The Price of Protection
1080 Words
His grip on my waist was solid iron. Dacre didn't wait for anyone to dismiss us. He simply guided me forward, his heavy boots crunching loudly over the shattered remains of the oak doors.
The sea of Crescent Pack wolves parted instantly. They pressed their backs against the walls, holding their breath. No one dared to look him in the eye.
I could feel the sheer, suffocating terror radiating from the crowd. These were the same people who laughed at me for years. Now, they were cowering.
"You're making a mistake, Dacre!"
Vance's voice echoed from the stage behind us. He sounded pathetic.
I glanced over my shoulder without breaking my stride. Vance was on his hands and knees, spitting dark blood onto the shattered crystal.
"You can't take her!" Vance screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. "She is Crescent property! My father will start a war over this!"
Dacre didn't stop walking. He didn't even turn his head.
"Tell your father to bring a body bag," Dacre called back over his shoulder. His voice was smooth, completely unaffected by the threat.
A collective gasp rippled through the massive ballroom. War with the Winterfall Pack wasn't a political threat; it was an absolute death sentence.
We reached the threshold of the broken doors. Suddenly, a small figure darted out from behind a marble pillar, physically blocking our path to the exit.
Blythe.
She stood directly in front of Dacre. Her grey servant uniform was still drenched in red wine. She wrung her hands together, looking up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. She was trying to play the helpless, bullied human victim.
"Please, Alpha Dacre," Blythe whispered, her bottom lip trembling perfectly. "Don't let her fool you. She's dangerous. She attacked me for no reason."
She reached out a hesitant hand, aiming for Dacre's tailored sleeve.
Dacre stopped. He looked down at Blythe.
He didn't look angry. He looked at her the way a heavy boot looks at a crushed insect.
"Do not touch me," Dacre said. His tone was barely above a whisper, but it carried a lethal, icy edge.
Blythe snatched her hand back as if she had been burned by a hot stove.
"If she wanted you dead, little human," Dacre said coldly, his black eyes pinning her in place. "You'd already be bleeding out on this marble. Move."
Blythe's fake tears vanished instantly. Her face drained of all color. She scrambled out of the way, pressing her back flat against the cold stone pillar, shaking uncontrollably.
We stepped out into the freezing night air.
The Crescent Pack estate sat on a massive, manicured lawn. But tonight, the driveway was completely taken over. A fleet of six armored, blacked-out SUVs idled in the courtyard. They looked like military tanks wrapped in luxury steel. Their heavy engines growled in the quiet night.
Dacre's Winterfall warriors stood at attention beside the vehicles. They were nothing like Vance's polished, arrogant enforcers. These men were massive. Their faces bore jagged, brutal scars.
Their eyes scanned the shadows with lethal precision. They wore dark tactical gear, radiating a quiet, deadly discipline.
As Dacre approached, every single warrior bowed their head in absolute respect. One of the men stepped forward and pulled open the heavy rear door of the lead SUV.
Dacre released my waist. He gestured for me to get in.
I didn't look back at the estate. I didn't look back at the life that murdered me. I climbed into the back of the SUV.
Dacre slid in right beside me. The heavy door slammed shut, instantly cutting off the noise of the biting wind.
The driver put the car in gear. The thick tires squealed against the asphalt, and the convoy sped away from the territory, leaving my past in the rearview mirror.
Inside the cabin, the silence was deafening.
The windows were heavily tinted, drowning out the passing streetlights. My adrenaline finally crashed. The reality of what I just did hit my nervous system. I had rejected a future Alpha, survived my own mating ceremony, and left with the most feared man on the continent.
A violent shiver ripped through my body.
The torn red silk dress offered zero warmth. My bare shoulders shook.
Dacre noticed immediately.
He didn't ask if I was cold. He didn't offer empty comforts. He simply shifted his massive shoulders and shrugged off his heavy, expensive suit jacket. He leaned over and draped the warm fabric over my shoulders.
The sheer size of his jacket swallowed me. It smelled strongly of him—pine needles, dark ice, and something raw.
His heat seeped into my freezing skin, calming my frantic heartbeat.
Because he leaned in close to adjust the lapel, the spacious cabin suddenly felt dangerously small. His broad chest was only inches from mine. I could see the faint stubble on his sharp jawline. I could feel the raw power radiating from his skin.
I pulled the jacket tighter around myself. My golden eyes met his pitch-black ones.
Monsters didn't do favors for free.
"Why did you do that?" I asked. My voice was steady in the quiet car.
Dacre leaned back against the dark leather seat. He unbuttoned the top of his black shirt, exposing the thick, scarred muscles of his neck.
"Do what?" he asked, watching me intently.
"Claim me," I said. "You didn't drive across the continent to attend a mating ceremony just to play the hero for a girl you don't even know."
A dark, slow smile spread across his face. It wasn't a kind smile. It was the smile of a predator who had just caught his prey.
"You're right, Sloane. I don't play hero," Dacre said smoothly.
He shifted his massive frame, turning his body completely toward me. The air in the car grew heavy with his dominant, icy scent.
"I stepped in because I need a wife," he continued. His voice dropped to a rough, serious pitch.
I frowned, confusion fighting through my rising panic. "A wife? You could have any female in the continent."
"I don't need just any female," Dacre said.
He reached out. His rough, scarred knuckles lightly brushed a stray strand of hair away from my face. The casual touch sent a wild jolt of pure electricity straight to my core.
His black eyes locked onto mine, devoid of mercy.
"I need you," Dacre whispered. "Because your rare bloodline is the only one strong enough to survive what is coming for me."
- Writer
