Chapter 527
Dallas
The sterile, dim walls of Dr. Alistair Vance’s private clinic felt more like a tomb than a sanctuary. I leaned back against the stiff hospital bed, my body trembling as the humming machine pumped my blood through the silver-toxin purification filters.
Duncan stood at the foot of the bed, his face grim as he stared at his encrypted tablet. “She did it,” my Beta said, his voice tight. “Adella’s PR team just announced the press conference. Marshall Enterprises stock is already tanking in premarket trading. Give me the word, Dallas. I’ll have the legal team bury her in injunctions.”
I took the tablet from him. On the screen was a promotional still of Adella—her chin high, her eyes burning with fierce, beautiful defiance.
A weak, proud smile tugged at my cracked lips. She was magnificent.
“Do nothing,” I commanded Duncan through our mind-link, my mental voice strained but absolute. “Let it burn. In fact, short another five percent. I want her to feel like she’s winning.”
Duncan stared at me as though I had lost my mind, but he didn’t argue. He knew the truth. Hate was a far better fuel than grief. If she hated me enough to destroy me, she would be strong enough to survive when the silver finally stopped my heart.
Before Duncan could execute the trades, the burner phone on my IV stand buzzed.
I cleared my throat, forcing the weakness from my voice before answering. “Decker.”
“Dallas,” my Gamma, Vance Decker, barked cheerfully through the speaker. “Serena and I are hosting our Marking celebration at The Onyx Club tonight. Get your ass down here.”
“I’m buried in board meetings, Vance. I’ll send a gift.”
Vance chuckled, but there was an edge to it. “You’re turning into a hermit, man. Seriously, you need to show up. Dr. Vance is here, and he’s been bending my ear for twenty minutes about how you’ve been dodging his calls. He’s starting to get paranoid.”
Ice flooded my veins. My Pack doctor and my Gamma, drinking together, comparing notes on my absence.
“I’ll be there,” I said flatly, and hung up.
I ripped the blanket off my legs and looked at Duncan. “Pull the tubes.”
“Dallas, you’re only halfway through the cycle—”
“Pull them, Duncan!” I snarled, my inner wolf Ragnar thrashing against the agonizing pain in my chest. “If Alistair starts digging, this is all over. I have to go play the arrogant bastard.”
The clinking of crystal at Le Bernardin felt a world away from the war I had just declared. I sat across from Julian Thorne, the remnants of our Michelin-starred lunch pushed aside.
“I need the two hundred million, Julian,” I said, keeping my voice low. “As a war fund. A safety net in case my strike on Dallas’s reputation fails. I won’t let him swallow my parents’ legacy.”