Chapter 3
Two years. It had been two years of skin grafts, physical therapy, and waking up screaming in the middle of the night, clawing at phantom ropes binding my wrists.
Now, staring at the heavy cream envelope resting on Ryker’s mahogany desk, I felt the phantom pain of the silver carving into my back flare up, hot and vicious.
“The Grand Alpha Summit,” I whispered, reading the gold-embossed lettering. My hands trembled, and I tucked them into the sleeves of my oversized sweater. “Why are you showing me this? You know I can’t go back to the States. If Brodie knows I’m alive…”
“He won’t know. Not until you want him to.” Ryker stood behind the desk, the snowy peaks of the Alps framed in the window behind him. He looked like a god of winter, dark and imposing. “I am not asking you to go as Juliette Ross, the rejected mate. I am asking you to go as my Emissary.”
I shook my head, backing away. “Your pack is powerful, Ryker, but the Silver Creek Pack has influence. If Brodie sees me—”
“My pack?” Ryker interrupted, his voice dropping an octave. He walked around the desk, the air in the room suddenly growing heavy, charged with static electricity. It was the same pressure that had forced my wolf into submission the night he saved me, but now, it felt like a blanket of protection rather than a cage.
He stopped inches from me. “Juliette, I am not just an Alpha. The Obsidian Shadow is not just a pack.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a signet ring. It wasn’t gold or silver, but a black metal that seemed to absorb the light. The crest engraved on it was unmistakable. A wolf head crowned with a crescent moon and crossed swords.
My breath hitched. “The Lycan Council.”
“I am the Lycan King,” he stated simply. The weight of the title crashed into me. It explained everything—his impossible strength, the violet hue of his eyes when he healed me, the way other Alphas seemed to shrink in his presence. “And you will walk into that summit under my direct protection. You will be the voice of the Council.”
“I can’t,” I choked out. “I’m not strong enough. I’m scarred. I’m broken.”
“You are healing,” he corrected firmly. “And justice requires a witness.”
*Justice.*
The word hung in the air. Deep inside me, in a dark corner of my mind where she had been curled up in a coma for two years, Sienna stirred. My wolf. She didn’t whimper this time. She let out a low, vibrating growl that echoed in my bones. It was faint, but it was there.
*Vengeance,* she whispered.
I looked up at Ryker, seeing the promise of retribution in his eyes. “I’ll do it. But no one sees my face.”
***
The preparation felt less like getting dressed and more like armoring a soldier for war.
The gown Ryker had commissioned was a masterpiece of midnight-blue silk and lace. It had a high Victorian neckline that came all the way to my chin, and long, fitted sleeves that ended in points over my hands. It covered every inch of my skin. It hid the word *TRAITOR*. It hid the jagged roadmap of my torture.
I stood before the mirror, smoothing the fabric over my hips. For the first time in forever, I didn’t look like a victim. I looked regal. Dangerous.
Ryker entered the room, already dressed in a tuxedo that made his shoulders look impossibly broad. He paused, his gaze sweeping over me with a heat that made my cheeks flush.
“Breath-taking,” he murmured.
He walked over and picked up a sheer, obsidian veil from the vanity. With gentle hands, he draped it over my head, obscuring my features in shadow. Then, he pinned a brooch to the high collar of my dress. It was the Lycan crest, encrusted with black diamonds.
“This marks you as mine to protect,” he said, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of my throat, right over the scar tissue. “Any Alpha who disrespects this crest declares war on the entire Lycan Kingdom.”
I looked at him through the veil. “And if I see him? If I see Brodie?”
“Then let him look,” Ryker said, offering me his arm. “And let him fear what he does not understand.”
***
The flight to the US was a blur of anxiety, but the moment the private jet touched down, reality set in. The Summit was being held at the Elysium Hotel, a neutral territory for the werewolf elite.
As we walked through the revolving glass doors into the opulent lobby, the sensory overload hit me like a physical blow. The chatter of hundreds of wolves, the clinking of champagne glasses, the overwhelming mix of pheromones.
Then, I smelled it.
It cut through the air like a knife—rain, pine, and a hint of ozone. *Brodie.* And intertwined with it, the cloying, sickly-sweet scent of synthetic roses. *Kelsey.*
My feet glued to the marble floor. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I couldn't breathe. The memories flashed instantly—the cold dungeon, the needle, the silver blade carving into my flesh. I could feel the blood running down my back again.
I started to tremble, a panic attack seizing my lungs. *He’s here. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to finish the job.*
Suddenly, a wall of warmth pressed against my back. Ryker stepped into my personal space, effectively blocking me from the rest of the room. He didn't touch me, knowing I was on the edge of shattering, but he unleashed his scent.
Dark chocolate, mountain air, and raw, ancient power wrapped around me, drowning out the scent of my abusers. It was a shield, an invisible barrier that screamed *danger* to anyone who dared approach.
“Juliette,” Ryker’s voice was a low rumble in my ear, grounding me. “Breathe me in. Focus on me.”
I gasped, inhaling deeply, filling my lungs with his essence. The scent of rain and pine faded, replaced by the safety of the Lycan King. My heart rate slowed. The dungeon walls receded.
“I have you,” he whispered, his hand hovering over the small of my back, radiating heat through the silk. “ lift your head, Little Wolf. You are not his victim tonight. You are my Queen.”
I swallowed hard, clenching my hands into fists until my nails bit into my palms. I nodded, drawing strength from the monster standing behind me, and took my first step into the lion's den.
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