Lost Russian Luna

Chapter Ten

The inside of the Bellagio is nothing like my previous hotel or the cleaning crew break rooms. The air is artificially dry, the A/C functioned to the point of drying out my nose, and everything was scrubbed down with scents that had been touched with lemon or lavender instead of cleaners or bleach. It was disconcerting. I knew the nicer hotels on the Strip paid money to be nicer and smelled pleasant, but the smell was something different. We cross the lobby in a burst of cold energy, and my shoes, something new, fresh, and didn’t quite fit; the sizing was a bit too large, and they squeaked on the marble, announcing us to anyone who gives a damn. The tourists don’t care, but the wolves surrounding me notice. I was loud.

Duncan stalks in, owning everything while he walks, shoulders squared in a bespoke suit. The jacket was straining at his well-formed arms that most of the Alphas I had seen might be envious of. His hair slicked back and shone in these lights, shining an undertone of red, and his jaw set to “don’t f**k with me” before we even clear the valet. He does not look back to see if I am following. He knew. The power of knowing, I wish I could feel safe in his aura, but I had my tail tucked under and followed, cowardly.

The borrowed jeans hang off my hips, cinched by a woven belt with too many notches. The shirt is thin and pale, faded letters reading “Property of Virginia Athletics” across the chest, sleeves rolled twice, and still swallowing my hands. These new, clean clothes felt foreign. Even if I am nothing but borrowed bits of odds and ends. I try to tuck my chin and let my hair do the hiding, the style that Amelia had left it limp and parted. It was still sad and dull from the last dye job I managed to perform in my studio apartment. They called it “Sandy Brown,” but it was just sad on my standard hair color. It did, though, cover my scars with my new clothing. Even if my hollow cheeks and eyes couldn’t be covered with the makeup Amelia attempted before allowing me to leave the house.

The hotel is made for peacocks, tourists, the rich, and now predators. Every step is watched, even by the cleaning staff. Especially the staff, I can feel the glances, pricking every inch of exposed skin. I scanned to see the few glances before they disappeared, becoming invisible as I should be. I knew where to look as the other wolves were looking for threats like human security and other roaming wolves. I learned to find the staff, both the invisible and the obvious.

Passing the bar, one of the women of the night, dressed in a dress that cost more than my entire rent, stares at Duncan to look him up and down to decide if she can hook him. She didn’t bother with me; I wasn’t there, I wasn’t anything. Security guards in polite navy blazers follow the group with hard eyes, deciding what type of money Duncan and crew would be dropping on the floor, and one drifted a hand over a radio, sensing something was off enough. I stare back, long enough for him to look away. One of the guards had to be sensitive to magic to feel us. Interesting, and would have to keep it in mind for later before I return to staring at the marble floors.

Duncan guides me with the subtlest pressure, hand near my elbow, never needing to touch me. He could nudge my trajectory with the gravity of his aura. He couldn’t be mistaken for a bodyguard, only someone with too much power, someone rich and powerful, maybe a handler or someone protecting me. In the chrome of the elevator, my reflection is all eyes and shadows and not enough wolf.

We take the express elevator to the thirty-fourth floor. The moment the doors shut, the hush is total; the air thickens with the smell of ambition, more pungent than even the bleach I used to scrub from my skin after the night shift. Duncan doesn’t speak, glances down at me once, his eyes so green and wolfish I want to lean closer to make sure they are real. No one should have eyes like that.

At the top, the corridor is carpeted, the design geometric and of questionable design, meant to be walked on by people who don’t care about the world under their feet. We reach a pair of double doors at the end, guarded by a pair of men in identical gray suits. They’re not twins, but the sameness is more than genetic. Both are broad, with necks that bulge against the collars, and both look at me like I am the single drop of blood in an ocean of water.

Duncan gives them a nod, a flick of his chin. They don’t respond, open the doors, and let us in.

The conference room is colder than the rest of the hotel. The air is still, thickened by the anticipation of violence or at least the prelude to it. The table is a monolith, carved from wood so dark it absorbs the light. At the head sits a man who could be a statue, except for the way his rich brown eyes move. New England Alpha. I know it without being told. I could feel his power; no one could mistake another Alpha’s power.

He is flanked by six men, all wolves, and every inch of them is built for war. Their suits are all black, the shoes shone, the hairlines even and severe and terrifying. Their eyes track us from the moment we step in, and for a second, every muscle in my back goes tight as if expecting a bullet, claws, or a bite. It wasn't enjoyable. I haven’t been in a room with this many wolves since I was cast out of Russia.

On the far side of the table, three seats are empty, waiting for us. Duncan gestures, and I move to the end, careful not to scrape the chair on the floor. He pulls out a seat for me. I sit, barely glancing at the others. He sits next to me, his body a deliberate wall between me and the Alpha at the head. Two more men from our side, Tyler and Eric, both cleaned up wearing bright shirts under their suits, taking flanking positions. The symmetry is surgical, a standoff by design.

No one speaks. I keep my hands folded in my lap, the trembling almost hidden by the loose cotton shirt. The scars on my wrists itch, as if they want to burst into the cold air, show these wolves what real survival looks like. I stare at the grain of the table, at the tiny cracks in the lacquer, and try to slow my breathing.

The Alpha at the head of the table moves first. He is not as large as Duncan, but he holds the room like a black hole, pulling every gaze to him whether you want it or not. His suit is pinstriped, old-school, with a white handkerchief in the pocket. His hair is black, combed flat, and his eyes, pools of dark blue, so blue it hurts to look. They land on Duncan, then flick to me, then back to Duncan with a smirk that does not belong in a meeting about war.

