Naga’s Invitation
1327 Words
Alie POV
The sound of Beckett Sterling’s breath against my ear was a parasite, burrowing into the space where my professional composure used to live. I didn't turn around. I didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing the tremor in my hands. I simply gathered my files, the slap of paper against leather sounding like a gunshot in the near-empty room.
"You have a lot of nerve, Beckett," I said, my voice as frigid as a winter grave. I stood, turning to face him. He was too close. The air between us was stifling, heavy with his self-righteous, expensive scent. "But you’re a lawyer, not a stalker. Try to keep the lines drawn, or I’ll have your badge."
He smiled, a slow, thin movement that didn't reach his eyes. "I’m not stalking, Alessandra. I’m observing. And what I’m observing is a woman on the verge of total, catastrophic ruin."
I didn't wait for his next blow. I pushed past him, my heels clicking a furious rhythm across the marble floor. I needed to get out. I needed air that didn't smell like betrayal.
The moment I stepped out of the courthouse, a black Maybach with tinted windows glided to the curb. The door didn't open; it was held by a man in a charcoal suit whose eyes were entirely too flat, too dead to be human.
"Ms. Cruz," the driver said, his voice a drone. "Mr. Vane has been expecting you."
I should have walked away. I should have flagged a taxi and driven straight to the compound to beat the truth out of Rhett myself. But the image of that signet ring—the one holding the camera in the basement—flashed in my mind. The feds were compromised. If the law was the one holding the leash, I couldn't fight them in a courtroom.
I climbed into the car.
The penthouse was a temple to ego. It sat at the apex of Austin’s tallest skyscraper, a glass-and-steel monolith that looked down on the city like a god watching ants. The interior was all sharp angles, white marble, and shadow.
Nicklaus Vane stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, holding a glass of something dark and ancient-looking. He didn't turn around when I entered. He didn't have to. The air in the room was thick with the scent of him—not a wolf, not a shifter—but something else. Something refined, predatory, and utterly devoid of mercy.
"Alessandra," he said, his voice a silk-wrapped razor. "You look tired. Being the Ice Queen must be exhausting work when you’re constantly surrounded by fire."
"Cut the s**t, Nicklaus," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking in my veins. "You want to talk? Talk. My time is worth more than yours."
He finally turned. He was handsome in a way that felt artificial, his tailored suit perfectly pressed, his hair silvered at the temples. He moved with a languid grace that sent a shiver of pure, primal warning down my spine.
"I want the land," he said, walking toward me. He didn't stop until he was well within my personal space, his gaze raking over me with a mixture of professional interest and personal disdain. "The Iron Vow compound is an eyesore. It’s an infection on the real estate market. I want it leveled, and I want the Pack scattered to the four winds."
"Then go through the city council," I countered. "Don't bother me with your real estate daydreams."
"I can't go through the council because your husband’s 'legacy' is buried in the deed," Vane said, his smile tightening. "I need the Iron Vow gone. I need Rhett Callahan in a prison cell for the rest of his miserable life, and I need you to be the one to sign off on the destruction of his defense."
I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. "You’re delusional if you think I’m going to tank my own case."
"Am I?" Vane gestured to the wall. The glass flickered, transforming into a massive, high-definition monitor.
The feed was live. A basement, cold and concrete. Elena was there. She was slumped against a support pillar, her eyes closed, her breathing shallow. Around her neck was a collar. It was sleek, metallic, and etched with runes that pulsed with a faint, nauseating violet light—a suppression collar, designed to keep a wolf from shifting by crushing their larynx if they tried to draw on their inner fire.
"She’s been very brave," Vane murmured, stepping up behind me. He leaned in, his chin resting near my shoulder, his voice a low, intimate whisper against my ear. "But she’s young. Her wolf is still growing. And that collar... it’s calibrated to a heartbeat, Alessandra. If the heartbeat stops, or if it accelerates too far past a certain threshold... the pressure increases."
"You monster," I hissed, my hands balled into fists. "I will kill you."
"You’ll do nothing of the sort," Vane said, pulling a tablet from his jacket and turning it toward me.
A timer was counting down in bright, crimson numbers. 23:59:12.
"You have twenty-four hours," Vane said, his voice turning cold, clinical, and absolute. "You will present a defense that is technically competent but practically useless. You will ensure the jury hears the 'assault' charges, but you will ignore the evidence that would clear him of the conspiracy counts. You will let him be convicted of the lesser felony."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then the heartbeat slows," Vane whispered. "And the collar tightens. It’s a very clean way to go, really. The feds won't even have to file a report. It’ll just be another 'unfortunate incident' in a city plagued by biker violence."
I looked at the screen, at Elena’s pale face, the collar glowing like a neon brand of s*****y. My wolf was screaming, a primal, frantic need to rip through the glass and tear Vane’s throat out. But I couldn't. I was an attorney. I was a sister. And I was, God help me, still the wife of the man who had let me walk away to keep me safe.
"Why?" I asked, my voice cracking. "Why do you hate him so much? It’s not just land, is it?"
Vane leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, his breath smelling of expensive brandy and cold, calculating death. "Because he thinks he’s a King. And I’ve always had a fondness for regicide."
He stepped back, his face returning to that polished, impenetrable mask. "You have your instructions, Alessandra. Don't be a hero. It never ends well for the ones who try."
I stared at the timer. 23:58:05.
I turned and walked out of the penthouse, my legs feeling like they were made of lead. I didn't say goodbye. I didn't look back.
I was back in the elevator, the reflection of my own face staring back at me—pale, desperate, and terrifyingly cold. I had to choose. My sister, or the man who had ruined my life to save it.
I reached the lobby and burst out into the night. My phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.
I know about the basement, Alie. And I know about the collar. Don't you dare give him what he wants.
It was from Rhett.
I stared at the screen, my blood running cold. How did he know? How was he communicating from his holding cell?
I didn't answer. I didn't have time. I climbed into my car, my hands trembling as I started the engine.
I was the Ice Queen. I was the lethal, untouchable attorney of Dallas. And I was about to walk into a slaughterhouse with no weapon but my wits and a lie that could get everyone I loved killed.
As I pulled away from the curb, a black SUV began to tail me, its headlights blinding in the rearview mirror.
23:55:00.
The game was on, and the board was soaked in blood.
- Writer
