Chapter 237
Chapter 237:
I sat stiffly against the plush seat, my muddy feet hovering awkwardly above the pristine floor mats. Beside me, the woman who had introduced herself as Gigi watched me with the intensity of a hawk circling a field mouse.
“You have fire, child,” Gigi said, her voice smooth as velvet but hard as steel underneath. “Most girls in your position would be weeping by now. You, however, are calculating your next move p>
“I’m just trying to survive,” I murmured, clutching my torn dress closer.
“Survival is a talent,” she corrected. “One my own family often lacks. They are soft.” She paused, her icy blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Tell me, do you have a mate? A wolf to protect you from whatever beast you were running from p>
My heart hammered against my ribs. Dallas. The thought of him sent a rush of warmth through my chest—a longing so fierce it nearly hurt. But I couldn’t speak his name. Not here. Not to this stranger who radiated such formidable authority.
“I am seeing someone,” I said carefully, choosing my words like stepping stones across a raging river.
“Is he capable?” Gigi asked, her tone dismissive. “Is he strong p>
“He is complicated,” I said, thinking of the scars that mapped Dallas’s body, the darkness he fought every single day. “But he is the strongest man I know. He protects what is his p>
Gigi made a noncommittal sound, unimpressed. “Adequate, perhaps. But ‘adequate’ does not build empires.” She turned fully toward me, her gaze piercing. “You have the look of a Luna, my dear. A true Luna. Not these decorative dolls the Packs are breeding lately. You have a spine of steel p>
She leaned in closer, and the temperature in the car seemed to drop a degree.
“You should meet my grandson. He needs a woman with your grit to balance him. To tame the beast within. His name is Dallas Marshall p>
𝖠𝗱𝖽𝗶cti𝘷е 𝗇о𝘃𝗲𝘭𝘴 on
The name hit me like a physical blow.
Marshall.
The air left my lungs. In an instant, the pieces snapped together—the terrifying stories Dallas had whispered in the dark, the nightmares of the Siberian tundra, the grandmother who had sent a ten-year-old boy to a frozen hell to be broken and rebuilt into a weapon.
This is her.
This elegant, terrifying woman sitting inches from me was the monster in Dallas’s closet.
A cold sweat broke out along the back of my neck. Every instinct screamed at me to flee, to claw at the door handle and tumble out onto the asphalt. But I held myself still, forcing my face into a mask of polite confusion. If she knew who I was—if she knew I was the wolfless girl her King had claimed—she would destroy us both.
“I’m sure he is a formidable man,” I managed, my voice trembling only slightly.
“He is a King,” she corrected sharply.
The car slowed to a smooth halt. I looked out the window and realized with a jolt that we had arrived at The Aurelia. In my daze, I must have given the driver the address without thinking.