Chapter 638
Adella POV
Hours later, the silent war I had witnessed in the morning shadows had metastasized into the suffocating atmosphere of the Marshall Estate Ballroom.
Crystal chandeliers cast fractured light across the polished marble floors. The air was thick with expensive champagne, designer perfumes, and the heavy, restrained pheromones of the Pack’s elite. I sat beside Dallas at the main VIP table, my human instincts screaming that the fragile peace was about to shatter.
“Alpha King.”
The voice was smooth, cultured, and laced with an oppressive, ancient power that made the hair on my arms stand up. The crowd parted as a tall, impeccably dressed man approached our table. He reeked of old parchment and sharp fir — a scent entirely foreign to the local Packs.
Dallas’s body went completely rigid. His storm-gray eyes bled into a dangerous, molten gold. Vance Decker and Duncan Whitaker instantly materialized behind our chairs, their hands resting near their concealed weapons.
“Julian Valerius,” Dallas growled, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that shook the crystal glasses on the table. “You are far from your European borders. You have no invitation here.”
Julian offered a mocking, aristocratic bow. “I apologize for the intrusion, Dallas. But I heard the mighty Ghost was unwell. I came to offer my… condolences.” His dark, predatory eyes slid past Dallas, bypassing me entirely, and locked onto Azalea, who was standing a few feet away near the dance floor.
Azalea froze, the color draining from her face as she recognized the name from her mother’s diary. Valerius.
“I am also here on family business,” Julian purred, his gaze never leaving Azalea. “To reclaim a precious, lost jewel that belongs to my bloodline.”
“If you look at my daughter for one more second,” Dallas snarled, the crushing weight of his Alpha Command slamming into the room, “I will rip your eyes from your skull and mail them back to your Elders.”
Julian chuckled — a dry, grating sound. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Patience, King. I am merely observing the festivities.” He turned and melted back into the crowd, leaving a toxic, terrifying chill in his wake.
When the orchestra swelled into a sweeping waltz, the tension snapped.
Azalea, radiant but dangerously reckless in her emerald gown, ignored the swarm of young Alphas vying for her attention. Driven by the terrifying appearance of the monster from her mother’s diary, she marched straight toward the dim corner of the ballroom where Gamma Vance Decker stood on duty.
“On duty, Princess Azalea,” Vance said, his voice a low, warning rumble.
Azalea didn’t retreat. She tilted her chin, her tone playful but laced with an undeniable, dangerous edge. “My father, the Alpha King, wishes his Gamma to demonstrate that he can protect me even on the dance floor.”
A collective hush rippled through the nearby guests. Vance’s jaw locked. With agonizing slowness, he stripped off his black tactical gloves and took her hand.