CHAPTER 4: FORGET IT, I'M OUT.

Alistair shoves me away, far less violently this time, calculating the distance so he doesn't trigger the invisible force again. He jumps to his feet, brushing the glass and caviar off his ruined suit. His chest rises and falls at a dangerous pace. He runs a hand through his perfect hair, messing it up. Losing control is clearly his worst nightmare.

"Julian!" he barks, searching for his head of security in the crowd.

A tall man with scars on his neck and a grey tactical suit shoves his way to the front.

"Sir."

"Take her to the holding cells in the east wing basement," Alistair orders, pointing at me while refusing to look me in the face. "Chain her to the silver wall. Put a double guard on her. Nobody goes in or out until I figure out how to break the cheap magic trick this woman just cast on me."

Julian nods, unhooking a pair of heavy steel handcuffs from his belt. He takes two steps toward me.

My wolf lets out a mental cackle. I don't even bother putting my guard up. I dust off my hands, adjust the neckline of my dress, and look Alistair dead in the eye.

"Hard pass," I reply dryly.

Alistair furrows his brow, like the phrase doesn't exist in his vocabulary. "What did you just say?"

"I said hard pass. I don't have time for your dungeon fetishes, rich boy. I told you five minutes ago, I have a pizza promo waiting for me. If you want to play kidnapper, find someone else. I'm out."

I turn on my heel and start walking toward the exit. The crowd parts, opening a clear aisle for me, terrified to even brush against the magnetic beast I've apparently become.

"Stop right there!" Alistair orders, deploying his Alpha voice.

The tone presses down on my shoulders, demanding obedience, but my wolf simply ignores it. I keep walking. One, two, three, four steps.

I hear the sound of Alistair's expensive shoes planting firmly against the marble, refusing to follow me. A terrible miscalculation on his part.

On the fifth step, I hit the limit of the bond. The invisible snap echoes again. The Moon Goddess's magic doesn't understand pride, hierarchies, or Alpha commands; it only understands distance. And we just ran out of it.

A choked gasp escapes Alistair's throat. The magnetic force yanks him forward. Because he has his feet rooted to the floor trying to resist, the pull throws his balance completely off.

"Damn it!" the fearsome CEO yells, tripping over his own shoes.

His arms flail in the air as he tries not to faceplant. He ends up stumbling pathetically behind me, dragged along like a balloon tied to a toddler's wrist. Mocking whispers erupt across the room. The council elders cover their mouths. Camila lets out an indignant screech.

I stop at the frame of the main doors and look over my shoulder. Alistair is exactly six feet away from me, red-faced with humiliation, panting heavily from his stumble.

"Walk, Alpha," I tell him, jerking my chin toward the dark street outside. "Or I drag you face-first across the pavement. Your choice."

Julian makes a move to step in and stop the madness, but Alistair raises a sharp hand. He knows if his own guards try to pull us apart, the magic will send them flying. He is trapped.

I walk through the double doors and out into the night breeze. The valets stare at me as I march down the stone steps. I don't stop. I hear Alistair's heavy, furious footsteps tracking right behind me. He's figured out the physics of the problem: if he maintains a six-foot radius, the magnet stays dormant.

We walk down the sidewalk of the most expensive residential area in the city. The contrast is ridiculous. Me, power-walking in a borrowed dress now sporting cream cheese stains and smelling like salmon, and the richest man on the continent clipping at my heels, muttering low-level death threats every time the distance threatens to pull taut.

"I am going to lock you in a cage of pure silver," he growls at my back. "I will bring every witch on the continent to cut this magic thread, and then I will banish you so far away not even the crows will find your bones."

"Uh-huh. Sounds awesome. Watch out for the dirty puddle on your left," I warn him without looking back.

I hear the distinct splash of a three-thousand-dollar shoe stepping into stagnant water, followed by a curse so colorful it actually makes me smile.

Fifteen minutes of forced marching later, the pristine asphalt turns into cracked concrete. We've reached my territory. Alistair’s scent clashes violently with the smell of baked dough, burnt oil, and the garbage piled up in the slum's alleyways.

I stop in front of a small, peeling brick joint. The broken neon sign flickers intermittently, flashing "Mario's Pizza." The fluorescent lights inside buzz like giant flies.

I walk in. Alistair hesitates at the door, wrinkling his nose at the grease soaked into the walls. I take a quick step toward the counter, forcing the distance. The magic magnet yanks him sharply into the restaurant, making him smack into the glass door with a dull thud.

Mario, the owner, a massive, sweaty human wearing a tomato-sauce-stained apron, grins at me from behind the cash register.

"Violeta! Thought you were gonna miss the promo, kid. The usual, I'm guessing?"

"Double pepperoni, Mario. And a can of cola."

Mario looks over my shoulder at the tall, menacing man covered in fine-dining stains who is currently glaring daggers at me from the entrance.

"And for the guy in the suit? He looks like he wants to bite someone."

"Don't worry about him, he's my new pet. He only bites if you disrespect him," I reply, paying with a few coins I dig out of the hidden pocket of my skirt.

Mario hands me the slice of pizza on a greasy paper plate. The heat of the melted cheese instantly melts away my bad mood. I take a massive bite, closing my eyes to savor the explosion of grease and salt. It’s heaven on earth.

I open my eyes. Alistair is standing exactly six feet away. His suit is ruined. His reputation in high society has just been trampled by a stray. His inner wolf betrayed him, and now he is trapped in a cheap pizza joint that offends every single one of his elitist senses. The great Alpha Supreme stares up at the flickering fluorescent tube above our heads with a look of such absolute defeat that I almost feel sorry for him.

I chew my pepperoni loudly, happy as a clam, fully expecting the night to get even more interesting.