CHAPTER 12: TOUCH HER AGAIN

KNOX’S POV

The elevator doors open and I'm hit with exactly what I wanted—pure, beautiful chaos.

Reporters everywhere, cameras flashing like a goddamn warzone. Hotel security trying to hold back a tide of bodies and microphones. And right in the center of it all, providing the main entertainment, is Gale Crawford having the meltdown of the century.

"My wife was kidnapped! She's being held against her will!" His voice cracks, shrill and desperate, echoing through the marble lobby. "This man—the Lycan King—he's using her! I'm here to save her from her kidnapper!"

Perfect. Couldn't have scripted it better myself.

The reporters smell blood instantly. They pivot toward us like sharks, shouting over each other in a feeding frenzy:

"Is the Lycan King involved with a married omega?"

"How long has this affair been going on?"

"Did you kidnap Mrs. Crawford?"

"Is this a hostage situation?"

"Mr. Volkov! Mr. Volkov, can you comment on the allegations?"

I feel Ember tense beside me but she doesn't falter. Good girl.

Gale tries to shove through the crowd, screaming Ember's name like a lunatic who's lost his last marble. Security blocks him and he fights against their hold—red-faced, sweating through his expensive suit, veins bulging in his neck, eyes wild with panic.

This isn't the composed, ass-kissing alpha who sits in my board meetings. This is a man watching his carefully constructed life implode in real time, and he has no idea how to handle it.

Fucking beautiful.

I guide Ember toward the podium someone's helpfully set up, hand possessive on the small of her back. The touch is deliberate, unmistakable. Every wolf in this room can read it—territorial claim, mine, back the fuck off.

She's trembling under my palm but keeps her chin up, standing tall in that red dress that makes her look like walking sin. Her heels click against marble with each step, confidence she doesn't quite feel yet but will soon enough.

I'm fucking proud of her.

I step up to the microphone and let my voice cut through the noise like a blade through flesh. The room doesn't go quiet out of respect—it goes quiet because wolves recognize an apex predator when they hear one.

"Let's clear something up." My tone is cold, absolute, leaving no room for interpretation. "Ms. Aragon is here of her own free will. There's no coercion. No drugs. No kidnapping. If Mr. Crawford wants to continue accusing me otherwise, he's welcome to file a police report and face the inevitable perjury charges."

A reporter in the front row—blonde, ambitious, stupid—tries to interject. "But she's still legally married—"

"She was married," I correct, voice sharp enough to make her flinch. "She is in the divorce process. Grounds: infidelity and sexual deception by her closeted gay husband who spent their entire marriage fucking other men behind her back."

The gasps ripple through the crowd like a shockwave. Phones come up, recording every second. This is going to be everywhere within the hour.

Delicious.

Gale's face goes from white to purple in three seconds flat.

"She's lying! She was brainwashed!" His voice cracks on the words, desperation making him shrill. "Can't you see? He's manipulating her! She's not thinking clearly!"

I don't even look at him. Keep my eyes on the cameras, on the pack alphas standing at the back watching this unfold.

"Ember and I are in a relationship. Anyone who has a problem with that is welcome to take it up with me directly."

I let that statement hang in the air. Every alpha here knows exactly what I'm saying—challenge me and I'll destroy you.

"As for Mr. Crawford's continued harassment of Ms. Aragon and myself, he'll be hearing from my legal team. And trust me, gentlemen, they're very expensive and exceptionally thorough."

Gale loses what's left of his fucking mind.

"You stole her!" He's screaming now, spittle flying. "We have a pack treaty! She's my wife! She belongs to me! You can't just take what's mine!"

The room shifts. Even the human reporters sense the change—the way the temperature drops, the way every wolf goes still.

"She's not your property," I say, and my voice drops to something lethal. Something that makes the weaker wolves in the room cower. "She was never yours, Gale. Just like you were never really hers since you spent your marriage fucking other men while she played the dutiful wife."

The room goes dead silent. You could hear a pin drop on the marble floor.

I lean into the microphone, making sure every camera catches this.

"So here's how this works. If you ever refer to Ember as something you own again—if you so much as think of her as your property—I will personally rip your throat out. And that's not a threat, Crawford. That's a promise."

And Gale snaps.

He breaks through security with alpha speed—faster than the measly guards can track—and lunges straight for Ember. His hand clamps around her wrist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, yanking her toward him.

The movement is automatic. Practiced. Muscle memory.

Like he's done it a thousand times before.

Ember flinches—whole body recoiling, shoulders curling in, head ducking in a way that speaks of conditioning and fear.

And I see red.

One second Gale's standing, screaming, hand wrapped around Ember's wrist. The next I've got him by the throat, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the marble floor so hard the stone cracks beneath him like a spiderweb.

My claws are out, eyes full lycan gold, and my hand is crushing his windpipe. My wolf is howling for blood, demanding I finish this, demanding I tear him apart for touching what's mine.

The room goes completely silent except for Gale choking, gasping, clawing uselessly at my wrist.

I lean down, putting my face close to his, making sure he sees the promise of death in my eyes.

"Touch her again," I whisper, voice lethal and calm, "and I'll kill you where you stand. Slowly. Painfully. In front of everyone you've ever known."

I release him and he collapses, gasping for air, scrambling backward on his hands and knees like the pathetic worm he is. Security finally manages to grab him, two guards wrestling him into submission while he sobs and chokes.

I turn to Ember, checking the damage. Her wrist is already purple, perfect finger-shaped bruises forming on delicate skin.

Something dark and murderous settles deep in my chest. The way she flinched wasn't surprise—it was muscle memory. Instinct born from repetition. This isn't the first time he's grabbed her like that. Probably not even the hundredth.

Fucking hell. Does he…

I certainly hope not, because I'm going to destroy him. Completely. Utterly. Until there's nothing left.

But first, Ember.

She's shaking but her eyes are fierce, burning with something I recognize—rage that's finally been given permission to exist. She looks at me, then at the microphone in my hand.

"Can I?" she asks quietly.

I'm surprised but I hand it over immediately, curious what she's going to do. What she needs to say.

Ember turns to face Gale—still on his knees, still gasping, security holding him down like the rabid dog he is. She looks him dead in the eye, chin lifted, voice steady and clear as crystal.

"You are dead to me."

Five words. Simple. Final. Devastating.

Then she hands the microphone back to me.

The room is silent. The finality of it hits harder than any brutality I could have landed. More brutal than claws or teeth.

Gale looks gutted. Broken. Like she just reached into his chest and ripped out his heart.

Good.

Security drags him out, still gasping and screaming incoherent threats. The reporters erupt with questions, shoving microphones at me, cameras flashing so fast it's strobing.

I ignore all of them.

Instead, I turn to Ember and kiss her.

Deep. Possessive. The kind of kiss that stakes a claim in front of the entire fucking world and dares anyone to challenge it.

Not press-conference appropriate. Not gentle. The kind of kiss that says mine in a language every wolf in this room understands on a primal level.

When I pull back, her lips are swollen, her face flushed, her eyes still fierce.

Perfect.

I look at the crowd of reporters, at the pack alphas watching from the sidelines, at the cameras broadcasting this to every corner of the werewolf world.

"We're done here. Ember and I have a Christmas Summit to enjoy."

I lead her away, hand carefully avoiding her bruised wrist, leaving the chaos and shouting behind us.

The reporters keep screaming questions but none of them are stupid enough to follow.

Good instincts. They'll live longer that way.