Gambled to the Rival Alpha

Chapter 2-Whispers in the VIP lounge

The curtains separating the main hall from the VIP corridor seemed to absorb every piece of light and warmth.

I stood near the entrance, the sound of my frantic heartbeat seemingly reverberating around my ears.

'We shouldn't be following him,' I told myself, trying-and failing-to summon the composure expected of a Silver Crest Luna-to-be. 'Silas is a grown man. He's handling business.'

'He's lying to us,' Nyx rebutted sharply. 'And that dark Alpha went in there. Something is wrong, Ophelia. Can't you feel the bond straining?

She was right. The steady hum over my heart had become distorted. Silas’s anxiety was resonating across our connection like ink in clear water.

Flicking away a strange bead of sweat that formed on my forehead, I took a deep breath, pulled the curtain back just enough to slip through, and stepped into the dimly lit hallway.

The noise of the orchestra vanished, replaced by the hushed tones of private conversation and the clink of glasses. The VIP lounge was designed for high-ranking Alphas, council members, and wealthy pack leaders who preferred to conduct business away from the prying eyes of the general public. High-stakes card tables sat under pool lamps, their green felt surfaces littered with thousands of dollars in chips, land deeds, and trade rights.

I walked quietly down the thick Persian runner, staying close to the shadow of the wood-paneled walls.

"Look at her," a low, amused voice whispered from a booth to my left. "The precious little prize of Silver Crest. Does she know her mate is losing his shirt at the high-stakes table?"

I glanced over, catching two high-ranking wolves from the Sunburst Pack eyeing my sapphire dress.

Ignoring them, I kept my chin high as I pressed further into the lounge toward the private VIP poker room at the far end.

The doors were propped slightly open, allowing a thick haze of cigar smoke and the scent of aged whiskey to spill into the hallway. But underneath the smoke and alcohol, two powerful scents dominated the air.

One was the familiar, somewhat metallic scent that belonged to Silas. It was sour with sweat and practically reeking of panic.

The other was overwhelming. It hit my senses like a physical force and made my wolf lift her head and inhale deeply, her instincts reacting before my human mind could stop her.

That scent unmistakably belonged to Diego.

I slid into the recess between two decorative pillars and peeked through the crack in the door.

The room was vast and dimly lit, centered around a large poker table. A professional dealer in a black vest stood at the head of the table, his hands steady as he shuffled a fresh deck of cards.

Silas sat on the near side of the table. Several blonde locks fell messily over his forehead. His collar was unbuttoned, his silk tie loosened, and his face flushed red. In front of him, his once-massive stack of high-denomination chips was reduced to a pitiful pile.

Across from him, lounging back in a plush leather chair with absolute, lethal composure, was Diego.

Diego had removed his suit jacket, leaving him in a dark dress shirt that rolled up to his forearms, revealing strong, corded muscles. He leaned back comfortably, one leg crossed over the other, holding a glass of dark scotch in one hand while his eyes casually swept over his cards.

Beside Diego stood Miguel with his arms crossed over his chest and a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"I call," Silas said. He pushed a stack of gold chips into the center of the table with a trembling hand. "Show them, Pereira."

Diego didn't move right away. He took a slow sip of his scotch, the ice clinking softly against the glass in the silent room. When he finally looked up, his eyes were completely devoid of any form of empathy. They were cold and predatory.

"You are playing with borrowed time, Silas," he stated. "Are you certain you want to match my raise?"

The Hispanic accent laced around his words, sent a crimson dust across my cheeks.

"I said I call!" Silas slammed his palm on the table. "Lay down your hand!"

A dark chuckle rumbled deep in Diego's chest. With a tensed slowness, he reached forward and flicked his cards face up onto the green felt.

"Full house. Aces over Kings," he announced, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, his intense gaze locking onto Silas’s paling face. "I believe those deeds belong to the Bloodmoon Pack now."

The dealer stepped forward, sweeping the stack of land deeds and remaining chips toward Diego’s side of the table.

The color completely drained from my mate's skin, leaving him looking sickly under the low light.

"No... no, wait. That...that was the northern timber territory. My father’s expansion project..."

"Your father should have given his heir a tighter leash," Miguel chimed in smoothly from behind Diego. "Or at least taught him how to read a bluff."

I gripped the the pillar, my knuckles turning white. The northern timber territory? That was one of Silver Crest's primary economic assets. Silas had just gambled away millions of dollars in pack property in a single hand.

"Another round," Silas demanded. He reached for the empty whiskey decanter beside him, finding it dry. "One more hand, Pereira. I can win it back."

"With what?" Diego raised an eyebrow. "You have no chips left. You have no deeds. Your personal accounts were cleared out two hands ago. You are broke, chico."

"I have leverage!" Silas insisted, leaning across the table, his eyes wild and unhinged. "I have assets! Just deal the cards!"

Diego narrowed his eyes as he swirled the liquid in his glass. "I do not play for promises. In the Bloodmoon Pack, when a man sits at my table, he pays in blood or deed. And you, amigo, have neither."

He began to slide his chair back, preparing to stand up.

"Wait!" Silas almost screamed, standing up so fast his leather chair scraped violently against the floor. "I have one more thing. Something worth more than any territory."

A heavy silence descended over the room. The dealer lowered his hands. Miguel’s eyes narrowed.

Outside in the shadow of the hallway, my heart stopped beating.

Diego paused, an unimpressed expression painting his face. "Speak, then. What could a broken heir possibly offer me?"

Silas swallowed hard as he adjusted his messy collar. He looked like a cornered animal willing to tear off its own limb to escape.

"A bond." His voice was barely a whisper. "A prize."

"No," the hushed word slipped out of my lips as my face drained of blood.

'No!' Nyx echoed inside my head.

"Explain." Diego's eyes lit up in interest.

Silas leaned over the table. "My mate. Ophelia. She's the daughter of the Scarlet line—pure blood, radiant, untouched by any other wolf. She is meant to be the Luna of Silver Crest."

He took a deep breath, looking directly into the eyes of his pack’s greatest enemy.

"I bet my mate bond. If I lose, I sever the bond and she belongs to you. A gift of victory to the Bloodmoon Alpha."