Chapter 164
Chapter 164:
A chair scraped loudly against the floor. A man in a dark, tailored suit rose from a nearby table. He didn’t say a word. He simply stepped into the aisle, his massive frame blocking Braydon’s path completely, and fixed him with eyes that were flat, cold, and utterly lethal. One of Dallas’s elite warriors. A silent sentinel.
Braydon froze, his wolf instincts screaming at him to halt. The warrior didn’t need to shift — the promise of violence radiating off him was enough to paralyze a boy playing at being a man.
I pushed through the heavy oak doors of the restaurant, leaving the chaos, the contracts, and the cowards behind me.
But as the cool night air hit my face, I knew the night wasn’t over. Lance Sterling wasn’t the type to let a prize walk away without a final word.
The heavy oak doors swung shut behind me, muffling the sounds of silverware and scandal, but the silence of the street offered no relief. The cool New York night air hit my flushed skin, clashing with the sharp, twisting knot that had tightened in my lower abdomen.
I stumbled, my hand flying to my stomach. It wasn’t just the stress of the confrontation — it was my body, my wolfless, human-fragile body, finally rebelling against the adrenaline of the past few weeks.
I fixed my eyes on the sleek black Maybach waiting at the curb like a beast in the shadows. Just a few more steps.
“Running away so soon, Ms. Everett p>
The voice was smooth, cultured, and laced with a cold metallic scent that spiked my nausea. Alpha Lance Sterling stepped out from the shadow of the awning, blocking my path to the car.
“Get out of my way, Lance,” I gritted out, leaning against a cold iron lamppost as a fresh wave of cramping seized me.
He didn’t move. He took a step closer, scanning my hunched form with a mixture of pity and disdain. “Look at you. Trembling. Weak. That beast you’ve tethered yourself to brings only war, Adella. I could have given you peace. Stability p>
A𝘥𝗱і𝗰𝘵і𝘃𝖾 𝘯о𝘃е𝘭𝘴 о𝗇
“Stability?” I let out a breathless, humorless laugh, straightening my spine despite the pain. “You mean captivity. You don’t want a Mate, Lance. You want a broodmare with a good pedigree p>
His jaw tightened. “You are making a mistake. You think a Lycan King knows how to love? He is a creature of violence. When he tires of you, you will have nothing p>
The pain in my gut was blinding, but the fire in my chest burned hotter. I looked him dead in the eye.
“You’re wrong,” I said, my voice steady and clear in the quiet street. “I don’t need your protection, and I certainly don’t need your peace. Because I already have a Mate. One I love p>
Lance scoffed, opening his mouth to spit more venom — but the words died in his throat.
The air pressure on the street dropped without warning. The ambient city noise — distant sirens, the hum of traffic — seemed to vanish, swallowed by a vacuum of pure, unadulterated power.
The rear door of the Maybach opened.