Chapter 580
“She is locked in a silver-reinforced cell, Dallas,” I countered, stepping out from behind him. I met his glowing eyes with unwavering resolve. “She can’t hurt me physically. But I need to end this face-to-face. This is my first duty as your Luna. I will not hide like a frightened wolfless girl anymore.”
Dallas stared at me, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He saw the fire in my eyes — the unyielding strength of the Queen he had just crowned.
He exhaled a harsh breath and finally nodded. “Fine. But Vance stays in the room with you. And you speak to her only through the truth-rune blast glass. Those are my terms.”
“Deal,” I said.
I smoothed my hands over the swell of my maternity dress, adjusting the fabric as though it were a suit of armor, and walked toward the door.
Dallas POV
The armored SUV glided through the streets of New York, a rolling fortress isolating us from the world. The scent of rich leather mingled with my faint cedar and the soothing warmth of Adella’s Moonflower and rain-washed grass.
She sat beside me, her hand resting securely in mine. The victory back at the Estate had been absolute. Adella had dismantled Dosha in The Vault with nothing but her words and the unyielding authority of a true Luna. The Decree of Severance was ashes. For the first time in months, Ragnar, my Lycan, was completely at peace in my mind, purring contentedly in the presence of our mate.
I thought the darkest hour had passed. I was a fool.
In the driver’s seat, Duncan Whitaker suddenly stiffened. His knuckles turned white against the steering wheel. “Alpha,” he said, his voice tight with suppressed panic. “Azalea is Mind-Linking me. It’s a Code Red.”
Adella didn’t hesitate. She reached forward and activated the encrypted tablet mounted on the seatback. The screen flared to life, bypassing the security protocols to display a live feed.
It was a lavish hotel suite overlooking Central Park. Sitting on a velvet sofa, looking directly into the camera with a venomous smile, was Seraphina Vance. Even through the screen, I could almost smell the sickening stench of expensive perfume and betrayal.
“What good is a crown,” Seraphina purred to her audience, her voice dripping with mock sympathy, “when the man wearing it is an empty shell? A so-called powerful Alpha King who cannot even fulfill his most sacred duty.”
My chest tightened. Ragnar stopped purring.
Seraphina leaned closer to the camera. “I have the Zurich medical files. The great King suffered permanent nerve damage from silver poisoning. He is a crippled King — a King who cannot even Mark his own Mate.”
The blood in my veins turned to ice. The phantom burn of silver flared along my spine, a searing agony that stole the breath from my lungs. The live comments on RogueNet exploded across the side of the screen — a blur of mockery, disgust, and outrage.