“Duncan. Who’s the little ghost?” His voice is soft, polished. He seems to be used to getting his way without getting loud.

Duncan does not smile. “She’s here to listen. That’s all. The rules state we can bring an Omega, and here is an Omega.”

The Alpha’s gaze lingers on me, head tilted. “Adorable but scrawny. Don’t you feed your women?”

Duncan returns the head tilt. “Always, from what I have heard, you don’t let your Omega even leave the territory.”

I open my mouth, then close it. There is nothing I could say that would help. Tyler’s knee bumps mine under the table, a warning, or maybe a show of solidarity. I don’t know which.

“You dare.” The Alpha snarls.

Duncan answers, voice steady. “Yes.”

One of the New England wolves bares his teeth, just enough to flash the points. The others watch, still and silent. I don’t move, don’t blink, keep my hands clenched and my body small. It’s how you survive.

The Alpha at the head leans forward, hands folded like he’s about to pray. “Let’s skip the introductions. We all know why we’re here. Territory. Blood. An end to the killings, or the start of something messier.” He glances at me again. “Unless your Omega has other ideas?”

I swallow. The word is not an insult, not here, not exactly, but it’s a cage all the same.

Duncan’s body shifts, just enough to put his shoulder between me and the Alpha’s gaze. “She is here to listen. Making sure we don’t kill each other.”

The Alpha’s smile is a wolf’s: thin, joyless, and full of promise. “Then she can serve the drinks and listen. Let’s get on with it.”

The next hour is a blur of threats disguised as offers, old grievances recited like scripture, and the subtle slide of power from one side to the other. I take notes in my head, cataloguing the insults, the tells, the cracks in the veneer. The Alpha from New England lets his wolves handle the numbers: shipment routes, disputed zones, the body count from the last quarter, but every so often, he looks at me, and every time it feels like a fingernail across a chalkboard. I hate it, the look that he knows something he shouldn’t. I don’t want him looking at me. He wants something from me.

Duncan is all ice and calculation. He never raises his voice, never breaks eye contact, never lets a single word fall without a purpose. The other two from our side are shadows, nodding, grunting, and the occasional interjection when the Alpha’s lie gets too bold.

The room is a vacuum. Even the windows are shaded, muting the Vegas sun to a dull gray haze. The walls are hung with abstract paintings that mean nothing but bright colors. The only color is the beige of the water pitcher and the blue of the Alpha’s eyes. I try not to look at either. I want to escape, run to the Strip and back to my shoebox of a home.

At some point, the meeting grinds to a pause. The Alpha at the head stands, stretches, and signals for a break. The other wolves file out in formation, each with a glance over the shoulder, each daring us to make a move. Duncan sits back and runs a hand over his face. For the first time, I see the exhaustion in the line of his mouth.

He turns to me, voice pitched for my ears alone. “You all right?”

I nod, though my heart is a snare drum in my chest.

“You’re doing fine,” he says. “Just stay quiet and let them talk. It’s what you’re good at.”

The compliment stings, but I take it. I want to ask why I’m here, really, but I know better than to question the Alpha in front of the wolves. There is a pecking order, even if you pretend otherwise.

Outside the room, I pace the hallway, hands jammed in my hoodie, counting the seconds until we have to go back in. The carpet muffles my steps, but I still feel every vibration through the soles of my feet. It’s like being on the threshold of a kill zone, waiting for the first shot.

When the doors open again, the room has shifted. The New England Alpha sits more relaxed, one arm draped over the back of his chair, a glass of whiskey in the other hand. The bodyguards are gone, replaced by new faces, leaner, hungrier, their eyes less human than before.

Duncan enters last, pausing to scan the room, the hackles on his neck practically visible. He sits, hands folded, and waits.

The Alpha lifts his glass and toasts the air. “To progress. To peace, if such a thing can exist between our kinds.”

Duncan does not lift his glass. I don’t have one to lift, anyway.

The Alpha’s eyes settle on me again. “Your little ghost is good at hiding. Does she have a name?”

I want to melt into the chair. Duncan answers for me. “Val.”

The Alpha smiles, as if he’s found the answer to a riddle. “Val. Tell me, Val, do you think peace is possible? Or are we just animals, doomed to tear each other apart?”

I stare at the table. The answer is obvious, but he doesn’t want the truth. He wants the lie that keeps us all alive another day.

“I think peace is just a lull between wars,” I say, before I can stop myself.

The Alpha laughs, the sound dry and sharp. “Wise beyond your years. Maybe there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

Duncan’s hand closes into a fist on the table, but he says nothing.

The rest of the meeting is a blur, the words washing over me in waves. I watch the wolves, catalog their tells, note the way the Alpha’s eyes flicker when he lies, the way the men on either side stiffen when Duncan pushes too close to a sore spot. It’s the old game, the one I learned at my mother’s knee, before the snow and the blood and the night that tore it all away.

When it’s finally over, when the terms are agreed on and the handshakes exchanged, I follow Duncan out into the hall, blinking at the sudden spill of light from the windows. The elevator ride down is silent, the only sound the faint whirr of the machinery and the pulse in my ears.

On the ground floor, Duncan stops and turns to face me. For a second, I think he’s going to say something kind, or at least not cruel.

“You did well,” he says, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something almost human in his eyes. “You don’t have to come to the next one. Unless you want to.”

I shake my head. I want nothing more than to vanish, to sink into the earth and never hear the word “Alpha” again.

He nods, like he expected that. “Go get some air. I’ll find you.”

I step out into the lobby, into the world of strangers and sunlight, and breathe.