A Hotter Revenge For The Luna.

Chapter 1

Raina's POV.

It is 10:20 p.m in Ironwood pack and the rain is merciless tonight. I let it drench me all over on purpose because I've waited many years for this. My satin mesh top is sealed to me like a second skin, bluntly tracing every inch. My n*****s are pink and moulded against my top and I'm still bouncing in it, pretending I didn't know how huge my b**bs are, and I'm shivering. Not only from cold. I want Vance Austin to see the chaos in me when he looks at me and be helpless to look away.

Beneath my skin, my wolf Lynn stirs—low and hungry—tailing the pulse of my blood like a hunting engine. The hunger isn't only mine. It wants the same thing: the taste of revenge.

The curve of my waist and hips is sculpted in plain view, no panties tonight and of course, no bra. It's just me with all the endowment and pure hunger for revenge.

Alpha Vance is in the private club ment for only pack alphas. He is fifty-four years old and he still exudes the deadly elegance of a predator. His chestnut-brown overcoat is left open over a cream-white turtleneck, leaving nothing to reveal but the strong column of his throat, just like elites do.

His jaw is sharp, flecked with gray beards that make him command every attention he wants. Silver-gray eyes and a mouth cut too cruel, but be sure they can taste every bit of you and make you beg for more. That thick black, slightly curling hair of his, with just a little gray at his temples, were little signs of aging and yet, he was super hot and sexy just like that.

He lifts the mug to his lips and steam from the cup drifts across his face and I grin into the rain. He didn't even realise something awaits him.

In one hand he holds a newspaper, and his attention is completely locked on it, then slowly he's cradling the small cup again, small wisps of vapor drifting upward before resolving into the cold air.

He doesn't even glance up from the newspaper; he turns the page slowly, deliberately. One precise stroke, then another. With controlled precision and power. His is, and he had always been.

"Perfect," I say. His sexiness makes the tasks easier.

No wonder my mother loved him until her last breath. Even when a rival pack invaded our territory, violated her, and forced a stranger's seed into her while she screamed and fought for a man who never came. I was 14, she died of depression because the man she ever wanted never wanted her back.

At the memory, Lynn flares—hot and furious—teeth glimpsing the dark like a promise. Soon Alpha Vance would learn how to burn for someone who was born for his distraction. It's his turn now. His turn to choke on the name that would haunt him forever.

He leaves at 9 or 10 and it's almost eleven. It's probably the rain, and that tells me he'd leave anytime soon.

I linger in the shadowed alley. My heart is already slamming hard in my chest; what if things don't go as planned and Vance leaves with all those men flanking him without sparing me a glance?

He comes to Star Folkes every evening or at least he must be there on Thursdays—the day he doesn't play golf—and he leaves at 9 PM or 10 PM alone. But today, he is here with escorts. Four brutal-looking men flanking him, making it hard for me to even get a chance to reach him.

I stand forward, leaning on the metal blasting tank in front, and I bury my attention in him.

"Waiting for someone?" A low voice rumbles, soaked in whiskey.

Then I see his heavy boots in front of me and his flashlight snaps on suddenly, too bright. I flinch hard from the glare. "Too bright! Please turn it off." I raise my voice over the downpour, while shielding my face and blinking against the harsh light. The rain is hammering so hard I can barely hear myself.

The light cuts out immediately and I blink up to finally get a proper look at his face. His smell hits me—wet cedar and a whisper of gunmetal.

He is a security guard, Vance's I guess. I had seen him before and he's super vigilant. He is huge and around six-five tall. His raincoat is massive on him that his broad shoulders are completely engulfed, making him look two times bigger.

As the guard looms, Lynn tenses under my ribs, a slow, menacing growl that wants to step forward and tear space open. I clamp it down—control is part of the plan.

"Waiting for my uncle," I lie, letting my voice shake just enough.

"This isn't a waiting area and by order, you have to leave now," he grunts. Rudely.

When I see that he isn't going to fall for my excuses, I hug myself, shivering like a little lost pup, knowing that my fabric is already soaked and my curves are bouncing along with me. My hair is dripping into my eyes and water streams off my lashes. "I… I just can't leave without telling him at least."

He hesitates, then his gaze drops slowly over my soaked fabric, my waist, thigh, curves, and back to my face. "You have 10 mins to get your uncle here," he growls. "Or I'm kicking your freezing **s out anytime."

I give him a trembling smile and nod. Calm. "Thank you."

He scans the alley briefly, gives me one last warning stare, then turns and disappears back into nowhere, just like he came, boots splashing.

It is less than 20 seconds since the security guard left when the front door of the restaurant slides open and Vance steps out into the rain.

Show time!

One security guard rushes, unfurling a massive black umbrella, another swinging open the sleek orange Rolls-Royce door while the other two flank him like shadows. Vance slides into the back seat without effort and the door shuts immediately with a soft thunk, one of his bodyguards does before rushing into the second black Maybach escort car.

I wait until the engine revs, headlights cutting into the dark like a spare of white fire. Then I step out from the dark, straight in front of the car, barefoot, silk dress drenched, no bra, no panties.

Lynn snaps to full attention—muscles coiling, scent mapping the alpha and his pack—ready to pounce if anything goes wrong. It tastes the power on him and tastes the promise of the burn I have planned.

He stopped so fast, it doesn't hit me. The plan was that he hits me and from there, he takes me to his house since I have nowhere to go after the accident.

But still, I tumble into the headlights, car tyres inches from my thighs, and I let myself collapse against the cold asphalt.

A broken fake cry slips from my lips and my curves are tumbling with every sob I fake.

Vance's hand shoots out, stopping the car instantly. He's out in a heartbeat, yelling something at the driver.

Perfect!

"I'm so sorry." He grips my upper arm. "Are you hurt?" His piercing silver eyes are laced with concern as they probe me, and before I know it, he hauls me up like I weigh nothing. My mother didn't mention once that Vance was ever compassionate, especially with strangers. He was rigid, powerful and mean. So I don't ever trust that look on his face.

Charm him first!

I grip his half-drenched turtleneck like I'm freezing and terrified at the same time, my chest pressing against his and I feel his heart beating fast against mine.

Lynn presses close to mine—a hidden weight of heat and calculation. It wants him to be mine long enough to hurt him properly. It sniffs the salt of his skin, stores it for later.

One second and his bodyguards were already moving towards me like wolves on a scent.

Vance signals a hand in the air and they pause midway.

He just dismissed his own protection over a drenched, unknown girl. Wow!

"I—didn't mean to bump into you like that." I sob and my face is flushed pink. He sees it because his headlight is sharper than a lightning strike frozen in the air. "I— I have nowhere to go."

He looks at his wristwatch, then at the empty street and back to me. "Then come with me."

He doesn't hesitate. He leads me into the car without permission and I follow like a helpless little thing while I'm secretly rejoicing as I slide into the back seat. His large hand at the curve of my waist is possessive already but I know better than to think Vance would fall for a stranger just like that.

Inside the car, as doors thud shut and engines hum, Lynn settles into the shape of a coiled promise—quiet, patient, and sharpening itself on the scent of the alpha. It breathes like a drumbeat: wait, watch, and strike when the moment is ours.

One step complete.

Dear Vance, you don't know what's coming!