Betrayal Under The Blood Moon

Chapter Eleven

Power tastes like salt and dominance. Like bringing an Alpha to his knees with nothing but tongue and determination.

I press fingers to my lips, still feeling him there. Still tasting victory earned on my knees in his office. The memory sends heat pooling low—not the desperate burn of heat but something better. Choice. Control. The look in his eyes when I'd taken him deep, when his careful restraint shattered into desperate need.

Two million dollars. Transferred before I'd even made it back to the war room.

"You're smiling like you ate someone." Melanie looks up from fabric samples spread across the table. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not."

"Definitely not." Julie sorts through vendor contracts with mechanical precision. "But since you're glowing and Pete just delivered a budget increase that made him cry actual tears..."

"Tears of joy or horror?"

"Both. Raccoons cry weird."

The war room smells like possibilities. Fresh flowers for testing arrangements. Coffee strong enough to wake the dead. Female determination sharp as ozone before lightning strikes. My human pack works with focused intensity while I float on the high of making Dante Byrne lose his mind with my mouth.

I'd been terrified at first. Virgin until a week ago, now on my knees for an Alpha who's probably had centuries of practice. But the first sound he'd made—half growl, half prayer—lit something inside me. Power. Real power. Not the moon-touched gift that makes storms bend to my will, but the older magic of making someone powerful surrender to pleasure.

"Earth to Sadie." Ella waves a hand in front of my face. "The omegas will be here in an hour. You planning to greet them in yesterday's clothes?"

Right. The tea party. Revolution disguised as petit fours and polite conversation.

"Shower first. Then—"

"Then we dress you like the white wolf you are." Suki holds up a garment bag. "Melanie's friend delivered this an hour ago. Said it was rush work but worth it."

The dress spills out like water. Midnight blue that shifts silver in the light, casual enough for afternoon tea but cut to make every line scream predator. The kind of dress that says I choose my own clothes, my own life, my own fate.

"Perfect."

Forty minutes later, I stand in the renovated ballroom watching Pete direct traffic. Tables dressed in white linen. China that hasn't seen daylight in decades. Flowers that whisper money without screaming it. Everything designed to say welcome while reminding them whose territory they've entered.

"They're arriving." Maxine appears at my shoulder, dressed down but still radiating violence. "Fifteen so far. More coming."

Through the windows, I watch omegas emerge from cars. Some confident, designer clothes and careful makeup. Others hesitant, plain dresses and downcast eyes. The divide between progressive packs and traditional ones visible in every step.

"The ones who look scared. Those are the ones who need this most."

"Those are the ones whose Alphas will cause problems." Maxine tracks movement like the predator she is. "Speaking of problems, incoming."

Three omegas enter together, moving in formation. The center one, tall and pale with white-blonde hair, smells like old blood and older money. The Riverside Pack, if I'm reading the subtle markers right. Traditional to their bones.

"You must be the white wolf." Her voice carries the particular tone of someone used to being the most important omega in any room. "I'm Natasha. These are my packmates, Vera and Lisette."

"Welcome to Portland territory." I don't offer my hand. Neither does she. We circle each other without moving, two predators recognizing competition.

"Interesting gathering." Natasha surveys the room with sharp eyes. "Omegas meeting without Alpha supervision. Some would call that... inappropriate."

"Some would call it tea." I let frost creep into my voice. "Unless Riverside Pack has rules against hot beverages?"

"We have rules about omegas knowing their place." Vera, shorter and darker, speaks with carefully cultivated sweetness. "Perhaps being raised human has left you... confused about proper dynamics."

"Perhaps being raised by parents who loved me enough to let me think gave me different perspectives."

Wrong thing to say. Natasha's smile sharpens into something cruel. "Parents who kept you drugged and ignorant? Who stole your birthright? Strange definition of love."

The words hit like claws across exposed nerve. She's not wrong. The Westbrooks did steal everything from me. But hearing it from her mouth, wrapped in superiority and judgment—

"At least they didn't sell me to the highest bidder." The words come out before I can stop them. "Tell me, Natasha, did your pack auction you off? Or did they negotiate privately?"

