Chapter 513
“I know,” I rasped, closing my eyes against the exhaustion. If the borrowing Alpha was involved in a public scandal that damaged the Pack’s reputation, the loan could be recalled immediately. “Braydon Hyde is a walking disaster. It won’t take long.”
Adella POV
Braydon’s phone chimed on the obsidian desk. He looked down, and a triumphant, predatory grin split his face. “The funds just cleared.” He stood up, wincing slightly as his injured arm shifted in its sling. “Tonight is The Luna’s Hope Charity Gala. You’re coming with me.”
I crossed my arms, my spine stiffening. “I am not your date, Braydon.”
“Not a date. A partner,” he corrected, his tone dripping with a newfound, arrogant entitlement. “We need to show every Alpha in that room that the Hydes and the Everetts are a united front. It’s a declaration of war. Wear red.”
I stared at him, suddenly hyper-aware of the gilded leash I might have just traded for Dallas’s iron one.
“I’ll attend as your business partner,” I said, my voice dropping to a cold, unyielding whisper. “But I will wear whatever color I damn well please.”
I arrived at Hyde Manor wearing a gown of midnight blue silk—a silent, deliberate defiance against Braydon’s demand that I wear red. The grand estate was eerily quiet as a servant escorted me upstairs to Braydon’s suite.
The moment the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind me, my stomach churned. The room was stifling, the air too warm. Braydon was sprawled across the silk sheets of his four-poster bed, his skin flushed, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow bursts. Sweat soaked through his shirt, and the arm that had been in a sling just hours ago was now wrapped in fresh bandages—already damp with a yellow-tinged stain.
“Braydon.” I kept my distance, my instincts screaming at me to back away. “You’re burning up. We need to call the Pack Doctor. You can’t attend the Gala like this.”
He groaned, his eyes snapping open. The pupils were dilated, the usual sharp calculation replaced by something unfocused and feral. Before I could react, he lunged. His uninjured hand clamped around my wrist like a vice, dragging me toward the edge of the bed. His skin was scorching hot—a fever that had to be well over a hundred.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he rasped, his breath hot against my face. “Not to a room full of other Alphas. You stay here. With me.”
“Let go of me,” I demanded, trying to pry his fingers off.
He didn’t listen. His grip tightened, his face contorting with a mixture of fever and something darker. “My Mate,” he whispered, pulling me closer. “The one the Goddess should have given me. I’ve loved you since we were kids, Adella. Dallas is nothing but a broken Lycan. He doesn’t deserve you.”
Revulsion clawed at my throat. “You’re sick, Braydon. Let me go!”
Instead of releasing me, his grip tightened. With a sudden surge of strength, he yanked me forward, pinning me flat against the mattress. His heavy body trapped my legs, and his fevered eyes glared down at me with terrifying entitlement.