had promised. And where was Vance? My Gamma was supposed to be patrolling this sector — a shadow guard I had placed despite her protests.

Ragnar surged forward, snarling. Something is wrong. Mate is gone.

I slammed the car into park and bailed out, the bouquet still clutched in my hand. “Adella p>

Silence answered me.

I scanned the street, my senses expanding, hunting. Then I saw it.

A single flickering streetlamp illuminated a patch of concrete near the entrance. Lying face down was a phone. The screen was shattered, a spiderweb of cracks reflecting the broken light.

I moved toward it, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I knelt, the expensive fabric of my suit scraping against the rough pavement. The air here was thick with scents that made my stomach turn.

Chemicals. Chloroform.

The sharp, metallic tang of fear — her fear.

And beneath it all, the stale, musky stench of a male wolf. Not a Rogue, but an exile. I inhaled deeply, the scent triggering a recognition buried in my memory. Jared Solder. The disgraced warrior Braydon Hyde had cast out years ago.

“No,” I whispered, the word choking me.

The Moonflowers slipped from my hand, hitting the ground with a soft thud. Their delicate white petals scattered across the dirty concrete like fallen stars.

She had fought. There were scuff marks from her heels. She had tried to stay.

Vance was lured away, I realized with sickening clarity. It was a trap.

A black hole opened in my chest, swallowing the man, the King, the rational thinker. All that remained was the beast.