Chapter 6 On the Edge

 Devon’s POV

Ever felt like you wanted to rip something apart… yet hold it so goddamn close you’d burn yourself alive just to keep it near?

Yeah. That’s been me.

For weeks now.

President of Astria.

The title I fought for, clawed through blood and bone to win.

And now?

Now it feels like a fucking curse.

Because the day I took that oath, the gods above thought it’d be funny to toss the one thing I’d prayed never to find right at my feet.

And with every breath I take, every second I have to see him — smell him, I feel myself slipping closer to the edge.

Closer to losing the only thing keeping me from turning this whole world upside down.

My goddamn sanity.

No one can help me.

Not Franco. Not Eleanor. No one.

This is my cross to bear.

Because doing the needful?

Claiming what's mine?

It would be the beginning of my ruin.

And Astria’s too.

I took a shuddering breath and pushed the needle into my arm, injecting another dose of silver sulfate straight into my bloodstream.

The bite was instant—fire in my veins.

My wolf roared inside me, slamming against the walls of my mind like a caged beast.

Good, I snarled inwardly. Stay down. Stay the fuck down.

Franco's voice echoed from memory.

"Devon, you keep upping the dose like this, you’re gonna push your wolf past breaking. And when he breaks, so will you."

Yeah.

I know.

But it’s the only thing keeping me from marching across the fucking residence and—

No.

I clenched my fist until my nails drew blood.

A knock at the door snapped me back.

My secretary's voice, smooth and professional. "Mr. President, you have the charity gala event scheduled tonight. Public image requires your attendance. Also, there’s a suit fitting at five sharp."

Of course.

Public image.

The mask.

The show.

I yanked my jacket on, ignoring the cold sweat breaking out down my spine.

My body was already overheating, the silver and the wolf tearing at each other like rival gods inside me.

By the time I made it to the suit fitting, every touch against my skin felt like sandpaper.

Hot. Burning.

The tailor’s hands adjusting my lapels made my wolf snarl in my ear, baring teeth like I was under attack.

I gritted my teeth, standing still as they pinned and measured, swallowing the growl that wanted to tear loose.

This suit would fit like a glove tonight.

Too bad it felt like it was strangling me already.

 —

The gala night was a golden dream.

At least, that’s how it was supposed to look.

Crystal chandeliers rained down soft light over marble floors, the scent of roses and expensive perfume hanging thick in the air.

Music floated, violins and piano merging into a seductive lull.

Astria’s elite laughed and sipped champagne, masks of civility hiding the monsters underneath.

And Eleanor…

Gods, my wife looked stunning.

Her evening dress shimmered like liquid gold, the fabric hugging her in ways the cameras would love tomorrow.

She smiled, poised and radiant, sliding her hand into the crook of my arm like we were the perfect power couple.

We looked good together.

Perfect even.

On the outside.

But my eyes…

My eyes weren’t on her.

No.

They drifted.

Again.

Down the hallway, past the sea of glittering gowns and polished shoes, and locked onto him.

Jimmie.

Her assistant.

My fucking torment.

I clenched my jaw, feeling my pulse spike.

He was laughing at something, unaware of the storm he stirred inside me just by existing.

His suit tonight was a deep navy, tailored to fit that lean frame just right.

Gods, he looked beautiful.

The lines of his throat, the way his lips curved when he smiled — too soft, too inviting.

The lights caught in his hair, making the gold curls gleam.

And those eyes… sparkling like he belonged in this world of luxury, oblivious to the fire he was stoking across the room.

My wolf growled low.

Mine.

No.

Not mine.

Never.

I dragged Eleanor closer, wrapping an arm around her waist like an anchor.

I could feel the wolf bristle, restless, hungry, but I forced the lie down his throat.

She’s your mate. She’s your choice. This is your path.

Not him.

Never him.

A voice cut through my mental battle.

Smug.

Oily.

Like a snake in human skin.

"President James," Jim Halvorsen sneered, stepping into my space with his wife on his arm.

The man I crushed in the election months ago — still licking his wounds, still pretending to smile.

His eyes, though, held that same predator’s gleam.

Not like mine.

Not like a wolf.

But something darker.

"Enjoying your victory lap, I see," Halvorsen drawled. "But don’t get too comfortable. We both know these things… shift with the tides."

His smile was all teeth. "I’m still watching."

I smiled back, cold and sharp.

"Enjoy the evening, Jim. I hear the wine is excellent. Maybe it’ll help you swallow your loss a little smoother."

His wife’s lips twitched, barely hiding her amusement.

Halvorsen’s eyes flashed.

I turned away before I did something I’d regret.

But peace wasn’t mine tonight.

Because across the room, Jimmie laughed again.

And this time — gods help me — I heard it.

The man he was talking to leaned in too close.

Flirting.

Touching his arm.

And Jimmie…

Jimmie laughed.

Light. Carefree.

Oblivious.

"Cute laugh you’ve got there," the man said, low and smooth. "Bet you drive your man crazy with that smile, huh?"

My vision blurred.

My hearing tunnelled.

My wolf's ears perked, sharp and furious.

He’s touching what’s ours. He’s looking. He’s trying to take.

No.

No.

The glass in my hand creaked under my grip.

Across the room, Eleanor stiffened beside me, tracing my line of sight.

She followed my gaze straight to Jimmie.

Her lips parted slightly, confusion flickering in her eyes.

"Devon…?" she murmured, soft and cautious.

But I couldn’t hear her.

All I could hear was my wolf, snarling, howling, battering against my skull like a battering ram.

Take.

Claim.

Destroy.

The glass shattered in my palm with a loud crack.

Crystal shards fell like glittering rain, slicing my skin.

Blood welled up, hot and fast.

The music faltered.

Heads turned.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

And there I stood.

President Devon James.

Hand bleeding, chest heaving, barely holding back the monster that wanted nothing more than to cross the room, rip that man apart, and drag Jimmie away where no one else could touch him.

I locked my jaw, breathing hard, trying — trying — to leash the beast inside me.

But gods…

I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep pretending.