Chapter 474
Chapter 474:
Below me was a sea of absolute power. Dozens of elite Alphas and Lunas mingled in the grand reception area, their heavy, ancient scents rising to meet me. As a wolfless human, I felt like a fragile mortal trespassing in a realm of gods. Every breath I took was thick with their dominance. I reached up, my trembling fingers tracing the heavy diamond necklace Grant had locked around my throat before we left. It wasn’t a gift — it was a glittering collar, a stark contrast to the sacred moonstone amulets worn by the true Lunas below.
A familiar, suffocating scent of rosemary and rain wrapped around me. Grant stepped up close behind me, his massive frame a solid wall of heat.
“I’m terrified,” I whispered, the raw truth slipping past my defenses.
“I know,” Grant murmured, his voice a low, vibrating rumble. He reached out, his large hand wrapping possessively around mine, his tone gentle yet laced with an unyielding command. “But you are mine. And they will bow to you p>
He led me down the stairs, pulling me deeper into my gilded cage.
At the bottom of the steps, Almon Blackwell was waiting. The Elder enveloped me in a crushing embrace, his ancient Lycan aura demanding immediate submission. When he pulled back, he pressed a thick, leather-bound folder into my hands.
𝖣isc𝘰𝘃e𝘳 𝗇е𝘸 𝗌𝘵𝗈r𝗂𝗲𝘀 𝗈n 𝗴𝖺𝗅ո𝗈𝘷е𝘭s.cо𝘮
I opened it, my eyes widening at the astronomical figures of the trust fund inside. “Almon, I can’t accept this,” I protested, my chest tightening.
“You are a Blackwell now,” Almon stated, his voice leaving absolutely no room for debate.
I closed the folder, its weight heavy in my hands. It was just another golden chain, another obligation binding me to this family. Grant watched the exchange, a flicker of dark satisfaction in his golden-flecked eyes.
Then the air in the room shifted.
A new scent cut through the heavy musk of the wolves — icy, expensive cologne mixed with ruthless human ambition. My heart slammed against my ribs. I turned my head and saw him. Arthur Sterling.
The moment our eyes met, a visceral, physiological terror seized my chest. The phantom memory of the anonymous burner phone — the devastating threat that had forced me to reject Grant seven years ago — crashed over me in a violent wave. My palms grew slick with sweat, and my breathing turned shallow and frantic.
Arthur smiled, a cold, predatory curving of his lips, and extended his hand in greeting.
My body reacted before my mind could process the social setting. “Don’t touch me,” I hissed, a feral, suppressed growl tearing from my throat as I recoiled.
The grand hall fell dead silent.
In a fraction of a second, Grant eclipsed my vision. His Lycan aura exploded outward — a murderous, suffocating wall of pure dominance shielding me from Arthur. The air pressure in the room plummeted. Over Grant’s broad shoulder, I saw Arthur freeze, a sharp, unmistakable flicker of recognition flashing in his eyes before he buried it beneath feigned shock.
Grant didn’t ask questions. He wrapped a heavy arm around my waist and hauled me out of the estate.
Minutes later, we were in the back of his armored Cadillac SUV, the heavy doors sealed shut around us. The dark, quiet cabin was thick with Grant’s enraged, protective pheromones.
“Talk to me,” Grant demanded, his chest heaving as the SUV sped away from the estate.