CHAPTER FOUR: The Heir Trial Begins

Zara didn’t mean to spy.

She’d only followed the scent—clean, sharp pine and something darker, something wild. Maxim had brushed past her office without a word, jaw tense, eyes stormy, suit jacket flung over his shoulder like a man preparing for war.

Curiosity, that old beast, led her down the glass corridor. Past the assistant’s desk. Past the private stairwell. Down to the sublevel only partners used.

It was colder down here. Like something slept in the walls. The hum of the building changed—lower, older, like bones groaning under stone.

She pressed her back to the marble, peeking just enough to see through the cracked door.

Inside the chamber—bare stone walls, flickering candlelight, a round table that looked older than the city itself.

Maxim stood at its center, surrounded by men and women who did not feel like lawyers.

They felt like predators.

One man had silver claws instead of hands. Another woman wore ceremonial robes laced with rune-stitched thread. Their eyes glowed—red, gold, violet. None were fully human.

“Your claim is still unmarked,” a voice said, deep and rough. “You cannot win the Heir Trial without sealing your mate bond.”

“I didn’t bring you here for your opinions,” Maxim replied, voice like smoke over broken glass.

“You’ll be challenged, Vale,” someone else growled. “The clans already circle. If she’s not yours, she’ll be taken.”

“She is mine.”

“Then prove it.”

Zara stepped back too fast. Her heel caught the baseboard with a sharp click.

The sound echoed.

The door creaked open wider. She didn’t breathe.

Maxim turned. His eyes locked onto hers instantly.

For a beat, no one moved.

Then he stepped forward, through the veil of shadows, and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

“You followed me.”

It wasn’t a question.

Zara lifted her chin. “You’re holding underground war councils and talking about… mate bonds. Forgive me for being curious.”

His jaw flexed. “You’re not ready for this.”

She folded her arms. “Try me.”

Something in his expression shifted—less ice, more storm.

“You think this firm is just a law office?” he said. “We sit on ancient courts. We settle blood feuds older than your textbooks. I don’t run a business, Zara. I run a kingdom.”

She stared at him. Her mouth parted slightly, but no words came.

“The Heir Trial,” he continued, voice low. “It’s not ceremonial. It’s a fight for leadership. For the right to shape the future of the Five Clans.”

“Five… wolf clans?” she asked carefully.

His eyes glinted.

“Yes.”

She took a breath. “So you’re not just a CEO. You’re a beast prince.”

Silence.

Then he nodded once.

She laughed, but it came out a little strangled. “That’s… that’s not even the weirdest thing I’ve heard this week.”

“You’re taking this well.”

“I think my brain short-circuited around the time your eyes started glowing gold.”

He stepped closer. “You were never supposed to be part of this. But now… they know your name. They’ve seen your face. They’ll test you.”

“So I’m a pawn now?”

“No,” he said, with a sharpness that cut the air between them. “You’re a wildcard.”

His voice softened.

“And the only one I trust with my throat.”

The hallway was too quiet. The air too thin.

Zara swallowed. “So what happens now?”

He opened the door behind her, beckoning. “Now, I show you the rest.”

---

The supernatural side of Silver & Vale didn’t hide in shadows. It was simply… layered.

The upper floors remained cold, pristine, corporate. The illusion of civility.

But below—beneath the mirrors and marble—there were courtrooms sealed in salt and bone. Archives humming with trapped voices. Contracts inked with blood instead of signatures.

Maxim guided her through it all without once letting her walk behind him.

They passed a woman with glowing tattoos and ink-black eyes filing a custody dispute for a child born between rival packs.

Zara whispered, “Was she a—”

“Shadow-born,” Maxim said. “Half clan, half something older.”

A vampire count with diplomatic immunity offered Maxim a crimson vial as collateral. He declined.

“He offered you blood?” she whispered.

“He offered me debt,” Maxim corrected. “I don’t deal in favors I didn’t call.”

A warlock brokered a territory truce, drawing maps in blood under Maxim’s supervision. When the quill hesitated, Maxim simply stared—and the warlock swallowed and kept writing.

Zara, stunned silent, followed and listened and learned.

She saw how the legal world intersected with something older. Wilder. Bound by laws no school could teach.

“What are you exactly?” she asked once, when they paused outside an enchanted vault.

Maxim looked at her sideways. “More than a man. Less than a god. Mostly wolf.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“That’s deliberate.”

He didn’t smile, but something like amusement passed through his eyes.

She blinked at the vault. It pulsed faintly like it breathed. “What’s in there?”

“Old debts,” he said. “And older bones.”

Then his phone buzzed.

He checked it. Paused.

“Wait here,” he said.

She didn’t.

---

She found it in her office the next morning.

A cream-colored envelope.

No stamp. No handwriting. Just her name burned into the parchment like it had been branded.

Zara opened it.

Inside: a single line, scrawled in twisting ink.

Leave now, or bleed later.

The moment she read it, the paper hissed—its corners curled inward—and it crumbled to ash in her fingers. Smoke clung to her skin.

Her heart pounded.

She didn’t scream. Didn’t move.

But her hand was already reaching for her phone when the door opened.

Maxim stood there.

His expression didn’t change. But his shoulders tensed the moment the smoke hit him.

He crossed the room in three long strides.

Didn’t ask how she’d found it. Didn’t ask who sent it. He just walked over, took one inhale of the burnt air—

And growled.

Low. Savage.

The lights in the office dimmed. Her printer sparked.

Zara took an instinctive step back. “Maxim—”

Then he raised his hand.

The ash lifted, swirling mid-air like a sandstorm caught in moonlight. It glowed faintly red. Runes pulsed inside it—alive.

Maxim’s palm ignited.

Flames licked his fingers, blue and gold.

He torched the curse with a single spark.

The air stilled. Silence returned.

Zara stared at him, chest heaving.

“Was that—?”

“A hex,” he said darkly. “Minor. Meant to frighten, not injure. Still—”

“Still?”

He turned toward her, voice quieter now. Deadlier.

“They’ll come for you, Zara.”

He stepped close enough that his presence filled the room. His eyes searched hers, unreadable but burning with something primal.

“But I’ll burn down the world first.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then: “Why me, Maxim? Why choose me?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Because the moment I saw you, something ancient woke up inside me. Something that hadn't stirred in centuries.”

She swallowed. “And now?”

His gaze was fire. “Now I can’t put it back to sleep.”

And for the first time since her arrival, Zara didn’t feel like prey.

She felt like power.