Chapter 586
Adella POV
The grand ballroom of the Pierre Hotel was a dazzling display of Pack wealth and power. Crystal chandeliers hung from the soaring ceilings, casting a warm golden glow over the black-and-white marble floors. A string quartet played softly in the corner, desperately trying to mask the suffocating tension that thickened the air.
Dallas and I paused just outside the heavy mahogany double doors. Even through the thick wood, my ears caught the sickly-sweet, elevated pitch of Seraphina Vance’s voice.
She was holding court among a circle of highly influential Elders. “It is a tragedy, truly,” Seraphina sighed, feigning deep concern. “A King whose Lycan blood is corrupted by silver poison — his mental state and leadership are compromised. The Blackwood Pack is teetering on the edge of a dangerous power vacuum.”
Dallas’s jaw clenched. His presence darkened beside me.
I reached out and laced my fingers through his. “Let her dig her own grave,” I whispered.
The mahogany doors swung open.
The string quartet faltered. The chatter died instantly. Hundreds of eyes snapped toward us as we stepped into the ballroom. Dallas’s presence rolled over the crowd like a suffocating wave, his slight limp masked entirely by the sheer, terrifying dominance of his stance. I walked perfectly in step beside him, my chin held high.
Seeing us steal the room’s attention, Seraphina’s face twisted with raw jealousy. She broke away from the Elders and strutted directly into our path, determined to reclaim her spotlight.
“Well,” Seraphina sneered loudly, ensuring her voice carried across the silent marble floor. “I am shocked you had the nerve to show your faces here.”
Dallas’s storm-gray eyes bled into molten gold. He opened his mouth, the crushing weight of an Alpha’s Command building in his chest.
I placed a gentle hand on his forearm. Let me. The simple, grounding touch communicated everything. Dallas swallowed his roar, his muscles tight as coiled steel, but he stepped back a fraction of an inch — yielding the battlefield to his Luna.
Seeing Dallas halt, Seraphina’s arrogant smirk widened. She turned her venom entirely on me.
“You think you belong here?” she mocked, her eyes raking over my gown. “You are a wolfless nobody. A lowly artisan who patches up old parchment. You have no Pack, no power, and no Inner Wolf.” She paused, looking between Dallas and me with a theatrical expression of pity. “How tragic. A crippled King for a broken Mate. The Moon Goddess has a cruel sense of humor.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. It was the ultimate public shaming, designed to strip us of our dignity before the entire elite of Pack society.
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t even drop my smile.
Dallas leaned close, his breath warm against my ear. “What are you doing?”
I kept my eyes locked on Seraphina’s sneering face. “Trust me.”
The truth was, I hadn’t planned this. Not consciously. But six months ago, in the isolation of the Rockies safe house, I had found myself alone with nothing but time and the old books Gigi had sent to keep me occupied. Among them was a crumbling manuscript — healing techniques from the Whispering Peaks, written in a script so ancient that even the Pack archivists had deemed it indecipherable.