Chapter 387
Gasps and whispers erupted from the surrounding guests as they watched the Beta of the Blackwood Pack drag their Luna through the gallery. The humiliation burned, but the terror of what awaited me upstairs was worse.
Duncan hauled me to the private elevator and shoved me inside the claustrophobic space of black marble and chrome. I stumbled against the back wall, chest heaving, and looked up at his unyielding face.
The heavy metal doors slid shut, sealing me in the cage.
Dallas
The VIP loft was a suffocating tomb. I stood in the shadows, the heavy scent of my own volatile Lycan aura — a violent clash of storm and cedar — mixing with the expensive whiskey burning my throat. In my mind, the image Duncan had shown me played on a relentless, agonizing loop.
The woman I had opened my soul to. The woman I had chosen above all others. Pressing her lips to the neck of my greatest enemy.
Ragnar was tearing at the walls of my mind, roaring for blood. He wanted to rip the gallery apart floor by floor.
The heavy metal doors of the private elevator slid open. Duncan shoved Adella into the dim room. She stumbled, her chest heaving. Even from across the room, I could smell the faint, sickening residue of the gallery crowd on her — the tainted scent of other males who had brushed past her in the chaos. It made my blood boil.
“Dallas, please,” she begged, her voice trembling as she took in my rigid posture. “You have to believe me. It’s a trick. Braydon hired a double. The scent — it’s alchemy, I swear.”
A hollow, humorless laugh scraped its way out of my throat. I stepped into the dim light, letting her see the absolute zero in my eyes.
“The alchemical potion used to replicate your scent — its main ingredient is silver dust,” I said, my voice dangerously soft. “Deadly to any of our kind. A powerful wolf might withstand the agony for a moment, but for someone wolfless like you… it would have burned your skin off instantly. So tell me — how did you survive it? Or was it never on you in the first place?”
The color drained from her face. She opened her mouth. No words came out. To her, it was a detail she hadn’t known. To me, it was the final nail in her coffin.
“Dallas, no,” she sobbed, taking a desperate step forward. Her fingers brushed my arm.
The touch of someone I had trusted — someone who had just destroyed me — was unbearable. The warmth of her skin against mine, once my anchor, now felt like acid. The last thread of my control snapped.
Ragnar broke his chains. A guttural, beastly roar tore from my chest. I spun away from her and drove my fist straight into the one-way bulletproof glass overlooking the gallery below.
A deafening crack split the air as the thick glass spider-webbed beneath my knuckles. I kept my back to her, chest heaving, blood dripping from my torn skin, and unleashed the full crushing weight of my Alpha Command on my Beta.
“Get. Her. Out. Of. My. Sight.”