Chapter 272
Chapter 272:
Branden POV
The staff locker room was empty, the rows of gray metal silent. I leaned against my locker, staring at the screen of my phone. The photo on The Howl was a masterpiece of forced perspective.
My screen buzzed with a new text message from Adelina.
Mr. Blackwell is… particular about Pack protocols. Ensure your conduct remains strictly professional.
I let out a low, mocking laugh. She was trying to manage the fallout, completely unaware that the friction was exactly what Kira and I had wanted. The Lycan King was blinded by his own possessive rage, and his little wolfless pet was pushing him away.
I locked my phone and reached into the very back of my locker. My fingers brushed past my spare uniform and closed around a small, heavy glass vial.
I held it up to the harsh fluorescent light. The clear liquid inside looked like water, but it was Concentrated Silver Particulate — tasteless, odorless, and absolutely lethal to anyone with wolf blood. And for a wolfless like Adelina, whose human body couldn’t heal the way ours could, it would be agonizing.
I slipped the vial into the inner pocket of my suit jacket. Tonight was going to be a very entertaining Gala.
Adelina POV
𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘯
The ballroom of The Wolfe Hotel had been transformed into a suffocating wonderland of crystal and white roses for the Continental Pack Council Gala. I stood near the entrance, the heavy platinum of The Collar of the Moon Queen sitting like a block of ice against my collarbone.
Kain wasn’t here.
His Lycan pride, bruised by my refusal to bow to his Alpha’s Command earlier, had driven him to a private council room to cool his Inner Wolf’s rage. He was giving me the cold shoulder, leaving me to face this political battlefield alone. I forced a flawless smile and navigated the sea of Alphas and Lunas, but my wolfless senses were quickly overwhelmed by the heavy, competitive scents of power radiating from every corner of the room.
After thirty minutes of exhausting pleasantries, my throat was parched and my energy was entirely depleted.
“Ms. Wolfe. You look like you could use a moment p>
Branden Cole materialized beside me, his face set in an impeccably professional smile. He offered a silver tray holding a single crystal flute of champagne. Grateful for the reprieve, I took it without hesitation and drank half in one swallow.
A faint, sharp bitterness coated the back of my tongue — like the metallic tang of licking a battery. I frowned slightly, assuming it was just a harsh, unfamiliar vintage, and handed the half-empty glass back. Branden didn’t move immediately. His dark eyes watched me with an unreadable, intense focus.
Ten minutes later, the grand chandeliers above began to blur into dizzying streaks of liquid gold.
A sudden, violent heat erupted in my stomach, radiating outward through my veins like liquid fire. My knees buckled slightly.
“Let me help you to a private lounge,” Branden murmured, appearing like a ghost at my side.