Chapter 3
The humiliation of the champagne spill wasn't enough for them. The murmurs of the crowd had barely died down when Jolene’s voice cut through the tension, sickeningly sweet like rotting fruit.
"Oh, Cole, don't be too harsh on her," she cooed, dabbing at her dry eyes with a silk handkerchief. "Perhaps she’s just nervous. You know, Naomi used to play the piano so beautifully for your sister. Maybe... maybe if she played for us now, it would calm everyone’s spirits?"
My blood ran cold. I hadn't touched a piano since the day I was dragged to the asylum. My fingers were stiff, my spirit shattered.
"An excellent idea," Cole said, his voice flat. He looked at me, his eyes daring me to refuse. "Play, Naomi. Show the pack you’re good for something other than making a mess."
I had no choice. The Alpha command pushed at the base of my skull, a dull, throbbing ache. I walked toward the grand Steinway in the corner of the room, my wet dress clinging to my legs. The guests parted like the Red Sea, their gazes heavy with judgment.
I sat on the bench. The keys gleamed under the chandelier light, looking wet, as if they had just been polished. I took a shaky breath, trying to summon a memory of music, of a time before pain.
I lifted my hands and brought them down on a C-major chord.
*Sizzle.*
The sound wasn't music. It was the sound of meat hitting a hot pan.
Agony, white-hot and instant, shot up my arms. I screamed—a raw, animalistic sound that tore from my throat before I could stop it. I yanked my hands back, falling off the bench and scrambling away from the instrument. Smoke curled from my fingertips. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air.
Liquid silver. She had coated the keys in liquid silver.
I cradled my hands to my chest, rocking back and forth on the floor, tears blurring my vision. "It burns!" I sobbed. "It burns!"
"Cole!" Jolene shrieked from across the room. She threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest. "That noise! She’s feral! She’s trying to scare me! My wolf is terrified!"
Cole didn't even look at my smoking hands. He wrapped his arms around Jolene, stroking her hair, his face twisted in concern for *her*.
"Shh, it’s okay, baby," he murmured, glaring at me over her shoulder with pure hatred. "Get out of my sight, Naomi! You’ve ruined enough for tonight."
***
Two hours later, I sat on the edge of a cot in the infirmary, struggling to wrap gauze around my own fingers. The pack healer, Dr. Cross, had been ordered to stay away. I had to use my teeth to tighten the bandages, whimpering as the coarse fabric rubbed against the blisters.
The door banged open. Cole filled the frame, still in his tuxedo, looking like a dark god of vengeance.
I scrambled to my feet, clutching my bandaged hands.
"Why?" I whispered, my voice hoarse from screaming. "Why do you let her do this to me?"
Cole stepped closer, backing me against the cold tile wall. "Jolene does nothing but try to help you. You are the one who is broken."
"Then let me go!" I cried out, a sudden surge of desperation giving me courage. "If I am so broken, if I am nothing to you, then reject me! Sever the bond, Cole! I can't take this anymore. Let me leave!"
For a second, the air in the room went still. Cole’s eyes darkened, his pupils dilating as his wolf surfaced. He leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear.
"Reject you?" he laughed, a low, dark sound devoid of humor. "And let you run off to be a rogue? To die easy? No."
He slammed his hand against the wall next to my head, making me flinch.
"You aren't going anywhere, Naomi. Because Jolene is pregnant."
The world stopped. My breath hitched in my throat. Pregnant. He had knotted with her. He was giving her a child—a child that should have been mine.
"She is carrying the future Alpha," Cole hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "And since you are responsible for my sister’s death, you will spend the rest of your miserable life serving that child. You will be its nanny. You will wash its clothes. You will watch it grow up and know that you are nothing."
He pulled back, straightening his jacket with a cruel smirk. "That is your atonement. Get used to it."
He left me there, sliding down the wall, drowning in a grief so deep I thought it would finally kill me.
***
The next morning, the sun rose, indifferent to my suffering. My hands were throbbing pulses of pain, but the work didn't stop. I was on my knees on the front porch, a scrub brush awkwardly clamped between my bandaged palms, trying to scour away a mud stain.
The sound of heavy engines made the gravel vibrate beneath my knees. I didn't look up. I wasn't allowed to look at visitors.
A convoy of four black SUVs, sleek and armored, rolled up the long driveway. They moved with a predatory silence. As they came to a halt, the air pressure shifted. It wasn't just authority; it was power. Ancient, crushing power.
Sentries near the gate dropped to one knee, their heads bowing low. Even the birds in the trees seemed to go silent.
The door of the lead vehicle opened. A pair of polished black dress shoes stepped onto the gravel.
I kept my head down, scrubbing harder, praying to be invisible. But the presence was overwhelming. It felt like standing next to a lightning storm. It was terrifying, yet... strange. My dormant wolf, silent for so long, stirred in the back of my mind.
*Look up,* she whispered weakly.
I couldn't help it. I lifted my gaze.
Standing there was a man who looked like he had been carved from marble and shadow. He was tall, broader than Cole, radiating an aura that made the air shimmer. But it was his eyes that froze me. They were gold—bright, molten gold.
He wasn't looking at the Pack House. He wasn't looking at the Alpha who was rushing out the front door to greet him.
Lycan Prince Nikolai Griffin was looking straight at me.
His gaze dropped to my bandaged hands, then back to my face. His golden eyes narrowed, and for the first time in three years, I didn't feel like dirt. I felt seen.
And I felt safe.
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