Chapter 507
“Yes. A child born of Everett’s White Wolf blood and Marshall’s Lycan line would be unlike anything this world has seen. It would unite bloodlines and make the Marshalls stronger than ever. Dosha will stop at nothing to prevent that. To destroy you. To destroy the child.”
Gigi reached out and gripped my hand, her fingers cold but firm. “You asked why I’m telling you this. Because you need to understand what you’re facing. Dosha isn’t just a rival Alpha. She’s a widow who has spent thirty years nursing a wound carved by Marshall silver. She will not negotiate. She will not be reasoned with. She will only be stopped.”
The weight of her words pressed down on my chest. “I need to step up as Luna Regent,” I said, my voice steady despite the fear. “Stand with me, and we hold the Pack together.”
Gigi studied me for a long moment, something shifting in her expression—respect, perhaps, or the recognition of a kindred ruthlessness.
“I need time to think, Gigi,” I said, the fire in my chest warring with the cold dread of what was coming.
The Bentley rolled to a smooth stop at the curb near the university. “Do not take too long, child,” Gigi said as the door unlocked. “And whatever you do, do not trust Anson Fowler.”
I stepped out into the biting morning air, the Bentley pulling away and disappearing into the traffic. Before I could even process the political nightmare I was now entangled in, the encrypted burner phone in my hand vibrated violently.
An unknown number flashed on the screen. I hesitated, then pressed answer.
“Adella! Help me!”
It was Anson Fowler. His voice was raw, laced with absolute panic.
“Anson? What’s going on?” I demanded, my grip tightening on the phone.
Crash! The sickening sound of shattering glass echoed through the speaker, followed immediately by the deafening, blood-chilling roar of an enraged she-wolf.
“She’s crazy!” Anson screamed, his breath ragged. “Sloane—she’s trying to kill me! Adella, please—”
The line went dead.
I stood frozen on the sidewalk. Gigi’s warning echoed in my mind: Do not trust Anson Fowler. But if an Alpha was murdered within Blackwood territory, Dosha would have the perfect justification to declare an all-out war. The Pack would be slaughtered, and Dallas was too weak to fight.
My duty to the Pack overrode my caution. I rushed to the edge of the street and threw my hand up at an approaching yellow cab.
I pulled open the door and slid into the backseat. “Take me to the Fowler Penthouse. Now.”
The yellow cab screeched to a halt. I threw a crumpled bill at the driver and sprinted into the opulent lobby of the Fowler building. The elevator ride to the top floor felt like an eternity, my heart hammering against my ribs. When the doors finally parted, I found the penthouse door wide open.
The living room was a war zone. A massive crystal sculpture—the symbol of the Silver Creek and Crimson Paw alliance—had been smashed to pieces, its fragments glittering dangerously across the Persian rug. The air was thick, heavy with the metallic copper tang of fresh blood.