Chapter 5

Darren

"Ten billion?" Caccius's champagne flute clanged against the marble edge, amber liquid splattering across his snow-white silk shirt. He grabbed my wrist. "She paid ten billion for that?! That shithole doesn't even have a road fit for a carriage. Ten billion could buy three estates with private hunting grounds on the Gold Coast! Is she mad or something?"

I didn't lift a hand to push him off. My gaze, sharp as a driven nail, bored into that scarlet shadow in the opposite box.

Leila sat in the velvet-draped darkness, only half her profile visible. The light carved her taut jawline, sharp as a blade chiseled from moonstone. Her fingers curled around the bidding paddle, knuckles prominent, nails painted a deep red verging on black—like fingertips just pulled from a heart. Even twenty meters away, I caught her scent: cloying sweet like white roses, sharp with the cold of moon-crystal, seeping through the vents to burn a scalding itch in my lungs.

Three years.

That smell was a brand, seared into my bones since the full moon ball the night we graduated. Back then she wore a puffy white tulle dress, standing center in the ballroom, her hair still dusted with gold glitter from the dance. Lucas, in front of everyone, lifted her chin with his hand, kissed her deep, and marked her. She was his mate. She pressed close to Lucas's chest, tears of happiness spilling. Everyone there envied the perfect pair. Me? I huddled in the shadows by the back door, nails digging into my palm, not even worthy to step forward with a word—my invitation to the ball was stolen, after all.

Back then I was just a bastard in a washed-out old suit. Hair messy, a cheap lapel pin (Cassius's grandfather had fished it from a flea market) at my collar, cuffs frayed. The pack hierarchy was an invisible wall: she, a princess born in moonlight; me, a mongrel raised in the gutters. Even the breeze from her sweeping skirt reeked of "you don't belong."

"Fuck, you're zoning out again." Caccius's voice yanked me back. He followed my stare, scoffing. "What, got a thing for Alpha Lucas's wife? Let me tell you, Lycan Princesses are all precious—touch one, and you'll lose a layer of skin..."

"Shut up." I cut him off, fingers unconsciously tracing the etched edge of my paddle. The silver plaque, warmed by my body heat, burned hot, its edge digging into the old scar on my palm—the one from killing that rogue on the border three years back. A rusted hunting knife nearly gutted me then. That scar's a reminder: I'm not that mongrel who had to steal a ball invitation anymore.

From bloody black market deals to this auction house. From a "bastard" shunned by every pack to a seat equal to that bastard Lucas. I ground half my life away for this—not to pick fights in some fancy room.

I just want her to see. Now I'm worthy of standing where she can look right at me.

The auctioneer's voice trembled: "Ten billion... first call!"

Leila's fingers paused on her paddle. Through the distance, I saw her throat bob, like swallowing something scalding. She finally turned, her gaze piercing the gap in the box, locking onto my face.

That stare was too bright—like a poisoned wolf's eyes. No trace of the old timidity, no grievance. Just a cold, almost cruel calm, laced with the irritation of being challenged. Her pheromones turned sharp then, the sweet of white roses cracking open to unleash moon-crystal frost—like a queen drawing her sword. This wasn't reckless splurging. It was a do-or-die declaration of war.

She wants to tear apart the old her. The thought made the fur on my nape bristle, my wolf howling and thrashing in my chest.

"Ten billion... second call!"

I slowly set down my paddle. The soft clink of metal on wood sounded like thunder in the silent hall.

Caccius lunged, snatching the paddle, tucking it against his belly under his shirt. "Thank fuck, you're finally sane... Just cut her some slacks on this one, yeah?"

"She doesn't need me to cut her slacks." I picked up the iced champagne, water from the glass sliding down my fingers into my sleeve, making my skin prickle. The champaign burned down my throat, metallic and sweet—I'd bitten my tongue earlier, too hard. "What she wants is to win."

From two billion to ten, each bid felt like she was flaying herself. The princess who'd lose sleep over Lucas's frown was dead. This was Leila—the queen who'd drop ten billion to bash the kingdom's prejudices.

"Lucas'll probably pay for her," Caccius frowned, never getting the stupid pride of a Lycan Alpha. "Even the royal vault isn't bottomless. Ten billion doesn't grow on trees..."

I said nothing, just nodded toward the opposite box.

In the curtain gap, Lucas's shadow was gone. Only Josephine's pale face remained. The omega was muttering to herself, twisting her skirt, a discarded cub.

"That bastard won't pay." I licked the blood from my lip, tasting the sweet tang. An Alpha who valued family honor more than life? He'd rage. Like always, he'd use his Alpha aura to make her beg, to kneel and apologize.

But not this time.

I could smell the resolve in Leila's pheromones—sparks buried in ash, the kind of viscousness only the nearly dead have.

When the auction ended, I lingered over my papers. Sure enough, I spotted her in the revolving gallery.

Red dress trailing, a moving flame. An auction worker bent to murmur something, voice low.

Her gaze swept over—falcon focused its rabbit.

Those dangerous green eyes narrowed, pupils slitting to vertical lines. Her nose twitched, catching my scent: the iron of my killer's instinct, the stench of rogue packs from black market deals, and... the Alpha possessiveness I fought to hold back.

She stepped sideways, putting distance between us, as if guarding against a beast about to pounce.

"Damn, that look—she's practically salivating to rip you apart." Caccius elbowed me, grinning. "When you bid against her? Her hackles were up, like a mother wolf defending her litter."

I stared at her red-cloaked waist, feeling heat coiling low in my gut. The full moon's power thrummed in my veins, my temperature spiking. "Where's the fun in a tame prey?" I tasted the metallic tang of my fangs ready to extend. "Needs to bite back to be worth it."

I started toward her when Lucas, a black blur, cut in front of Leila with Josephine.

His Alpha aura turned violent, like a male wolf whose territory's been violated, the air around him cold enough to crack glass. "Leila, do you have any idea what you're doing?" He grabbed her wrist. "Ten billion isn't a toy!"

Leila didn't even lift her eyes, voice icy. "I know. It's what I bought the land with."

"But that land's worth—" Josephine shrank behind Lucas, voice thin as a mosquito's buzz, but dripping with triumph. "We had it assessed, it's not—"

"We?" Leila finally looked up, her gaze a poisoned blade, skewering Josephine. The omega paled, legs buckling, nearly collapsing. "Miss Curran," she emphasized the "Miss," voice dropping colder. "Get this straight. This land belongs to me, Leila. Bought with my own money—"

She paused, glancing at Lucas and Josephine's clasped hands, like staring at something filthy.

"—and it has nothing to do with ‘you.'"

Lucas' face darkened. His Alpha pride, stomped underfoot. The air thickened, even the reporters forgot their flashbulbs.

I leaned against the carved pillar, watching, a smile tugging at my lips.

Leila had changed. No longer the spoiled princess from college.

She was strong, confident—calm, unshakable. Staring down her fate.

And I was here, watching. It reminded me of that full moon ball, years ago. But this time, we stood together in the light.

My fingers traced my cufflink—a trophy, pried from a human mob boss's hand three years back.

Leila. I'm back. I became this for you. You're mine. I won't leave you alone again.

If you want to tear up the past, I'll sharpen your claws.

If you want to break the rules, I'll pave the way with blood.

After all, mongrels raised in gutters? We're best at one thing—

Fetching whatever the princess wants. And laying it at her feet.