Chapter 8
1529 Words
Ace
“Hahaha! My beloved brother, Ace!” Draven’s voice boomed through the council hall the moment I walked through the heavy doors.
He rushed toward me, throwing his arms around me in a mockery of a brotherly hug.
But before he pulled away, his grip tightened, and he whispered venomously into my ear, “How did you enjoy my gift?”
A cruel smirk played on his lips as he stepped back, but I offered him nothing but a cold, unreadable stare.
Inside my chest, my wolf, Lane, clawed violently at the surface. His furious snarls vibrated against my ribs, ready to tear Draven’s throat out.
It's not time yet, Lane, I commanded silently, forcing the beast back down into the dark.
But he dares to... Lane protested, his golden eyes flashing in my mind.
Relax, I snapped internally.
A slow, dangerous smile crept onto my face as I leveled my gaze at my stepbrother. “I saw your wife, Alpha Draven,” I said, letting his title roll slowly off my tongue.
Draven’s chest puffed up, his face lighting up with arrogant pride. “And? Do you like her? Or are you just burning with jealousy that the most beautiful she-wolf in the realm is married to your brother?” He barked a loud laugh, raising his golden goblet to take a deep drink.
“Why would I be jealous?” I countered smoothly, my voice dripping with icy indifference. “If I want something, I take it. If I say she's mine, then not even the Moon Goddess herself could stop me from claiming her.”
I turned on my heel and walked away, not waiting for his response. I didn't need to. I could already smell the bitter, sour stench of his spiked alpha aura behind me. I knew I had just given him a hard time, rattling his fragile pride.
“Alpha Ace, you went a bit far with that,” Ronan muttered, falling into step beside me, his eyes scanning our surroundings.
“What if he loses his temper and….”
“He won't do a damn thing,” I scoffed, cutting him off. “That good-for-nothing brother of mine is a coward. A man who lets himself be controlled by a bitter woman.”
The welcome ball thrown for my return was set to begin soon. Blue was the official theme of the evening, but I had absolutely no intention of falling into line. Instead, I dressed in a long black coat paired with a deep purple cape, black tailored pants, and tall leather boots. The heavy fabric of the coat was cinched by a purple sash, accented by gleaming silver chains that caught the candlelight.
“
Alpha, you look incredible,” Ronan praised, nodding in approval as he stood by the door.
I scoffed, adjusting the high collar of my coat in the mirror. “You think so?”
“Absolutely. The noble ladies are going to fawn all over you tonight,” he smiled.
“Let's go,” I said, turning away from my reflection.
The grand ballroom was suffocatingly crowded with guests….snobbish, high-ranking wolves and their overdressed daughters. My brother stood at the center of the hall, holding court and talking to a small group of pack elders. I glided through the sea of blue, stopping right behind them.
“Ahem,” I cleared my throat, intentionally disrupting their conversation.
The elders turned, and Draven’s eyes locked onto my attire. “Ah, the star of the show arrives,” he murmured, trying to sound unbothered, though his eyes narrowed at my clothes. “But why aren't you wearing blue? Why the black and purple?”
An elderly man standing close to him, who looked to be in his late forties, subtly nudged Draven’s elbow, giving him a pointed look.
“Oh, where are my manners?” Draven forced a tight smile, clearing his throat. “I forgot to introduce you. Ace, this is my wife's father, Kael…..”
“What on earth is she wearing?”
A wave of sharp, judgmental whispers cut Draven off mid-sentence.
I turned toward the entrance, and my heart stopped.
Standing at the threshold was my mate. Her pale skin seemed to catch the light, glowing beautifully against the darkness of the hall. She was blindingly beautiful, but she wasn't wearing a blue gown. She stood completely frozen under the harsh gazes of the crowd, and I could tell instantly that she had no idea she had been set up.
My eyes darted coldly around the room, tracking the source of the trap. Just as I suspected, Selena was standing a few feet away, a triumphant smirk plastered on her face. But Selena had miscalculated. Her cruel trick hadn't humiliated Lyra; it had elevated her. My mate looked utterly heavenly wearing a dark, floor-length gown with a sweetheart neckline and long, flowing sleeves. The bodice was tightly fitted, giving way to a full, layered skirt that cut a dramatic silhouette across the marble floor. Sparkling silver accents were scattered across the heavy black fabric like fallen stars, giving her a celestial, mystical aura. A delicate, dark choker hugged her throat, adding a sharp touch of elegance to the dramatic, romantic design. There was a subtle hint of seduction to the look, and as I felt the predatory gazes of the men in the room lock onto her, I clenched my fists, forcing my claws back.
I must not let anyone know she's my mate. Not yet.
Lyra raised her head, taking slow, dignified steps toward our table. Her presence carried an otherworldly elegance that left the room breathless.
But before she could reach the center of the hall, Selena stepped forward, intentionally blocking her path.
“Why aren't you wearing blue?” Selena asked, her voice dripping with fake, sickening concern.
My mate stopped, turning her gaze toward the spiteful woman. Beside her stood a petite maid dressed in black. Lyra quickly made a series of rapid, graceful gestures with her hands, and the maid stepped forward to interpret.
“My Lady says that you were the one who explicitly told us black was the theme color when we spoke in the garden.”
“Me?” Selena cried out, her voice pitching into a dramatic, offended gasp for the benefit of the crowd. “How could you say that? Aren't you the Luna? How could you not know the colors of your own husband's party? Or are you simply trying to mock the sacred ceremonies of the Blackthorn family?”
Lyra didn't sign another word. Instead, she dismissed the maid with a slight tilt of her head and attempted to walk around Selena toward our table. But as she brushed past, Selena reached out and violently yanked her back by the arm.
Lyra lost her footing, stumbling backward onto the slick marble.
Moving faster than human eyes could track, I lunged forward. I caught her seamlessly before she could hit the hard ground, my arm wrapping securely around her waist. A violent jolt of electricity sparked through my skin at the contact. After ensuring she was steady on her feet, I let go and turned on Selena, my voice dropping into a lethal, gritted growl.
“What the hell was that for?”
Selena paled, stepping back, unable to answer. From the corner of the room, I saw Lyra's father, Kael, running toward us.
“My poor child!” Kael cried dramatically, throwing his arms around his daughter. He squeezed her tightly, then turned a glaring, tear-filled gaze toward Draven.
“Haha, Father-in-law, please, don't take it to heart,” Draven spoke up, stepping in to smooth over the tension.
He raised his hands to calm the murmuring hall. “It was merely a misunderstanding caused by my late brother's wife. She simply got a bit emotional.”
The explanation seemed to satisfy the crowd. Draven raised his cup high. “A toast to my younger brother, who has finally returned to us from exile!”
The crowd cheered, and the hall quickly went back to minding their own business. But my eyes never left my mate. She stood stiffly beside Draven like a fragile puppet, her soft gray eyes holding that deep, suffocating sadness I had noticed before.
“Ace Blackthorn, it is an honor to see you back in the territory,” a pack elder said, stepping into my line of sight.
My eyes tried to peer past his shoulder, tracking Lyra. “Oh, thank you,” I forced a shallow laugh, but then I noticed her slipping away, making her way toward the exit doors.
I quickly excused myself from the elder, turning away from the noise of the ballroom, and rushed out into the cool night air after her.
I followed her out to the courtyard, stopping a few paces back to watch her small, ethereal figure standing beneath the silver glow of the moonlight.
Was she crying? The thought tightened something in my chest.
I took a slow step forward. “Lady Lyra,” I called out softly.
She froze, then slowly turned her beautiful face toward me.
- Writer
