Chapter 232
Chapter 232:
It made no sense. The Lycan King despised crowded human and neutral Pack spaces.
Kain reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pair of oversized designer sunglasses. He handed them to me, a slow, mysterious smirk playing on his lips. “The best way to hide a secret is in plain sight, little wolf p>
I took the sunglasses, my stomach twisting into a tight knot. I felt like a pawn being moved across a chessboard in a game I didn’t understand. My dormant Inner Wolf whimpered, terrified of the dangerous political currents swirling around us.
Kain saw the lingering fear in my eyes. The smirk faded from his lips. Slowly, he reached across the center console and took my hand, lacing his long, rough fingers through mine.
A powerful, electric spark shot through my veins the second our skin connected. The sheer heat of his touch sent a rush of pure, undeniable comfort straight to my core, instantly silencing my panic.
But that spark terrified me more than Grant’s threats.
I stared down at our joined hands, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The physical chemistry was so overwhelming, so biologically perfect, that it felt entirely real. Yet I knew it was a lie. He was just a brilliant actor protecting his secret relationship with Fletcher Banks. I was terrified because, despite knowing the truth, I was helplessly surrendering to the illusion.
Adelina POV
The electric spark from Kain’s touch still hummed in my veins as we stepped out of the Phantom and into the chaotic, surging crowd of the SoHo Werewolf Night Market.
The air was a dizzying sensory overload. The sweet, human scent of roasted chestnuts clashed violently with the distinct, musky auras of hundreds of werewolves, underscored by the dangerous, metallic tang of Rogues lurking in the shadows. Ancient brick buildings loomed over the narrow street, framing a hidden world of illicit trades and Pack politics.
𝗠𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗼𝗻
Kain kept my hand firmly in his, his massive frame effortlessly parting the sea of bodies. He guided me toward a booth constructed of reclaimed wood and welded steel. A young werewolf with a moon phase tattoo on his neck and a silver nose ring was branding custom leather belts with a hot iron.
“Pick one,” Kain murmured, gesturing to a display of thick leather bracelets.
I blinked, looking up at his sharp profile. My dormant Inner Wolf fluttered. “Matching bracelets? Isn’t that a little couple-y p>
For a fraction of a second, a genuine, breathtaking warmth flickered in his storm-gray eyes. But then his gaze shifted over my shoulder. His jaw clenched. I followed his line of sight and spotted a man in a baseball cap loitering near a blood-sausage hot dog cart. The man was pretending to adjust his bag, but the long lens of a camera was pointed directly at us. A Rogue paparazzo from The Howl.