3

AMIRA

I pressed myself lower against the floor, wishing I could disappear into it.

If my wolf had been free, she would have torn through the floorboards and buried herself beneath them. Being near Derrick was torture. Being looked at by him was worse. In her eyes, she didn't deserve to stand where he stood.

The sound of his low chuckle made my face burn.

Humiliation crawled beneath my skin while my thoughts spun out of control.

Three years.

Three whole years since I had seen him.

It wasn't as if he had tried to avoid me because he couldn't find me. I lived above the tavern. I worked below it. Every day. Every night.

I was always here.

Eventually, I had convinced myself that he had simply left me behind.

Left me to fade away with the Silver Fang Tavern.

Still, a foolish part of me had held on to hope.

Maybe if I made the tavern successful, he would notice.

Maybe if I worked hard enough, proved myself useful enough, he would finally see value in me.

Maybe he would realize I could contribute something to the Obsidian Fang Pack.

Nothing happened.

Not once.

Not a message. Not a visit. Not even a passing acknowledgment.

The truth couldn't have been clearer.

Derrick Nightfang did not care about me.

A knot formed in my stomach.

Was that why he was here now?

Had he finally come to deal with the problem he should have dealt with years ago?

Another possibility slipped into my mind, colder than the first.

What if he had chosen someone else?

Wolf mates rarely married other people, but it happened.

If he planned to take a wife, where would that leave me?

Would he have to kill me first?

The thought made my chest tighten.

Or perhaps he had found another solution.

The clan had witches.

Maybe there was a way to break a mate bond.

Maybe there was a spell that could cut me out of his life completely.

"Get up," he said with a weary sigh. "Now."

There was no Alpha command behind the words.

There didn't need to be.

If Derrick casually mentioned that something would make him happy, my wolf would have gladly sacrificed herself to give it to him.

Slowly, I rose to my feet.

My eyes remained fixed on the floor.

I didn't dare look at him.

I simply stood there and waited.

"Look at me."

My stomach dropped.

He was here because of me.

Or maybe I was simply today's entertainment.

Either option was bad.

Either way, there was no escaping this.

No chance of quietly slipping away unnoticed.

Words stuck in my throat.

It took everything I had not to cry as his eyes traveled over me.

There was no warmth in his gaze.

Only cold judgment.

Behind him, two guards exchanged amused looks.

The third remained silent.

His expression held curiosity rather than amusement.

Recognition hit me instantly.

I knew him.

He had been there that day.

The day Derrick tore Lucian apart.

The day my world changed.

He had held his claws against my throat while I watched.

I had never learned his name.

Until now.

"Stabbing customers isn't exactly how you build loyal customers," Derrick said, casually spinning the knife between his fingers.

"Considering Silver Fang is finally making money, maybe you shouldn't question my methods."

The words escaped before I could stop them.

The moment they left my mouth, regret slammed into me.

My knees hit the floor again.

My throat was exposed in complete submission.

Is that mouth of yours really worth getting killed over?

The memory of Gareth's voice echoed through my head.

Disappointed.

Frustrated.

If he could see me now, he would be furious.

The tavern went silent.

Dead silent.

Every breath felt loud.

When Derrick suddenly vaulted over the counter, I squeezed my eyes shut.

My heart pounded.

This was it.

The end.

I waited for pain.

Waited for claws.

Waited for death.

Instead, a sharp ding broke the silence.

The cash register.

Confused, I opened my eyes.

Derrick stood beside it, pulling out the day's earnings.

He flipped through the receipts one by one.

His face revealed nothing.

After a long moment, he shoved everything back inside and closed the drawer.

The silence stretched.

Seconds felt like minutes.

Finally, he looked at me.

"Get up."

Again.

Slowly, I pushed myself to my feet.

At this point, if I added a jump every time I stood up, I could probably call this a workout.

His eyes stayed on me.

"The tavern is closed. Everyone leaves."

Victor shifted somewhere behind me.

Relief rushed through me.

I turned toward the door.

"Not you, Amira."

The relief vanished instantly.

"And Victor, wait in the office. I want to speak with you before I leave."

Wonderful.

Private execution.

At least there wouldn't be witnesses.

The customers took forever to leave.

Most of them clearly wanted to stay and watch whatever happened next.

To watch me get humiliated.

Maybe worse.

Eventually, the room emptied.

Only Derrick, one guard, and I remained.

"You remember Thorne, I'm sure."

My eyes moved to the guard.

Of course I remembered him.

How could I forget?

I just hadn't known his name.

Fragments of Gareth's lessons drifted back into my mind.

Pack structure.

Rank.

Authority.

Thorne was Derrick's second-in-command.

Power rolled off him.

Different from Derrick's.

Not as overwhelming.

Not as magnetic.

His felt sharper.

Colder.

Like the claws that had rested against my neck.

"Pour us a drink, Amira."

My body obeyed before my mind caught up.

I grabbed two beers and placed them on the counter.

Derrick settled onto a stool and watched me.

"You know," he said, "when Gareth told me you wanted to tend bar, I honestly thought you had a death wish."

His fingers tapped lightly against the bottle.

"A month later, this became my most profitable business."

A faint smile touched his mouth.

It wasn't a kind one.

"Apparently putting Rowan Kingsley's daughter on display is the quickest way to make money."

The words hit harder than they should have.

Nausea rose in my throat.

Still, I kept my mouth shut.

I placed the drinks in front of him and stepped back.

He had known all along.

Every bit of it.

Every reason I worked here.

Of course he knew.

Gareth would have reported everything to his Alpha.

"Haydenwood Brewery?" Derrick growled as he examined the label. "You do know this beer comes from the Silver Serpent Pack, right?"

"No."

For the first time, I forced myself to meet his eyes.

"I don't know anything about the packs."

The admission tasted bitter.

"I only know customers like it."

His gaze narrowed.

"Gareth never taught you?"

A hollow ache settled in my chest.

"I think Gareth only cared about keeping me alive."

The words came out quieter than I intended.

"He was pretty successful at it until he died."

Pain mixed with bitterness.

Neither could be hidden.

"I don't even think there was a funeral for him."

"There was."

Derrick answered immediately.

No hesitation.

No emotion.

Just a fact.

"There was a funeral."

His eyes held mine.

"You weren't invited."