Chapter 416
A heavy silence followed, then a sharp, ragged exhale that sounded like pure dread. “Gigi?” he snarled, his paranoia spiking. “Why? Did she threaten you? Adella, I will send Vance right now—”
“Dallas, stop,” I interrupted, gently but firmly. “I am perfectly safe. We were just discussing strategy.”
I hated keeping the gala and Seraphina’s plot from him, but I knew exactly what would happen if I told him the truth. His Alpha pride would override his logic. He would force himself to attend, and he would play right into their hands.
“Strategy for what?” Dallas demanded, his tone dropping into a suspicious, icy growl.
I looked out the tinted window at the blurring city streets, my free hand curling into a tight fist in my lap.
“For the war,” I replied simply.
I hung up before he could interrogate me further and tossed the phone onto the seat. I was walking back into our penthouse carrying a secret that would inevitably fracture the fragile trust we had left between us.
Dallas
I gripped the armrests of the wheelchair, my knuckles turning bone-white. The shattered bones in my leg screamed in protest as I tried to shift my weight — a blinding, white-hot agony that forced a breathless grunt from my throat. Defeated, I collapsed back into the leather seat, my chest heaving.
Weak. The thought echoed in my mind, a cruel taunt. The Alpha King, reduced to a man who couldn’t cross his own living room without a machine. The penthouse smelled of antiseptic, stale coffee, and the sour tang of my own frustration — storm and cedar tainted by utter defeat.
The front door clicked open. Adella stepped in, slipping off her coat. Her scent — sweet, soothing moonflower — hit me like a physical blow. A brutal reminder of everything I was currently failing to protect. She saw me struggling by the window, her eyes softening with an unbearable, suffocating pity, and crossed the room.
“Dallas, don’t push yourself,” she murmured, picking up a glass of water from the coffee table and offering it to me.
“I’m useless,” I ground out, refusing to look at her.
She reached out, her warm fingers brushing my forearm. A jolt went through me — not magic, but the painful, human reality of wanting someone I had pushed away. I flinched violently and ripped my arm back.
“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, my voice a harsh, guttural growl.
Adelia froze. The warmth in her eyes shattered, replaced instantly by a cold, impenetrable wall of strategic detachment. She set the glass down with a sharp clink that echoed through the quiet room.
“Fine,” she said, her voice entirely devoid of emotion. “Then let’s talk strategy. I am attending the Luna’s Hope Charity Gala tomorrow night. I need to block Elder Malcolm from parading Cassia around as your replacement.”
My head snapped up, protective fury temporarily overriding the physical pain. “Absolutely not. That gala is a den of hungry wolves, Adella. Braydon Hyde will be there, circling like a vulture. You are human. I will not let you walk into that slaughterhouse alone.”