Lady and the Rogue

Paradise Valley

Jamila

Hours after the gala, I sat in the backseat of a black town car, staring at my reflection in the tinted glass. My father thought I had retreated to my wing of the mansion. After standing in front of everyone, I cracked and told them I would lead. I hated that my father had so much influence and power over me. I excused myself stating that I would like to lie down but the truth was that I needed to leave. So, I changed nothing but put on a long trench coat that swallowed the shimmer of my gown. I tugged out my pearl choker, slipping it into my clutch, though I left the Sankofa pendant hidden against my collarbone. The chain felt heavier tonight, as if the weight of my blood and their expectation clung to it. I stepped outside as the rain poured down. My driver, Todd, hesitated when I gave him the address, wondering if I lost my mind. He didn’t like going down into Paradise Valley, but he followed the orders of a Duvall without questioning. When the car slowed to a stop, I stepped out into the air that smelled of fried catfish, barbeque, and rain. The alley was lit up with neon signs flickering, the faint tune of a saxophone drifting from a block away.

“Should I wait for you, Lady Duvall?” Todd asked with skepticism.

“No,” I answered, tightening the belt of my coat. “I’ll call when I’m ready.”

He frowned but drove off, leaving me alone under a broken streetlight. Once, Paradise Valley was the crown jewel of Detroit. My grandmother told stories about it, the way griots spoke of clubs where Count Basie played until sunrise, barbershops where men debated Garvey and Du Bois, storefronts that smelled of incense and shoe polish. The city had bulldozed half of it when they cut I-275 through its heart, claiming “progress,” scattering families like ashes. Now it lived in fragments, painted on brick walls in murals of Aretha Franklin and Malcolm X. The freeways roared above like iron predators, but the Valley still breathed. My heels clicked against cracked pavement as I walked toward the jazz music. My father had warned me never to come here. He told me that it was dangerous. To him, Paradise Valley was a relic, a scar. But to me, it was a possibility of my freedom.

The jazz bar sat at the end of the block, its blue sign buzzing like a tired horn. Inside, the air was filled with smoke and smelled like cigars, a mix of cologne, and alcohol. A quartet played Coltrane’s “Naima,” the notes curling through the room like incense. I slipped into a booth near the back. The waitress didn’t ask what I wanted, she just set down a glass of bourbon, neat. The bourbon burned as I sipped it. I let myself sink into the music. The saxophonist played like he was bleeding, each note so beautiful. It wasn’t polished like the orchestra at my father’s gala. It awakened something inside of me. I felt alive, and it seemed like I found where I belonged.

The crowd was a patchwork quilt of the city. Elders in fedoras, women with gold hoops who laughed with their whole bodies, hustlers shaking dice in the corner, and couples swaying close on the dance floor. Nobody wore pearls. Nobody bowed their heads when my gaze swept over them. Here, my father’s influence was irrelevant. Here, I wasn’t a Duvall heir. I was just a woman with a drink in her hand enjoying the atmosphere. My eyes studied the room, gazing at images of well known musicians and artists and then they landed on him.

He stood tall, leaning against the far wall, carved out of shadow. Same leather jacket, scarred knuckles, eyes silver-bright even in the smoke. He didn’t belong here any more than he’d belonged in the ballroom. But he didn’t belong to the Duvalls either. He belonged to himself. And everything in me ached toward that freedom. He wasn’t watching the band. He wasn’t watching the dice. He was watching me. My breath stilled. My pulse fluttered like a trapped bird. I looked away, but my body betrayed me, every nerve tuned to him. It was as if my blood had scented his. Something in me stirred again, scraping against my ribs, begging me not to look away. The music shifted to a blues riff, and he pushed off the wall. He moved like a predator, someone to be feared, but I wasn’t scared. I was enchanted. The crowd unconsciously gave him space, parting without realizing why. They must have felt it, too. The danger aura he carried. He stopped at my booth.

“Lady Duvall.” His voice was deep and low enough that it thrummed in my chest. He said it like it was an epitaph. I met his gaze, forcing my chin high. His mahogany skin was gorgeous, his jawline was sharp, his expression carved in stone with eyes that burned in the shadows like embers threatening to ignite. His short, well-kept beard and closely low-cut hair framed a face both arresting and intimidating. He wore a fitted leather jacket over a plain white shirt and a silver chain, giving him the edge of a man who doesn’t need armor to look dangerous. What makes him magnetic isn’t just the sculpted strength of his body, but his overall presence.

