All Chapters of Bait for the devil : Chapter 21 - Chapter 24

The master suite felt different that night. The fireplace was roaring, casting long, dancing shadows across the velvet curtains and the mahogany furniture. For the first time since I had been traded to this house, the air didn’t feel heavy with secrets. It felt light. It felt like victory. I stood on the balcony, the cool Mediterranean breeze pulling at my silk robe. Below, the fires of the pack were still burning, the sounds of celebration echoing up from the olive groves. They were singing ancient songs, melodies of blood and moon that I finally understood. Girard stepped out behind me. He had showered, his skin smelling of cedar and the expensive soap I liked. He didn’t speak; he just wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me back into the furnace of his heat. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his stubble grazing my skin. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating rumble. “You could have been lost in that void, Arielle.”

The story of my life had begun in a basement, surrounded by the cold smell of damp concrete and the terrifying realization that my father had sold my soul for a patch of territory. But as I stood on the balcony of the North Tower, watching the sun begin to bleed over the Mediterranean, I realized that the story hadn’t ended in tragedy. It had transformed into a legend. The North Tower was no longer a place of screams and silver chains. We had gutted the torture chambers, replaced the stone basins with libraries of ancient lore, and turned the cold, spiraling staircase into a gallery of Roux history. It was no longer a cage for the “Devil”; it was a sanctuary for the Alpha. I held a bundle of soft, cream-colored wool in my arms. Inside, tucked away from the cool morning breeze, was a tiny, sleeping miracle. My daughter. She had been born three weeks ago, during the first snowfall Marseille had seen in a decade. She had my dark hair and the delicate features of a Monet, but when