33. THICK AND UNFORGIVING

RAVEN

The ballroom shimmered with warm golden lights, music playing softly in the background, but beneath the surface, everyone could feel it — tension was clawing through the air, thick and unforgiving. I didn’t need a crystal ball to tell me that tonight could go sideways fast. People were mingling, smiling with their teeth but not their eyes, their hands too tight around glasses of champagne, their laughter forced. I stood near one of the marble pillars, arms crossed, my eyes darting from face to face. Something was off.

Kieran’s voice suddenly rang out, firm and commanding. He had stepped up onto the stage, adjusted the microphone slightly, and swept a glance over the crowd. “Tonight,” he began, “is not just about elegance or celebration. It’s about unity. It’s about community ties that should not be broken, about blood not turning against blood.”

I didn’t miss the shift in the room—the stillness, like everyone was holding their breath. And from the corner of my eye, I saw him—Lucian. Leaning against the bar like he hadn’t a care in the world, a smirk pulling at his lips. Then, right there as Kieran continued his speech, Lucian let out a low, drawn-out laugh. Not polite. Not subtle. The kind of laugh you’d expect in a room full of fools—except no one else was laughing. He tilted his head back, mockingly clapping his hands twice before taking a sip from his glass.

“Unity,” he scoffed loud enough for half the ballroom to hear, “now that’s rich.”

Kieran didn’t falter. Not even a blink. But I knew he heard it. He just kept talking, maybe a bit more forcefully now.

“There are those among us who thrive on division. But we are stronger together. It’s time we stop letting personal agendas cloud the greater good.”

Rowena edged close to me, her dress whispering against the floor as she leaned in. “You see that?” she murmured, her eyes flicking from Lucian back to Kieran, then around the room.

“Things are going to get awry. Be watchful.”

I didn’t respond. Just nodded slightly, my jaw tightening. My gaze moved to the far end of the room where several of Lucian’s people stood like shadows, not blending in, not trying to. They were here with purpose. And that purpose wasn’t celebration.

Lucian’s voice cut through again, even though he hadn’t moved from his spot. “Funny how the ones preaching peace are the first to draw swords when things don’t go their way.” His tone was calm, amused. Like he was just talking about the weather.

Someone near him shifted awkwardly, pretending to laugh, but failing. All eyes were starting to swing between Lucian and Kieran now. The air was starting to crackle.

“Kieran’s going to lose his temper if he pushes him any further,” Rowena whispered again. “And if he does, all hell is going to break loose.”

Kieran stepped forward on the stage, microphone in hand, his eyes locking with Lucian’s. “I don’t need swords to make a point, Lucian. Only cowards threaten unity because they’re afraid of losing control.”

Lucian smiled wider, raising his glass. “To control, then. May the best manipulator win.” He toasted the air and drank again, his laughter bubbling under his breath like poison waiting to spill.

And me? I watched. I listened. I tightened my grip on the dagger hidden under my gown, because Rowena was right, this night wasn’t going to end in peace. It was just a matter of who would throw the first spark.

I watched as Kieran finally ended his speech. His voice faded into the background of murmurs and clinking glasses, and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Thank the Moon Goddess. If Lucian had thrown one more jab his way, I wasn’t sure how long Kieran would have held his tongue. And if he hadn’t, well… it would’ve been ugly. I didn’t come dressed in this ridiculous floor-length black dress just to watch two grown Alphas tear each other apart like street mutts.

“I swear,” I muttered under my breath, shifting on my heels, “next time someone asks me to a royal ball, I’m checking if there’s a combat clause.”

Just as the final flute of champagne tilted back and the music began to mellow, a sharp, stinging crack echoed from the far corner of the hall.

“What the hell was that?” I spun on my heel just as a shout ripped through the air.

People were already parting like the Red Sea, and I caught a flash of golden hair—Selene.

“No. No no no,” I groaned, rushing forward. “What did she do now?”

“Don’t touch me!” Selene screamed, yanking her hand back. The girl in front of her, tall, sleek, and definitely one of Lucian’s dates—staggered sideways, holding her cheek, mouth agape.

“You’re a snake,” Selene spat. “You think just because you wrap yourself around him and purr like a kitten you own him?”

“What the actual—” the girl hissed, and before I could blink, she lunged at Selene.

“Hey! Hey!” I yelled, pushing through the crowd. But the girl already had Selene’s hair in a death grip and was dragging her backwards.

Selene kicked. “Let go of me, you shallow tramp!”

“You slapped me!” the girl shrieked. “You lunatic—”

“Move!” Lucian’s voice cut through the air like a whip, his men already pushing through the crowd. His face was thunderous.

Behind them, Kieran was moving too, jaw clenched, coat thrown back as though he was ready to throw down.

“Stand down!” Kieran growled, stepping into the fray. “Everyone. Now.”

Lucian’s men hesitated, fists tight, eyes darting toward their Alpha.

“She hit her,” one of them said, pointing to Selene. “Are we just letting that go?”

“I’ll deal with Selene,” Kieran said coldly. “This is my territory tonight. And I said, "stand down.”

Lucian’s eyes burned as he stared at Kieran, the tension crackling between them like a live wire.

“You expect me to ignore that?” he asked, voice dangerously low.

“I expect you to control your damn guests,” Kieran bit back. “Unless you want a war that starts with a broken fingernail and ends in bloodshed.”

For a second, no one moved. No one breathed. And then, slowly, Lucian lifted his hand, gesturing for his men to fall back.

“Fine,” he said, voice like ice. “But next time someone touches what’s mine—”

“You’ll what?” Kieran snapped.

I stepped in before this could escalate any further, throwing myself between them. “Enough. You want to start a war over a slap? A freaking slap?”

Lucian didn’t answer me. He looked at Selene, then at Kieran, then back at his date still rubbing her cheek.

“Keep your people in check,” he said finally, turning away.

Selene tried to speak, but I grabbed her wrist. “Don’t,” I warned her under my breath. “Don’t even breathe.”

She snatched her hand back. “She provoked me!”

“I don’t care,” I hissed. “I don’t care if she spit in your drink or insulted your grandmother. You don’t hit people at a peace ball, Selene.”

“I’m not scared of Lucian,” she snapped.

“You should be,” I whispered, my voice like steel. “Because if blood had spilled tonight, I’d have no choice but to pick a side. And believe me, Selene—you wouldn’t like the one I’d pick.”

Her eyes narrowed at me, but I didn’t wait for her response. I turned back toward the center of the room, where Kieran and Lucian still stood like statues, tension so thick you could taste it. I heaved another sigh. Crisis averted. Barely. But something told me this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.