“You were at my father’s gala,” I pointed out.

His brows perked up. “You noticed.”

“How could I not? You didn’t clap when the Alpha was speaking.”

That crooked smirk curved his mouth. “I don’t like pretending.”

Before I could reply, he slid into the booth across from me. The waitress didn’t flinch; she set down another bourbon, like she knew better than to cross whatever current flowed between us. Up close, his presence was overwhelming. His jaw was shadowed with stubble, a scar running across his cheekbone like a silver seam. His scent wrapped around me. God, it was so strong with a scent of pine as old as the forest. My wolf surged against my skin, and I dug my nails into my palm to keep it down.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he informed me.

“Neither should you.”

His smirk widened, wolfish. “The difference is, I know how to survive it.”

I lifted my glass, keeping my hand steady. “And what makes you think I don’t?”

He leaned forward, placing one of his elbows on the table, his eyes glinting. “Because you sit like the world’s watching, even when no one cares.” He inhaled slowly. “And it’ll get you killed.”

Heat surged through me. My desire and arousal increased the more I sat here with him. It was reckless and untamable.

“Maybe,” I whispered, holding his gaze. “Or maybe it’ll get me free.”

For the first time, his smirk slipped. Something unrecognizable flickered in his eyes. For a heartbeat, there was nothing but silence and I wanted to know what he was thinking. I didn’t breathe as the band slid into “Afro Blue,” drums beating like a pulse. Everyone else faded, and it was only him and I. His scent tangled with mine was like an unspoken vow. I pulled in, but the spell immediately broke when glass slammed against the floor, shouts rose as a fight erupted near the bar. Chairs crashed against the floors and a woman screamed for someone to stop.

He was on his feet before I could blink. He scanned the room with a soldier’s instincts, either ready to step in or ready to tear someone apart. His hand brushed the table as he rose, close enough that I felt the heat of his skin. My wolf wanted me to reach for it, to bridge the inches between us. Instead, he leaned down, voice low against my ear.

“Go home, Lady.”

I wanted to protest and before I could, he was gone, swallowed by smoke and saxophone, leaving me trembling, bourbon untouched, the wolf inside me howling for more. The fight raged on in the corner, men dragging each other across tables, fists landing wet against flesh. The music didn’t stop. The band played louder, faster, like the chaos was part of the setlist. My booth became a fortress, shadows curling around me, bourbon glass sweating between my fingers.

I should have left, but my body rooted to the leather seat, heart pounding not from fear but from something far more dangerous. His voice still brushed against my ear, a warning curling into a dare. Go home. I didn’t want to. Home was a glorified prison. Here, in the smoke and blood and broken glass, I had glimpsed the outline of something else—something my blood recognized even if my mind wouldn’t name it. The waitress caught my eye from across the room. She shook her head, subtle, like she knew what I was thinking, like she’d seen too many women fall into the teeth of wolves. I dropped a bill on the table, pushed the glass aside. My coat whispered against the floor as I stood and left.

The night outside swallowed me whole. The residue of the rain was still on the ground, a slight wind chill breezed causing me to shiver just a little. Somewhere, in the dark between streetlights, I knew he was still there. I could smell his pine scent. The wolf inside me pressed harder against my ribs, but I managed to keep it contained. I followed him though I didn’t know where he was headed. My heels lightly clicked against the asphalt, my trench coat brushing my calves, and my heart pounded like a drum in a funeral procession. The wolf inside me throbbed with hunger. This was dangerous, but I couldn’t stop. He had unlocked a wildness I’d hidden beneath my family’s power. He slipped into a narrow alley and I stopped right at the corner, giving him more space before I began to follow him again. Garbage cans overflowed, their stench thick with rotten food. A single streetlamp flickered, casting pale light that danced across puddles. Dark figures emerged against brick walls scrawled with forgotten murals of Motown legends. I hesitated as the voices rose, glancing back toward the main street, but curiosity and the pull of the wolf carried me forward. I crouched behind one of the dumpsters, my heart hammering in my chest. I held my breath to get my breathing under control. I couldn’t make out what they were talking about. I could only hear certain words like…pack war, rogue wolf. I was about to get up when I heard my father’s name and my pack.

“Alpha Samuel hosted a gala tonight. His daughter will be the new alpha leading their pack,” he spoke. I knew that voice as if it was part of my soul.

“This can’t happen! No woman has ever led! Is she even ready? Does she have her wolf?”