Color drains from her face. "How dare—"

"Ladies." My human pack materializes around us. Julie at my right, Melanie at my left. Ella and Suki flanking wide. Jinsoo stays back but watchful. "So glad you could make it. The petit fours are exceptional."

"Human friends." Lisette says it like profanity. "Of course. The white wolf who thinks she's above pack law surrounds herself with lesser beings."

"Lesser?" Julie's laugh could strip paint. "I have three law degrees and a success rate that makes senior partners weep. But please, tell me more about my inadequacies."

"Education doesn't change biology." Natasha recovers her composure. "Humans are prey. We are predators. The white wolf degrades herself by—"

Thunder rolls outside despite clear skies. The windows rattle in their frames while my power responds to rising fury. Every omega in the room turns toward the sound, instinct recognizing warning.

"Careful." I step closer to Natasha, letting her feel what builds under my skin. "You're guests in my territory. Under my protection. That includes my pack, regardless of species."

"Your territory?" She laughs, but I smell fear underneath. "You've been wolf for what, a week? You think that gives you authority over omegas who've served their packs for decades?"

"I think being white wolf gives me authority you can't imagine." Lightning flashes outside, punctuating the point. "But if you'd prefer to leave..."

"And miss the social event of the season?" Natasha straightens her spine. "Hardly. Someone needs to ensure protocols are followed. Standards maintained."

"Of course. Maintain away." I turn my back on her, dismissal clear. "Ella, could you show our traditional friends to their table? The one by the kitchen doors?"

Insult delivered with a smile. The worst table in any formal setting, usually reserved for plus-ones nobody wants to acknowledge. Natasha's face flushes but she follows, her packmates trailing like obedient dogs.

"Well." Melanie watches them go. "That was fun. How many more of those are coming?"

"Probably several." I accept champagne from a passing server, needing bubbles to wash away the taste of confrontation. "Traditional packs don't like change. I'm change personified."

"You're also bleeding."

I look down. My palms show crescents where nails dug deep, blood welling bright against pale skin. Control slipping already and the party's barely started.

"Bathroom." Jinsoo takes my arm, guiding me away before anyone notices. "Let's get you cleaned up before—"

"Sadie!" A young omega intercepts us, maybe nineteen and vibrating with excitement. "Is it true? About the Challenge? That you're going to make all the Alphas compete properly?"

"That's the plan."

"My sister went through Challenge three years ago." Her voice drops. "They just... fought. No ball, no chance for her to choose. The winner claimed her that night. She still cries sometimes."

The blood on my palms seems appropriate suddenly. How many omegas suffered through Challenges that were nothing but sanctioned assault? How many never got to choose?

"This one will be different." Promise and threat combined. "Every omega who attends will be treated as the treasure they are."

Her smile could light cities. "I knew it. A white wolf would understand. My Alpha didn't want me to come, but I snuck out. Worth whatever punishment—"

"No punishment." The words come out hard. "What's your name?"

"Beth. From Willamette Pack."

"Beth from Willamette is under my protection today." I raise my voice enough to carry. "Any omega who attends this tea is my guest. Any Alpha who punishes them for accepting my hospitality insults me personally."

Silence spreads through the room. Then whispers. Then something that sounds like hope.

"The bathroom?" Jinsoo reminds quietly.

Right. Blood still drips from my palms, dotting expensive carpet. I follow her through hallways that smell like lemon polish and old money. The bathroom is all marble and gold fixtures, mirrors that show too much truth.

"You can't protect them all." Jinsoo runs water over my hands, watching red swirl down expensive drains. "Some of these Alphas—"

"Will learn." I watch my own eyes in the mirror, silver bleeding through brown. "Or bleed."

"That's what worries me." She dries my hands with unnecessary care. "You're taking on centuries of tradition. They won't just roll over because—"

The door bursts open. Suki, face flushed with something between panic and rage.

"You need to see this. Now."

She drags us to the small sitting room where a TV plays muted news. Except it's not muted anymore, and my adoptive father fills the screen in high definition grief.

