CHAPTER 3

The man didn't just walk; he reclaimed the space. He was a pillar of dark, refined power, his Alpha scent suppressed so tightly it felt like the static before a lightning strike.

Beside me, Madison’s eyes practically popped. I saw the gears turning in her head—the shallow, greedy click-clack of a Lawson social climber. She probably thought he was one of the High Alphas from the Pierce Compound sent to represent the family. After all, the "Gaston" she’d rejected was supposed to be a mangy street-dog, a gutter-wolf with nothing to his name but a stain. This man looked like he owned the stars and the dirt beneath them.

I watched her face flush a deep, thirsty red. She cast a side-glance at Jason, and I almost laughed. My ex-boyfriend, the "big prize" she’d stolen, suddenly looked like a wet pup standing next to a direwolf.

Madison actually had the nerve to smooth her hair and sashay toward him. "You must be the elder brother," she purred, her voice dripping with that fake, high-caste honey. "The ceremony is lagging because the groom is... well, late as usual. You should take the front pew. It’s a shame the Pierce family has such low standards for their outcasts."

She reached out as if to touch his arm, her eyes fluttering.

He didn't even blink. He moved past her like she was a piece of cheap furniture, his gaze locked onto me.

Madison froze, her hand hanging in the empty air. The rejection was so total, so cold, that her smug smile turned into a mask of pure humiliation. She stumbled back to our parents, huffing like a scorched cat.

"Mom," I heard her hiss to Evelyn, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and regret. "Why didn't you show me a photo? If I knew the Pierce outcast looked like that, I never would have let Brooke take my place."

Evelyn gripped Madison’s wrist, her voice a low, jagged whisper. "Don't be a fool. A handsome face doesn't pay the Citadel tribute. He’s still a hollow Alpha with no pack and no future. He’s a dead man walking, and Brooke is going to the grave with him. Look at his clothes—probably stolen or rented to save face."

But the man was standing in front of me now. He was tall—towering, really—and the heat coming off his body made the thin fabric of my dress feel like it was melting. He looked down at me, his eyes dark and unreadable, like a forest at midnight.

"I had business at the border," he said. His voice was a low, gravelly vibration that settled right in my marrow. "The mist was heavy. I don't apologize for the delay, but I'm here."

"It doesn't matter," I whispered, my heart thumping against my ribs. "You showed up. That’s more than I expected."

I looked down, trying to steady my breath, and that’s when I saw it.

As he adjusted the heavy cuff of his jacket, the sunlight from the high window caught the watch on his wrist. It wasn't just a timepiece; it was a masterpiece of silver and obsidian, the kind of relic only the High Council or the wealthiest Citadel Lords could ever dream of wearing. I’d spent enough time around my father’s "business" associates to know that watch cost more than the Lawson Estate.

My blood went cold.

Everyone said Logan Pierce was a bottom-feeder. A loser. A wolf who scavenged for scraps in the Harbor View ruins.

I looked back up into his eyes. He wasn't a scavenger. He was a predator hiding in plain sight.

"What's the matter?" he asked, a faint, dangerous tilt to his lips.

"Nothing," I lied, my fingers trembling as I reached for his hand to begin the blood-binding. "Let’s just get this over with."