LYRA Zeviar drove us himself, no driver, no trailing escort, just the two of us in the dark blue Range Rover. He said he kept for times he didn't want anyone tracking where the Alpha King went. I dressed plainly on purpose: dark jeans, a fitted black sweater, my mother's dagger strapped discreetly against my thigh under looser fabric, hair pulled back out of my face. Nothing said Luna. Nothing said anything, really, except that I meant business and didn't need fancy embroidery to prove it. Zeviar did the same, wearing a dark jacket over a simple shirt without the formal tailoring he used for council sessions. It was as if he also understood tonight wasn't about looking powerful, it was about actually being powerful. "You're quiet," he said, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on my knee, warm even through the denim. "I'm thinking." "About the manor?" "About what he's going to tell us," I said. "And whether I'm going to regret asking." My phone buzzed against my thigh, Or
Last Updated : 2026-09-14 Read more