"—taken by force. My daughter, who suffers from a severe psychological condition, has been brainwashed by this cult." Tears stream down his face, perfectly timed for the cameras. "They've convinced her she's some kind of... creature. Fed her drugs to alter her mental state."

The banner scrolling beneath: SENATOR'S DAUGHTER HELD CAPTIVE BY WEREWOLF CULT.

"He's really going for it." Julie appears beside us, lawyer brain already calculating. "Full media blitz. Playing the concerned father."

"She needs immediate psychiatric intervention." Westbrook continues his performance. "Before they damage her permanently. Before they..." His voice breaks. "Before they breed her like an animal."

My hands start bleeding again. Fresh crescents over old wounds.

"That f*****g—"

"There's more." Suki changes channels. Different network, same story. Photos of me from various political events, always smiling, always appropriate. Then grainy footage of me at the pack border, hair wild, power crackling. The contrast devastates.

"Noted psychiatrist Dr. Helen Morrison states that cult deprogramming may be Ms. Westbrook's only hope for recovery." The anchor speaks with practiced concern. "The President is reportedly considering federal intervention."

"Let them come." The words growl out through lengthening teeth. "Let them try to take me back to their needles and lies and—"

"Breathe." Julie grips my shoulders. "This is what he does. Public manipulation. We fight back the same way."

"How? He owns half the media—"

"And you own the truth." She shakes me slightly. "Pictures of your medical records. Twenty-six years of suppressants. We go public with everything."

"Later." Melanie shuts off the TV. "Right now, you have forty omegas waiting for tea and revolution. Show them the white wolf who doesn't break under pressure."

She's right. I straighten my dress, check my face for traces of fury. Find only determination staring back.

"How do I look?"

"Like someone who gives amazing blow jobs and topples governments." Ella grins at my shocked expression. "What? We all know where you disappeared to this morning."

"I hate all of you."

"You love us." Suki links her arm through mine. "Now let's go show those traditional bitches what modern omegas can accomplish."

The ballroom buzzes with conversation when we return. Forty has become sixty, word spreading through whatever network omegas maintain. They cluster in groups—progressive packs mixing carefully, traditional ones holding themselves apart. But they're talking. Connecting. Finding common ground over tea and tiny sandwiches.

"Luna." Sarah, the older omega who visited Dante this morning, approaches with careful deference. "The stylists have arrived. Should we begin fittings?"

"Set up in the blue drawing room." I scan the crowd, finding faces both eager and terrified. "Anyone who wants to participate. No pressure. But make it clear—every omega who attends the ball deserves to feel beautiful."

"Even us?" A tiny voice from behind. I turn to find three omegas in plain homespun, mountain pack by their scent. "We don't... we've never..."

"Especially you." I take the speaker's hand, careful not to spook her. "What's your name?"

"Anna. These are my sisters, Mae and Rosie."

"Anna, Mae, and Rosie are going to be the most beautiful women at the ball." I signal Melanie. "My friend here used to dress senators' wives. She'll make sure you shine."

Their faces transform. Like flowers seeing sun after endless rain.

This. This is why I'm fighting. Not for political gain or pack power but for the right of every omega to choose. Their clothes. Their lives. Their futures.

"Ms. Westbrook?" Pete appears, tablet clutched like shield. "There's a... situation at the main gate."

Of course there is. I follow him through french doors onto the terrace where we can see the front drive. Three black SUVs idle at the checkpoint, federal plates gleaming.

"Let me guess. My father sent negotiators?"

"Psychiatrists." Pete's whiskers twitch with nerves. "With commitment papers. They're claiming you're a danger to yourself and others."

Thunder rolls across clear skies. Every window in the ballroom rattles while my power responds to pure rage.

"Call Julie. Tell her to meet me at the gate." I strip off my heels, needing bare feet on earth. "And Pete? Make sure the omegas see this. Let them watch what happens when someone tries to cage a white wolf."

Because I'm done running. Done hiding. Done pretending their world has any claim on me.

Time to show them what I learned on my knees in Dante's office.

Power isn't given. It's taken.

And I'm taking it all.