C5

"I don’t give a damn about the silver or the tribute, Rowan," Serena said, her voice dropping into a register that was cold, final, and dangerous. "I want him to burn until there isn’t a single ember of his pride left."

Rowan leaned back, the shadows of the booth playing over his rugged features. He looked less like an Enforcer and more like a predator who had just found a very interesting new scent.

"Rowan, darling," a smooth voice interrupted. Isabella leaned over the table, a knowing smirk playing on her lips as she caught Serena’s eye. "I think my distraction was a bit too effective. My friend just finished her 'incident' in the back. I’ll leave you to your thoughts and your wine." She glanced at Serena, a silent signal passing between them. "If you find the data on that drive useful for your next raid, scent me out. We can negotiate terms then."

As Isabella swept away, Serena took the opportunity to vanish into the crowd, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Rowan watched her go, his eyes never leaving the spot where she had disappeared. He didn't move until a massive, scarred man stepped out of the darkness behind him.

"Did you secure it?" Rowan asked without turning. "Don’t let it out of your grip."

"It’s palmed, Alpha," the man replied, his voice a low gravel. He held the silver thumb drive in a closed fist. "I’ll have the pack’s tech-shadows sweep it for silver-laced viruses before we plug it into the War Room servers. Do you want a profile on her?"

"I want every scent marker, every bloodline record, and every skeleton in the Nightwood closet," Rowan commanded, his voice tight with a new, dark focus. "I want to know exactly who Serena Nightwood is by sunrise."

The moment of quiet was shattered by a sharp, high-pitched whine. Adriana—Lucian's new prize—marched toward the table, her silk dress clinging to her in damp, dark patches.

"Rowan! Some rogue-looking bitch drenched my silk dress in the Moonfang stalls," she shrieked, ignoring the way the surrounding wolves bared their teeth at the noise. "And then another one practically tackled me with a tray of holy water! Why is this your favorite den when the females are so feral?"

Rowan didn't even look up from his wine. "It’s clearly a string of unfortunate omens. I’ll cover the cost of your silk, Adriana. Stop howling."

"The Nightwood House should pay for the damage!" she persisted, her face flushing with indignation. "They have no control over the lone wolves in this place."

"Was it the staff who marked you?" Rowan asked, his tone flat and bored.

"No, but—"

"Then the den isn't liable. Drink your blood-wine and let the silence take you. Dinner is arriving."

Adriana huffed, dropping into the seat Serena had occupied moments before. She looked around the table with suspicion. "Who was that female sitting in my seat when I was gone?"

"She was lost," Rowan said smoothly, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. "She scented the wrong table and felt quite humiliated once I corrected her."

"Then why did she bolt like a rabbit?"

"I suspect her mate abandoned her mid-hunt. She didn't want to be seen alone." Rowan set his glass down with a definitive clack. "I don't care if she settled her tab, and I certainly don't care about the atmosphere. What I care about is finishing this meal without another complaint."

Isabella appeared again, her expression a mask of professional concern. "Mr. Ashcroft, I hear there was a skirmish in the stalls. I cannot have an Enforcer of your rank having a subpar experience. The feast is on the pack tonight."

"While I appreciate the gesture, Isabella, a few spilled drinks won't drive me from your territory," Rowan replied, the edge of his authority returning. "I’ll pay my weight in gold as usual."

"I must insist, Rowan. Consider it a gift of peace between our houses."

"Then I accept," he said, standing up and signaling to his guards. "But the next hunt is on me. My regards to your sister."

Outside the den, the air was crisp and smelled of rain. Rowan ignored Adriana as she tried to lace her arm through his.

"Take the lady to her father’s estate," Rowan ordered his driver, his eyes fixed on the dark horizon. "I’ll ride with the strike team. I have business at the Ironclaw Vaults."

Adriana’s jaw dropped. "You aren't coming back to my den tonight, Rowan? My heat is peaking."

Rowan finally turned to her, his gaze so cold it made her flinch. "No. To be blunt, your constant snarling and your endless need to critique the pack’s hospitality has made my beast go dormant. We won't be mating. Not tonight, not ever. Find another wolf to bore."

Back at the Graves Glass Estate, Serena sat in her darkened studio, the glowing screen of her phone the only light in the room. When it vibrated with an unknown number, she didn't hesitate.

"Serena?" The voice on the other end was deep, resonant, and unmistakably Rowan’s.

"Who is this? Why are you breaching my silence at this hour?" Serena asked, though she already knew.

"Rowan Ashcroft. I’ve spent the last three hours dissecting the guts of the drive you handed me. I need to know how a Luna gets her hands on high-level Graves tactical encryption."

Serena leaned back against her drafting table, a small, triumphant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "It’s two in the morning, Rowan. Are you always this impatient when you find a new weapon?"

"I am when the weapon is aimed at the throat of a Graves," he replied, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You have blueprints for their silver-smuggling routes and the roster for their hockey betting ring. How did you pull this from Lucian's personal network?"

"He thought I was a trophy, Rowan," she said, her voice hardening into steel. "He forgot that trophies are often kept in the same room where the secrets are whispered."