Chapter 5
The exhilaration of discovering the truth acted like a second heartbeat thumping in my chest. I left the potting shed, the small glass vial of purple liquid tucked securely into the hidden pocket of my gardening apron. I had them. I finally had them.
I rounded the corner of the greenhouse, stepping onto the gravel path, and froze.
Gloria was standing on the back porch, her manicured hands gripping the railing so tightly her knuckles were white. She wasn't drinking her tea. She was watching me. Her eyes, usually cold and dismissive, held a new, terrifying sharpness. It was the look of a predator realizing its prey had grown teeth.
She didn't say a word. She just tracked my movement, her gaze dropping to the pocket where the vial was hidden, then back up to my face. A shiver that had nothing to do with the chilly wind raced down my spine. She knew. She didn't know *what* I had, but she knew I was dangerous.
I kept my chin high, refusing to cower, and walked past her into the house. I hid the vial and my phone inside a hollowed-out book in the guest room library, locking it with a key I kept in my bra.
I thought I was safe. I thought I had time until the Royal Ball. I was wrong.
The next morning, the fog hung low and heavy over the Silverclaw territory. It was the day of the mandatory pack run, a ritual where all members, regardless of rank, ran the mountain trails to maintain stamina. Since my wolf, Lexi, was still recovering from years of suppression, I was expected to drive to the trailhead at the summit to set up the water station.
"Drive safe, Violette," Gloria said as I grabbed my keys from the hook. She was smiling. It was a tight, brittle smile that didn't reach her eyes. "The roads are slippery."
I didn't trust that smile, but I had no choice. I climbed into my old sedan, the engine sputtering to life with a reluctant cough. As I pulled out of the garage, I saw the pack mechanic, a man loyal only to Gloria's coin, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. He avoided my eyes.
My stomach twisted.
I drove out of the compound, the tires crunching on the gravel. The road to the summit was treacherous—a winding, two-lane strip of asphalt carved into the side of the cliff, with a sheer drop into the valley on one side and a wall of rock on the other.
I navigated the first few switchbacks carefully. The car felt heavy, sluggish. I pressed the gas to climb the incline, the engine whining in protest.
Then came Dead Man’s Curve. It was a sharp, ninety-degree turn that required slowing down to a crawl.
I lifted my foot from the gas and pressed the brake.
The pedal went straight to the floor.
My heart stopped. I pumped it frantically—once, twice, three times. Nothing. No resistance. No friction. Just the sickening, hollow feel of a severed line.
"No, no, no!" I screamed, gripping the steering wheel until my bones ached.
The curve was rushing toward me. If I didn't turn, I would fly off the cliff and plummet three hundred feet onto the jagged rocks below. If I turned too hard at this speed, I would flip.
*Gloria.* That witch had cut the lines.
I had a split second to decide. Die on the rocks, or take my chances with the forest.
"Hold on, Lexi!" I yelled.
I yanked the wheel hard to the right, aiming away from the cliff edge and straight into the dense tree line.
The tires screeched, losing traction on the wet asphalt. The car fishtailed, jumped the ditch, and airborne for a terrifying second before—
*CRUNCH.*
The world exploded into noise and pain. Metal screamed as it wrapped around the trunk of an ancient oak. The airbag detonated like a punch to the face, filling the cabin with white powder and silence.
Then, darkness.
***
I woke up to a sound that vibrated in my very marrow. It was a roar—feral, enraged, and deafening.
My head was spinning. Something warm and wet was trickling into my eye. I tried to move, but my legs were pinned. The smell of gasoline was thick in the air, choking me.
*Fire,* my mind registered sluggishly. *I need to get out.*
Suddenly, the entire car shook. Metal groaned in protest. Through the spiderweb cracks of the windshield, I saw a blur of movement.
The driver's side door, crumpled and jammed shut, was suddenly ripped off its hinges with a screech of tearing steel. It was tossed aside like a piece of paper.
A pair of hands reached for me. Not just hands—claws. Or hands that felt as strong as claws.
"Violette!"
The voice was a growl, rough with panic.
I blinked, clearing the blood from my vision. Desmond was there. He was kneeling in the mud, his expensive shirt torn, his chest heaving. His eyes were glowing a bright, electric amber—his wolf was at the surface, fighting for control.
"Desmond..." I croaked.
"Do not move," he commanded, his voice trembling with a rage I had never heard before. "I've got you."
He slid his arms under me, ignoring the jagged metal and broken glass. With a grunt of effort, he pulled me free from the wreckage. Pain flared in my ribs, white-hot and blinding, but the moment my skin touched his, the pain receded into the background.
A jolt of electricity, stronger than anything I had ever felt, surged through me. It wasn't just the bond; it was a lifeline. My dormant wolf, Lexi, howled inside my head, thrashing against her chains, reaching for him.
Desmond pulled me against his chest, burying his face in the crook of my neck. He inhaled deeply, the sound wet and desperate.
"You're bleeding," he growled against my skin. "Who did this? Who touched you?"
He placed his hand over the gash on my forehead. A warm, golden heat poured from his palm, knitting the skin back together. The agony in my ribs dulled to a throb. He was using his Alpha energy to heal me.
"The brakes," I whispered, clutching his torn shirt. "They didn't work. Gloria..."
Desmond’s body went rigid. The temperature around us seemed to drop ten degrees. He looked down at me, and the violence in his eyes was terrifying.
"I will kill them," he vowed, the words vibrating against my chest. "I will go back to that house and I will tear their throats out with my teeth. Tonight. Now."
He started to stand, ready to carry me back and unleash hell.
"No!" I gasped, grabbing his collar. "Desmond, stop!"
He froze, looking down at me with wild eyes. "They tried to murder you, Violette. There is no mercy for this."
"If you kill them now, they die as martyrs," I hissed, forcing strength into my voice. "The Council will investigate. It will be messy. You're the King—you can't be seen slaughtering a pack without a trial."
I reached up, cupping his rough, stubbled jaw. The contact made his eyes flutter shut for a second.
"I have the proof," I said firmly. "I have everything. The sterility, the fake pregnancy, and now this. We stick to the plan."
"The plan is too slow," he argued, but his grip on me tightened, possessive and protective.
"The plan is perfect," I countered. "I don't just want them dead, Desmond. I want them destroyed. I want to strip them of their titles, their pride, and their names in front of the entire Lycan world. I want to watch Brody realize he is nothing."
I looked deep into his amber eyes.
"I need to do this," I whispered. "I need to be the one to break him."
Desmond stared at me for a long moment, the savage light in his eyes slowly dimming to a simmering, lethal resolve. He nodded once, pressing a fierce kiss to my hair.
"As you wish, my Queen," he rumbled. "But if they even look at you wrong before the Ball, I will burn this forest to the ground."
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