CHAPTER SEVEN: Victor's Game

The next morning, the firm’s marble floors were unusually quiet.

Zara walked with her blazer clutched over her chest, not because of the AC—but because of the weight of watching eyes. Whispers followed her like perfume, sliding through corridors and brushing against her skin.

They weren’t just looking at her anymore. They were calculating.

She was no longer just an intern.

She was the Luna.

And somehow, that made her dangerous.

Ruby caught up with her at the stairwell between the Alpha floor and legal arbitration. Her hair was tied up in a severe twist, her face tight with concern.

“Something’s wrong,” she said without greeting.

Zara sighed, “Can you narrow that down?”

Ruby didn’t smile. “You have a visitor.”

Zara stopped walking. “What kind of visitor?”

Ruby hesitated. “Maxim’s brother.”

Zara blinked. “Victor?”

Ruby gave a short nod. “He’s waiting in the glass conference room. Said you’ve been avoiding his calls.”

“I never gave him my number,” Zara muttered.

“Well,” Ruby said, “he got it.”

Victor Vale looked like he belonged on the cover of a luxury magazine—charming smile, sleek charcoal suit, one hand in his pocket, the other cradling a black coffee. He stood when Zara entered, like a gentleman, like a predator playing polite.

“Miss Cole,” he said smoothly. “I was starting to think you were hiding from me.”

“I was working,” she replied, taking the far seat across the glass table. “You should try it sometime.”

He chuckled, not offended. “Witty. I like that.”

Zara crossed her arms. “What do you want?”

Victor leaned forward, all relaxed elegance. “I wanted to apologize. For the lobby incident. My men… overstepped.”

Zara stared at him. “Your men?”

He smiled tightly. “They’ve been let go.”

The room fell into a strange, charged silence. Outside the glass, paralegals walked past pretending not to glance in.

Zara finally spoke. “You didn’t bring me here to apologize.”

Victor gave a soft laugh. “No. I brought you here to talk.”

“About?”

He sipped his coffee. “About how well you’re handling everything. The firm. The supernatural. The mating bond.”

Zara stiffened. “That’s not your business.”

“It is,” he said calmly. “When it affects the future of this pack. Of this firm.”

“You mean your brother’s leadership.”

Victor didn’t deny it. “Maxim is… strong. But cursed. You’ve seen it, haven’t you? The way he fights it every time the moon pulls. That edge in his voice. That crack in his control.”

Zara's hands curled into fists beneath the table.

“I’m not here to slander him,” Victor added gently. “I love my brother. But I love the pack more.”

“Cut the act,” Zara said, leaning forward. “I’ve seen your kind before. You pretend to protect the kingdom while plotting to wear the crown.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Not anger. Admiration.

“You’re bolder than I thought,” he murmured.

“You came here to scare me,” she continued. “To make me question him. But I already have. And I chose him anyway.”

Victor’s gaze sharpened. “Then ask him what happened to the last woman he marked.”

Zara froze.

Victor stood slowly, pushing the chair back with a whisper of polished steel. He looked down at her, expression unreadable.

“When the next full moon comes,” he said, “I hope your magic is strong. Strong enough to survive what his love did to the last one.”

He walked out without another word.

Later that afternoon, Zara sat in Maxim’s office, watching him go over security footage from the rooftop garage. His jaw was tight, his posture stiffer than usual. The faint hum of the bond between them buzzed beneath her skin, but neither of them spoke.

Finally, she broke the silence.

“Your brother visited me.”

Maxim’s shoulders tensed. “I know.”

“You let him?”

His eyes lifted. “I didn’t know until after. If I had, he wouldn’t have walked out.”

Zara stood slowly. “He told me about your last mate.”

The silence turned solid.

Maxim’s mouth opened, then closed. His hand curled into a fist against the edge of the desk.

“She died,” Zara said quietly. “Didn’t she?”

He looked away.

Zara stepped closer. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s not just a story,” he said at last, voice rough. “It’s a curse.”

He turned toward her, eyes flashing silver.

“She was strong. Brave. A fighter. Just like you.”

Zara’s throat tightened.

“She marked me first,” Maxim continued. “I tried to keep her at a distance, but she wouldn’t stop pushing. I shifted during a blood moon, and… I wasn’t in control. I woke up to the taste of her blood in my mouth.”

Zara flinched.

“I buried her with my hands still stained,” he said quietly. “That’s the day I stopped believing in mates.”

Zara swallowed. “And yet you marked me.”

He looked at her then—truly looked. The shield dropped.

“Because the moment I saw you, my wolf went quiet.”

Her chest tightened.

“Because every instinct I have says you are the storm meant to break the curse,” he said, voice raw. “Or the one who dies trying.”

That night, Zara walked alone through the firm’s underground library. She needed air. Space. Something that didn’t smell like burnt moonlight and second guesses.

The library beneath Silver & Vale was more cathedral than archive—rows of dark wood shelves, leather-bound volumes glowing faintly under golden sconces. Zara’s heels clicked softly on the marble.

She pulled a dusty book on werewolf law and blood magic. A thick one. Heavy. She was flipping through a chapter on Luna prophecy when she heard footsteps.

She turned—and nearly dropped the book.

Gavin stood at the end of the aisle, grim-faced. “You’re not supposed to be alone.”

“I’m not a prisoner.”

“No,” he said. “You’re a target.”

Zara sighed. “Did Maxim send you to babysit me?”

“I volunteered,” Gavin said, stepping closer. “I watched him fall apart after the last one. I’m not watching that happen again.”

Zara’s voice softened. “Do you think the curse is real?”

“I know it is,” he said. “But I also know this: the mark didn’t just bond you. It changed you.”

Zara nodded slowly. “I can feel it. Like something old is moving under my skin.”

“Then find out what it is,” Gavin said. “Before Victor does.”

Zara returned to her aunt’s home just past midnight. The street was dark, the sky clear, stars sharp. Myra was already waiting at the window, as if she knew.

“I met Victor,” Zara said as she stepped inside. “And Maxim told me the truth.”

Myra poured two mugs of moonroot tea. “Then you’re finally walking the right edge.”

Zara sat. “I’m scared.”

“You should be.”

“What if I’m not strong enough?”

Her aunt reached across the table, touching her hand.

“You don’t need to be strong right away. You just need to be awake.”

Zara looked down at her mark.

Awake.

The word stayed with her.

Outside, the wind howled softly—but it wasn’t cold. It carried the scent of blood, magic… and war.