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“Alright, Devlin, you go to your dad,” Max instructs, crossing the kitchen to fetch a thick winter coat, gloves, and a hat for me. “Avery, you’re with me.”
I stand up slowly, slipping into the coat. Max surprises me by kneeling at my feet, beginning to zip me up.
“No matter what happens, Seraphina, you must follow my instructions. Do not—and I mean do not—go off on your own,” Max says earnestly, his eyes, stormy blue, locking onto mine. Underneath his intense gaze, I sense his worry resonatingthrough our bond. There’s fear about an uncertain future, fear of failing me, and the dread of possibly losing me today. “Whatever we face, don’t stray from my side. I can’t protect you if you aren’t there.”
“And you,” Avery chimes in, snapping his laptop shut, “can’t hold me responsible if anyone lays a hand on you. They’ll be dead.” His tone is so casual that for a moment, I question if I heard him right.
“Who am I riding with?” I divert my gaze from Avery’s menacing look to Max, who smirks at me.
“With me, sugarplum. With me,” he replies, his words tinged with innuendo.
I can’t help but roll my eyes at his playfulness.
Max’s hand closes gently around mine, his touch grounding. “Let’s get going,” he says, a determined glint in his eyes that tells me he’s ready to face whatever comes our way.
I wish I had even an ounce of his alpha confidence, but with our pack split, dread churns in my belly. Somehow, I have a sliver of hope holding me together, telling me that all of this will work out, and at the end of the day, we will all return home to this estate.
Home.
CHAPTER 33
Devlin
Cold air whipsaround me as Ashton and I navigate toward the heart of the city. Snow blankets the ground, untouched by plows, transforming the streets into a desolate, white expanse. Approaching the city’s outer limits, we finally encounter a few plows, leaving behind trails of salt and dirty snow.
The snowmobile glides with ease, yet I find myself slowing down as the towering council buildings loom ahead. Tall and domineering, they are an explicit statement of power and importance. I can’t help but think that whoever designed these buildings was compensating for something.
Ashton suddenly veers down a side street, his figure quickly concealed by the heavy, fat flakes of snow. I know I can’t keep delaying what’s inevitable. Reluctantly, I steer toward the towers, my heart heavy with caution.
Of course my father would choose today to summon me with the threat of my mother’s safety hanging in the balance—or perhaps he’s merely testing me. Either way, if she’s truly there, Ashton will find her. If this is a bluff, it will be the last time my father plays such a game.
You know what you have to do.The words echo in my mind, stirring a whirlwind of anxiety. I’m acutely aware of my father’s expectations and his dark legacy. What I doubt is whether or not I can follow through with what’s expected of me.
The tale of the original seven alphas who restored our world haunts me. Their sons, craving power, ended their fathers’ lives, setting a gruesome precedent. I’d like to think we’ve evolved beyond such barbarism, but the lengths to which my father might go to so he can control my mother leave me questioning our so-called civility.
A flicker of hope that he’s merely bluffing still burns within me, but it’s a fragile flame, easily snuffed out by reality.
I pull the snowmobile to a stop in front of the council building’s doors. A surge of nerves ignites in my stomach as I pat my pocket, feeling the small baggie hidden inside. It’s my contingency plan, an ironic one at that.
Stepping off the snowmobile, I take a deep breath, steeling myself. The cold air bites at my face, but it’s the weight of my decision that chills me to the core. As I push through the doors, I brace myself for whatever lies ahead, the baggie in my pocket a constant reminder of the line I may have to cross.
Sugarplum.
The idea came from the alpha who broke into Seraphina’s apartment, and it was Ashton who procured what I needed. Well, it wasn’t exactly for me, per se. Max wanted it for lab testing, but I had other plans.
Tomato, potato—or however that saying goes.
As the automatic glass doors slide open, a blast of warm air envelops me. Inhaling the comforting warmth, I methodically peel off my helmet, followed by my scarf and hat.
“Mr. Armana.” The elderly doorman, Parker, bustles over with an eagerness that belies his age, reaching out for my winter gear.
“Parker,” I greet him warmly, noticing his round, robust figure. He always wears a smile, which I suspect the sherry in his hidden flask helps maintain. “Why on Terra are you working today? It’s not like there are many coming and going in this weather.”
He assists me out of my coat, a gesture I find unnecessary but endearing. “Well, sir, your father insisted I be here today.”
A hint of concern crosses my mind. “Please tell me you didn’t shovel your way here.” At nearly eighty, Parker is in good health for a beta, but that doesn’t mean he should overexert himself.
He snorts—a real, hearty snort. “Certainly not. I attached a blade to my truck and plowed my way in. Quite the adventure, I must say.” His eyes twinkle with a hint of mischief.
