Chapter 468
Chapter 468:
I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse office at Blackstone Tower, staring out at the freezing Manhattan afternoon. The air in the room was heavy, saturated with the lethal, icy scent of my ancient cedar.
The heavy oak doors opened. Grant stepped into the office, his scent of rosemary and rain laced with the detached, calculating coldness of a politician who had just finished burying bodies.
“He’s begging, Kain,” Grant said, stopping near the massive slab of black granite that served as my desk. “Marcus Thorne reached out through the underground channels. He is offering the remnants of the Red River Pack — all his remaining territory and offshore accounts — in exchange for a ceasefire. He wants to buy his life p>
A dark, humorless laugh vibrated in my chest. I turned away from the window, my golden eyes locking onto my brother.
Thorne’s fatal mistake wasn’t challenging my commercial interests. It was declaring war on my Queen.
𝖢𝗁і𝗇𝘦𝘴𝗲 𝗇𝗈𝘷𝘦𝗹ѕ 𝗍𝘳𝘢𝘯𝗌𝗅𝘢𝗍еd 𝘰𝘯 g𝗮𝗅𝗇ovеls.с𝗼𝗺
“He tried to kill my Mate, Grant. At a time when I believed she was pregnant,” I said, my voice dropping to a subsonic rumble that made the glass panes vibrate.
I leaned forward, planting my scarred hands flat on the cold granite. My merciless Lycan rose to the surface, delivering its final judgment. “There is no negotiation. He has twenty-four hours to strip himself of his Alpha title. He will accept permanent exile as a nameless Rogue and vanish from this continent. If he refuses, I will personally fly to Philadelphia and erase him and his bloodline from the Moon Goddess’s sight p>
Grant didn’t flinch. His own powerful Lycan Inner Wolf recognized the absolute finality of a King’s decree. He gave a single, curt nod. “I will deliver the ultimatum p>
Hours later, the city below was swallowed by the dark of midnight. I sat in the leather chair behind my desk, waiting.
A sharp pressure pierced my skull. Grant opened a secure Mind-Link, acting as a conduit to project his immediate surroundings directly into my consciousness.
Through his eyes, I saw the filthy backroom of a Rogue-infested bar on the outskirts of Philadelphia. The air was thick with the stench of cheap whiskey, dried blood, and the sour, terrified scent of a broken Alpha.
Marcus Thorne sat slumped at a stained wooden table, hollowed out, his clothes rumpled, his Inner Wolf completely crushed by the sheer magnitude of the Blackstone retaliation.
Grant stood over him — a towering executioner in a tailored suit. Without a word, he slid a manila folder across the sticky table.
“Your peace offering was rejected,” Grant’s voice echoed through the link, smooth and devoid of mercy. Thorne flinched as if struck. “Inside is a one-way ticket to a non-extradition country in South America and a new identity. You will leave tonight. You will never contact your family or your Pack again p>
Thorne stared at the folder, his hands trembling. “And if I refuse?” he rasped.
“Then my brother will descend upon your territory,” Grant replied, leaning closer. “Your Pack will be wiped from the map, and your name will become a cautionary tale whispered among the ashes p>