Chapter 6

Ryder POV

She was still asleep when I left her room.

The argument lingered in my mind. Not the words, but the way she’d looked at me when she realized she couldn’t leave. When she understood her brother had already decided her fate.

She didn’t know everything.

And if I had my way, she never would.

I knew something was wrong the instant the noise around her shifted.

Not because she stumbled. Emerson had learned how to mask weakness long before I met her. But fear changes the air. It sharpens it. Turns pleasure sour. Her fear cut through the gathering like a blade, precise and unmistakable.

By the time I reached her, the damage was already done.

I didn’t need to examine her closely to know she’d been drugged. I didn’t need witnesses or confessions. The room told me everything I needed to know. The way conversations died too quickly. The way bodies subtly angled away. The way guilt always tried to hide behind indifference.

Silence fell when I lifted her.

Good.

They needed to understand what it meant to touch what stood under my protection.

Claim carried weight in New Orleans. It wasn’t romance. It wasn’t ceremony. It was law. When an Alpha claimed space, territory bent. When an Alpha claimed a person, consequences followed.

By lifting her in front of them and walking out without explanation, I wasn’t just removing her from danger.

I was issuing a warning.

I asked one question.

No one answered.

Cowards.

I turned, scanning faces, memorizing reactions. Fear. Curiosity. Calculation.

I had trusted the people placed closest to her.

That trust had not been misplaced.

But mistakes stopped being tolerable the moment Emerson was involved.

I didn’t stay to educate them. Emerson deserved more than their attention. She deserved safety.

She slept for hours.

I stood in the shadows of her room, listening to the rhythm of her breathing, counting the seconds between each rise of her chest until the urge to destroy something settled into control.

They had touched her.

They had thought they could.

Nicholas’s letter burned behind my eyes.

Kill her if you want. Just make sure she never returns to Lafayette. If you’re not quick, I’ll do it myself.

He hadn’t wanted her discarded.

He had wanted her erased.

That distinction mattered.

Nicholas didn’t make impulsive moves. He was cruel, yes, but he was methodical. The speed with which he’d sent that letter told me everything I needed to know.

Something had changed.

Her father’s death hadn’t just shifted leadership. It had destabilized territory lines that had been quietly respected for decades. Agreements written in blood and silence. Agreements older than Nicholas. Older than me.

Agreements Emerson had never been meant to inherit.

Agreements tied to eyes like hers.

Nicholas had inherited a throne he didn’t understand. Emerson had inherited something he feared.

Which meant time was no longer on her side.

I hadn’t challenged Nicholas in Lafayette on impulse. Emerson was a liability in his hands and an opportunity in mine. Not because she was weak, but because everyone around her believed she was.

Belief shaped reality in our world.

And I recognized her eyes the moment I saw them.

Eyes that did not belong in a corner.

Eyes that had once decided wars without a single blade drawn.

⸻

The man who served her drink was already waiting when I reached the holding rooms.

Bound. Shaking. Smelling of regret.

He didn’t last long.

He spoke quickly. Too quickly. Told me about the payment, the instructions, the dosage. Told me Nicholas’s messenger had assured him she was nothing. A forgotten omega. Easy to remove. No one would ask questions.

He was wrong on every count.

I corrected him.

Once.

Slowly.

Pain had its uses, but fear was more efficient. I wanted him alive long enough to understand exactly why his mistake would echo through the rest of his existence. I wanted the lesson to linger.

When I was finished, he would live.

But his usefulness ended there.

Restraint is not mercy. It is choice.

I washed the blood from my hands and reminded myself why I stopped. Why I always stopped before crossing that final line.

Because Emerson did not need to wake up knowing how close the world had come to taking her. She needed to believe there were still rules.

Even if I was the one bending them.

⸻

By the time I returned upstairs, dawn had crept into the halls.

She was awake now. Arguing with Monaco. Fire in her eyes instead of fear.

Better.

Fire meant defiance. Defiance meant survival.

She didn’t know why Nicholas had been so eager to erase her.

She didn’t know what her father had hidden before he died.

She didn’t know why three territories had gone quiet the moment I claimed her.

And she certainly didn’t know why her wolf had chosen now to speak.

She thought this was about survival.

It wasn’t.

It was about legitimacy. About authority that didn’t ask permission. About power that didn’t bow to tradition. About a system that had relied too long on silence and submission.

And Emerson was the kind of variable systems like that tried to destroy.

I didn’t go back inside right away.

Letting her see me too soon would give away too much. She was observant. Sharper than she realized. The less she knew, the longer she remained untouched.

For now.

My phone vibrated in my hand.

You should have let her die.

Now you’ve made yourself a target.

I looked at the door.

At the woman inside who had no idea what she truly was.

No idea how many eyes had already turned in her direction.

No idea how many lines I had crossed simply by choosing her.

And I smiled.

“Let them come,” I murmured.

Because if the world wanted her,

I would burn it first.