Then I could hear my savior’s voice again. “Who said women couldn’t rule, David?”

“It’s been a tradition for many years that men were always in charge. I supposed a rogue wolf wouldn’t know.” So he was a rogue wolf!

He ignored the taunt, his eyes scanning the shadows. "Well, we're not the only ones looking for a fight. Duvall's been meeting with the Crimson Peak Pack. A deal's been struck. That’s why he was celebrating. Him putting his only daughter in charge in the middle of it was just plain reckless."

A cold dread settled in my stomach. The Crimson Peak Pack? That pack was known for their ruthlessness, for their complete disregard of the old ways. Their leader, a man named Kane. He had no regard for anyone.

"A deal? For what?" the first man, David, asked, his voice a low growl.

"Territory," Silas replied, his voice a hard edge of steel. "Duvall's expanding his reach. Our territory is next."

"And he think we'll just hand it over?" another man snarled. "We'll fight!"

"That's the plan, isn't it?" Silas's voice was a low rumble of thunder. "But it isn’t going to solve anything."

He paused, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. "I have a plan and I'll let you know when its time-."

I wanted to pop out and ask what the plan was. I was not aware of my father’s dealings and knew I needed to talk to him about it. Throwing me in the middle of what could be a territorial war was dangerous, and I needed to know why. But a sudden movement caught my eye. A shadow detaching itself from the wall, a whisper of a figure melting into the alley's deep darkness. I was able to catch a glimpse of a familiar leather jacket and a flash of silver eyes. Then suddenly, he was gone. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum against the silence. What did that mean? Was he a rogue wolf? My mind was a whirlwind of questions and fear. I peered from behind the dumpster, my body trembling with adrenaline, and watched as the other two men left the alley, their voices fading into the night.

It was quiet now, and my heart was in my throat, like a frantic bird beating its wings against its cage. I needed to call Todd. I needed to leave. But my feet wouldn't move.

Suddenly, a hand reached out from the shadows and clamped over my mouth. I gasped, a muffled sound of surprise and terror.

"I told you to go home," he whispered against my ear, his voice a low, dangerous growl. God that scent! "You don't listen, do you?"

I struggled against his grip, but it was like trying to fight an iron vise. He was so strong. He turned me around to face him, his eyes burning into mine. I could see the rage simmering beneath the surface, a dangerous fire threatening to consume us both.

"What did you hear?" he demanded, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

I shook my head, my eyes wide with fear. "Nothing," I tried to say, but my voice was a strangled squeak.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against my ear. "Don't lie to me. You heard everything, didn't you?"

My breath hitched. He knew. Of course, he knew. My body trembled, not just with fear but with an aching, pull. He had a secret, one I just stumbled upon, but he was not the only one. My father’s name, my pack, the possibility of an alliance with the ruthless Crimson Peak Pack… it all hit me at once. My family had secrets that I was even aware of.

I swallowed, the bitter taste on my tongue. "My father… he's planning something with Crimson Peak."

Silas's eyes narrowed, and he let me go, the silence heavy with unspoken questions. He ran a hand over his short hair, a pained grimace on his face.

"So you're not just a Duvall heir," he muttered, his voice a low rumble. "You're a spy."

"No!" I cried, my voice louder than I intended. "I'm not. I didn't know anything about this. My father keeps things from me. He wants to control everything. I came here to… to be free."

Silas gave a dry, humorless laugh. "There's no such thing as freedom, Lady Duvall. We're all just dogs on a leash."

"Jamila," I corrected him. "And you seemed to be free. You're out here with no one having control over your every move."

He took a step back, the air between us suddenly cold and empty. "Go home. Forget you saw me. Forget you heard anything."

"I can't," I whispered, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'm supposed to be the new Alpha. I'm supposed to lead my pack."

He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes a silver-bright challenge in the dark. A low growl rumbled in his chest. "Then go do that."

I looked into his eyes and for a moment, I forgot who I was, where I was. I forgot my father's expectations, the weight of the Duvall name, the danger that lurked in every shadow. I just saw him. A rogue wolf, a man who belonged to no one, and a glimpse of a freedom I never thought I could have.

"I don't want that," I whispered.

A slow smile curved his mouth. It wasn't a wolfish smirk this time, but something more.

"Go home, princess." He turned like a predator melting into the night, leaving me alone in the alley, his scent of pine lingered. I couldn't tell my father what I learned, at least without having all the facts, first.