His Queen, Revealed

The Founders' Gala was held at the Grand Dominion Hotel, a sprawling marvel of glass and gold that sat on the edge of the harbor. It was neutral ground, a place where the varying packs of the West Coast mingled under a fragile truce to discuss trade, territory, and alliances.

Inside the limousine, the air was thick with tension. Emily smoothed the silk of her emerald dress for the hundredth time, her fingers trembling.

"Stop," Ethan said.

He didn't look at her; his gaze was fixed on the passing city lights, his profile sharp and unyielding.

"I can't help it," Emily whispered. "I feel like I'm walking to my execution. Everyone in that room thinks I'm dead. Ryan thinks I'm dead."

"Ryan thinks you are a problem he has solved," Ethan corrected, turning to face her. The interior lights of the car cast shadows across his face, making his violet eyes glow with an ethereal intensity. "Tonight, you become a problem he cannot solve."

The car slowed to a halt. Outside, camera flashes erupted like lightning. The paparazzi were swarming the red carpet, hungry for a glimpse of the city's elite.

Lucas killed the engine. "We're here, Alpha."

Ethan reached out, taking Emily’s cold hand in his warm, large one. "Do not let go of me. Do not look down. Look at them. Let them see that you are unbroken."

The door opened. The noise of the crowd rushed in—shouting, camera shutters, the low hum of expensive engines.

Ethan stepped out first. A hush fell over the immediate vicinity. The Rogue King did not attend galas. His presence was a disruption in the natural order. He turned, extending a hand back into the darkness of the car.

Emily took a deep breath. For the baby, she told herself.

She took his hand and stepped out.

The flashes blinded her for a second, but she felt Ethan’s arm slide around her waist, pulling her flush against his side. It was a possessive, undeniable claim.

"Who is she?" someone shouted. "Is that the Rogue King?" "Look at the dress—Silverclaw colors!"

They walked the carpet. Ethan ignored the reporters, his face a mask of bored indifference, but his grip on Emily was iron-tight. Emily kept her chin up, just as he had taught her, channeling every ounce of fake confidence she could muster.

They reached the massive double doors of the ballroom. The doorman, a wolf with a scar running down his cheek, paled when he saw Ethan.

"Master Carter," he stammered, bowing low. "We... we weren't expecting you."

"I rarely do what is expected," Ethan drawled. "Open the doors."

The heavy oak doors swung inward.

The ballroom was a sea of diamonds, tuxedos, and designer gowns. A string quartet was playing something soft and classical. The scent of champagne and expensive perfume mingled with the underlying, muskier scents of hundreds of wolves.

As Ethan and Emily stepped onto the balcony overlooking the dance floor, the music didn't stop, but the conversation did. Silence rippled outward from the entrance like a wave, until the entire room was looking up at them.

Emily felt her knees knock together. She spotted him almost instantly.

Ryan was standing near the center of the room, holding a glass of champagne. He looked devastatingly handsome in a black tuxedo, his golden hair perfectly styled. Hanging on his arm was Claire, wearing a red dress that looked suspiciously similar to the one Emily had seen shredded on the floor.

They were laughing at something a Council member was saying. Then, sensing the shift in the room, Ryan looked up.

His smile froze. The glass slipped from his fingers.

Smash.

The sound of shattering crystal echoed in the silent room. Champagne splashed onto Claire’s shoes, but she didn't react. She was staring at Emily with her mouth slightly open, her face draining of color.

"Showtime," Ethan whispered in Emily’s ear.

He guided her down the grand staircase. Every step was a drumbeat of war. The crowd parted for them, Alphas and Lunas stepping aside to create a wide path. They could smell the power rolling off Ethan, a dark, earthy scent that promised violence if provoked.

Ryan didn't move. He stood paralyzed, staring at the ghost of the girl he had ordered to die.

They stopped five feet away from him.

"Ryan," Ethan said, his voice smooth and carrying effortlessly across the quiet room. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Ryan’s amber eyes darted from Ethan to Emily. He looked at her stomach, then at her face. "Emily? But... the police said..."

"The police said what you paid them to say," Emily said. Her voice shook, but it was audible. She saw the shock register on his face—he had never heard her speak with such defiance.

