The Betas Revenge

Chapter Eight

Emma POV:

I adjusted the emerald silk of the gown Cast’s attendants had dropped off, the rich fabric draping heavily against my skin. The color was meant to make me look like royalty, but standing outside the double doors of the grand dining hall, I felt more like a sacrifice decked out for the altar.

Kieran leaned against the stone wall opposite me, looking criminally handsome in a dark, tailored suit that failed to hide the broad, dangerous line of his shoulders. His dark eyes tracked every shift of my dress with an open, icy hostility. Cast stood a few paces back, hands casually tucked into his trousers, watching the two of us like an observer testing two volatile chemicals in a flask.

"If you're trying to bore me to death before we go in, it's working," Kieran drawled, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "Are we going to stand in the corridor all night, or are you waiting for permission to breathe?"

"I was just giving you a moment to practice your pleasant expression," I fired back, meeting his sharp glare without flinching. "Though looking at you now, I see it’s a lost cause."

"Careful, Pet," Cast warned, a dangerous drop in his tone, though the slight twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed his amusement. "The Elders inside aren't known for their patience, and neither are we."

"I can handle the Elders," I muttered. Then, taking a steadying breath, I reached into the hidden pocket of my skirt and stepped closer to Kieran.

Instantly, his body locked up. His eyes narrowed, his posture turning predatory as the space between us closed. The pull of our bond flickered between us—an inconvenient, magnetic hum that made my pulse race despite myself.

"What are you doing?" Kieran growled, his hand hovering near his waist as if anticipating an attack. I knew he had his troubles and Cast was desperately trying to cover for him. Those two were inseparable for very different reasons.

"Relax, killer. I’m not carrying a silver blade or a rock." I say with a wink. He sighs like he has had enough of my s**t. I pulled out a small, heavy silver pocket watch, its surface etched with delicate, ancient runic scrollwork. It was an old relic from the northern territory borders—something I had managed to salvage from my father’s raid collections months ago, before he shipped me off. I knew the design was tied to Kieran’s family lineage; I’d recognized the crest the moment I saw his house sigil. It lives on the walls I stare at every night before bed.

I held it out to him on my palm. "A peace offering. For tonight."

Kieran stared down at the silver disk, his expression unreadable. For a fraction of a second, something raw and vulnerable flickered behind his dark eyes—a phantom of the grief he carried for his lost mate, the girl he believed I had a hand in killing.

"Where did you get this?" his voice dropped, laced with a lethal quiet.

"It belonged to a collector in the Northern Ridge," I said softly, holding his gaze. "I know what the crest means to your bloodline. It’s real, Kieran. Not a trick."

He didn't take it immediately. His gaze drifted from the watch up to my eyes, searching for a trace of deceit. The tension between us taunt like a wire about to snap.

Cast stepped forward, his brown eyes narrowing as he glanced at the watch, then at Kieran, and finally at me. "Well," Cast murmured, his voice rich with intrigue. "Look at that. She has a heart after all."

"Keep your mouth shut, Cast," Kieran snapped, though his fingers finally moved, brushing against mine as he took the pocket watch. The spark of electric heat from our skin contacting made us both flinch. He swallowed hard, slipping the watch into his breast pocket, close to his heart. His jaw set tight. "Don't think this changes anything. You're still a snake from a nest of vipers."

"And you're a delight," I shot back, smoothing my dress down. "Shall we go get fed to the wolves?"

Cast chuckled, pushing open the heavy oak doors. "After you, little viper."

The grand dining hall was bathed in the warm light of chandeliers, but the atmosphere inside was colder than a grave. A long mahogany table stretched down the center, packed with high-ranking warriors, pack leaders, and the Council of Elders sitting at the far end. As the three of us entered, the din of conversation died instantly. Dozens of pairs of predatory eyes locked onto me.

We took our seats at the head table. Cast sat at the center, the absolute picture of Alpha authority, with Kieran on his right and me on his left.

As the first course was served, the heavy silence was broken by Elder Vane, a sour-faced man with silver hair and eyes that looked like cracked ice. He set his wine goblet down with a heavy clatter, his gaze fixed entirely on me.

"So," Vane began, his voice cutting through the quiet like a dull blade. "This is the prize of the Red Moon Pack. The daughter of Alpha Silas."

I kept my spine straight, holding his stare. "Emma," I corrected politely. "My name is Emma."

"Names are for citizens, girl. In this hall, you represent a bargain," Vane sneered, leaning forward. "Though frankly, looking at you, I wonder if your father sent us his scraps. The Red Moon Pack has always been a collection of undisciplined scavengers and dishonorable strays. I suppose we shouldn't have expected refined blood."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the lower end of the table. Beside me, Cast sat back, taking a slow sip of his wine. He didn't intervene. He was watching me, testing my reaction, letting the heat build to see how I would survive the fire.

"My father's pack has its methods," I said smoothly, forcing my voice to remain calm. "Just as yours seems to have a habit of barking at guests before the soup course."

A few younger warriors choked on their drinks. Vane’s face darkened, his jaw clenching tightly. "Watch your tongue, wild dog. Your father’s reputation precedes you. A pack built on backstabbing, cheap tricks, and cowardice. We all know Silas sells his weak-blooded offspring when his borders start crumbling. Tell us, girl—did he train you to sell yourself, or does that come naturally to Red Moon females?"

The insult hung in the air, dirty and heavy. My blood boiled, my wolf clawing at my chest, begging to tear Vane's throat out. I opened my mouth to shred the old man with every bit of spite I possessed, but a low, dangerous rumble cut across the table before I could speak.

"That's enough, Vane."

The voice didn't come from Cast. It came from Kieran.

The entire hall fell dead silent. Kieran set his knife down with deliberate slowness, the metal clicking sharply against the china. He didn't look at me; his dark eyes were locked entirely on Elder Vane, glowing with a faint, lethal amber trace of his Beta wolf. As Casts beta he was always ready for a fight. Kieran looked a little paranoid as he wiped his eyes around the room left and right like he was looking for someone, or something. But, that just added to his intensity and darkness that was radiating off of him. It made me want to move my chair closer to him.

Vane blinked, caught off guard. "Kieran? The girl is from trash—"

"The girl is sitting at the Alpha table," Kieran interrupted, his voice dropping into a register that made the glasses on the table vibrate softly. "She is bound to this pack by blood and contract. If you insult her origin, you insult the arrangement Cast and I agreed to. And if you insult our judgment, Vane, you and I can take this outside to the courtyard right now."

Cast smiled into his wine glass, enjoying every second of the display, remaining completely passive while Kieran—the man who claimed to hate me—took the hit for me. I should not have hit him with that rock.

Vane’s cheeks flushed red, but he lowered his eyes, unable to hold Kieran's lethal stare. "I meant no disrespect to the leadership," the Elder muttered tightly.

"Then eat your dinner and keep your mouth shut," Kieran growled.

He picked up his glass, took a draft, and refused to look in my direction. But beneath the heavy table, I felt the aura of his wolf pulsing—defensive, sharp, and undeniably tied to mine. The peace offering was resting over his chest, ticking quietly against his heart.