Chapter 497
Chapter 497:
Carmella Golden POV
The afternoon sun filtered through the bulletproof glass of Kain’s private study, but the air inside the soundproof room felt as cold as a crypt.
Grant and I had arrived at the Penthouse Den shortly after Kain’s public execution of Jase Davenport. While the Alpha King and his Luna secured their peace in the other wing, Grant had commandeered this impenetrable fortress to handle an urgent Senate crisis. We had been maintaining a fragile, unspoken truce since the revelations in Aspen, bound together by our mutual enemy: Arthur Sterling.
I pushed the heavy mahogany door open, balancing two cups of black coffee. “Grant, I brought p>
The words died in my throat.
Grant was standing rigid behind Kain’s massive desk. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle ticked near his ear, and his usually comforting scent of rosemary and rain had flash-frozen into a suffocating, lethal blizzard. His powerful Lycan Inner Wolf was thrashing against its mental cage, radiating a volatile, murderous aura.
On the polished wood between his hands sat a sleek, black delivery box that had somehow bypassed the absolute security of Blackstone Tower.
I set the coffees down on a side table and approached slowly. Inside the box, resting on a bed of black satin, was a pristine business card bearing the Sterling Capital logo. Next to it lay a small plastic evidence bag containing a jagged, dark blue metal shard.
𝖰u𝘢𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝘵𝘳anѕ𝘭𝘢𝘁𝗶o𝘯𝘀 o𝗇
My breath hitched.
Even as a wolfless human, devoid of heightened supernatural senses, the scent reached me — the coppery, rancid tang of old blood, mixed with the faint, acidic burn of silver.
My heart slammed against my ribs. I knew that exact shade of dark blue. It was a paint chip from the car my biological parents — the Alpha and Luna of my original Pack — had been driving when they were killed in that horrific accident seven years ago.
“Grant,” I whispered, my hands beginning to tremble violently.
He didn’t look at me. He simply stared at the metal shard, his golden-flecked eyes blazing with an apocalyptic fury. For twenty agonizing minutes, the study was consumed by a heavy, suffocating silence. Grant didn’t touch the box — he stood like a coiled apex predator waiting for a trap to snap shut.
Then a muffled vibration broke the silence.
At the bottom of the black box, hidden beneath the satin, a disposable encrypted burner phone lit up. Grant reached out, his scarred fingers pressing the speaker button.
“Senator Blackwell,” Arthur Sterling’s voice echoed through the quiet study — cold, arrogant, and dripping with the sickening confidence of a man holding a guillotine rope.
“You have ten seconds to explain how this trash entered my brother’s den before I rip your throat out,” Grant growled, his voice a dark, subsonic rumble that rattled the coffee cups.
Arthur let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Consider it a reminder of my reach. I know your Shadow Network dogs are digging into my family’s affairs, Grant. And I know you are preparing to push the Federal Supernatural Zoning Act through the Senate next week p>
“Get to the point, Arthur p>
“Withdraw your support for the Act immediately,” Arthur demanded, shedding all pretense. “And call off your investigation. If you refuse, I will release the unredacted accident file to the Continental Pack Council and the human media p>
The blood drained from my face.