"You're supposed to be dead," Claire hissed, stepping forward. Her eyes flashed green. "You jumped. Everyone knows you jumped."

"And yet, here she stands," Ethan interrupted, stepping slightly in front of Emily. "Alive. Healthy. And under my protection."

Ryan’s face twisted. The shock was fading, replaced by the ugly, arrogant rage Emily had seen in the penthouse. "Protection? You brought a human pet to the Founders' Gala? This is an insult to the Council, Carter."

"She is not a pet," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "And she is not just a human."

He placed a hand flat on Emily’s stomach. The gesture was intimate, shocking. The entire room gasped.

"She is the mother of a pup," Ethan announced. "And since the biological father was foolish enough to reject his own blood... I have decided to claim them."

Ryan’s face went purple. "You can't claim her! She’s carrying my heir!"

"You rejected her," Emily cried out, the anger finally bubbling over. "You told me to get rid of it! You called our baby an abomination!"

Murmurs broke out across the room. Rejection was common, but attempting to kill an unborn pup? That was a taboo even among the ruthless elite.

"She’s lying!" Claire shrieked, clutching Ryan’s arm. "She’s a mental case! Ryan tried to help her, and she ran away!"

Ryan straightened, trying to regain his Alpha composure. He took a step toward Emily, his eyes glowing amber. "Come here, Emily. clearly, you’ve been brainwashed. You’re confused. We need to get you to a doctor."

He reached for her.

Ethan didn't shout. He didn't shift. He simply moved.

One hand shot out, catching Ryan’s wrist in a grip that sounded like cracking bone. Ryan cried out, dropping to one knee as Ethan twisted his arm.

"Do. Not. Touch. Her," Ethan enunciated, his violet eyes blazing.

"Let go of me!" Ryan snarled, trying to pull away, but he was helpless against the Rogue King’s strength. "I am the Alpha of Ironmoon! You cannot attack me on neutral ground!"

"I am not attacking you," Ethan said calmly. "I am disciplining a unruly pup who doesn't know his place."

He leaned down, bringing his face close to Ryan’s. "You threw her away like trash, Ryan. You sent an enforcer to hunt her down in an alley. You forfeited your rights."

Ethan released him with a shove that sent Ryan sprawling onto the polished floor.

Ryan scrambled up, humiliated, panting. His wolf was surfacing, his face distorting. "This isn't over, Carter. That baby is Ironmoon property. If you think I’ll let a Rogue raise my heir, you’re insane."

"Come and take it then," Ethan challenged, spreading his arms. "Declare war on Silverclaw. See how long your 'empire' lasts when I cut off your shipping routes and freeze your assets. You’ll be begging for scraps within a week."

Ryan hesitated. He knew Ethan wasn't bluffing. Ironmoon had history, but Silverclaw had the economy in a chokehold.

"This is a mistake," Ryan spat, adjusting his tuxedo. He glared at Emily with pure hatred. "You think you've won the lottery, Emily? You think he loves you? He’s a monster. He’s using you to get to me."

"Maybe," Emily said, her hand resting on her stomach. She looked at Ethan, who stood like a dark wall between her and her past. Then she looked back at Ryan. "But at least he didn't try to kill me."

She turned to Ethan. "I want to leave now. The air in here smells like garbage."

A few people in the crowd snickered.

Ethan smirked—a genuine, triumphant expression. He offered her his arm. "As you wish, my queen."

They turned their backs on the fuming Ironmoon Alpha and walked away. The crowd parted even faster this time, staring at Emily with new eyes. She wasn't the invisible human anymore. She was the woman who had brought two Alphas to the brink of war.

As they reached the doors, Emily felt her legs beginning to give out. The adrenaline was crashing.

"You did well," Ethan murmured, supporting her weight without making it obvious.

"Is it over?" she whispered.

"No," Ethan said, glancing back at the ballroom where Ryan was now shouting at a terrified waiter. "It has only just begun. But now, they know."

"Know what?"

"That if they want to get to you," Ethan said, pushing the doors open to the cool night air, "they have to go through the Devil himself."