Three days passed in agonizing isolation. Elara felt like an eagle with broken wings, locked inside a gilded cage. Her wounds were gradually healing, though black scar tissue still marred her arm—a permanent reminder of how deadly silver was to her kind.
But the physical wounds were nothing compared to the pain in her soul.
The mate bond she had rejected was beginning to take its toll. Elara often woke in the middle of the night, gasping for breath, her body trembling with cold as she longed for the warmth of her fated mate. Her wolf grew weaker and more apathetic, refusing to respond to her calls. Rejecting a mate bond was a biological anomaly for werewolves; it disrupted their nervous systems and sanity.
Elara stood before the giant mirror in her bathroom, staring at her pale, fragile reflection.
“I don’t need him,” she whispered to herself, gripping the edge of the sink. “My mother died because she believed in this stupid fate. I won’t repeat her mistake.”
She splashed cold water on her face, trying to regain her focus. She had to get out of this penthouse. Bastian had gone beyond the limits of sanity. The man had stationed two guards outside her bedroom door twenty-four hours a day. Elara knew that sooner or later, Bastian’s obsession would lead her to death—or worse, turn her into bait to lure out the Alpha.
Elara walked toward her wardrobe and checked the tactical gear she had hidden behind the shoe rack. She didn’t have many weapons—only two titanium throwing knives and a length of garrote wire. She couldn’t openly fight Gideon’s forces, especially not while she was still less than one hundred percent recovered physically. She had to use her brain.
Tonight was the night of Bastian’s black-market antique and art auction. It was her only chance. While Bastian was busy presiding over the event on the ground floor, security in the penthouse would surely be reduced.
Meanwhile, at Raga’s temporary headquarters in the hotel, preparations for the invasion were underway in deadly silence.
Kael placed a gold-accented VIP invitation on the glass table. It had been obtained at an outrageous price through the black market.
“Obsidian Night Auction. Held in the main hall of Bastian’s main building. Only attended by criminal elites, corrupt politicians, and conglomerates,” Kael explained, pointing to the floor plan displayed on the tablet screen. “Bastian will be there. And our intel from inside confirms that he plans to bring Elara as his escort. This is a trap, Raga. He’s putting your woman on display to lure you out.”
Raga picked up the invitation, his fingers tracing the gold lettering as a murderous look filled his eyes. “He wants me to see her? Good. I’ll give him a show he’ll never forget for the rest of his life.”
“His security is no joke,” Kael warned, his face serious. “Gideon has snipers with silver bullets stationed at every strategic corner. That woman named Serena has most likely set Wolfsbane gas traps in the air vents. If we enter in wolf form, we’ll be slaughtered before we reach the stage.”
“We’re not going in as wolves, Kael. We’re going in as VIP guests,” Raga said. He walked to the wardrobe and pulled out a custom-tailored, midnight-black tuxedo that radiated a nobleman’s elegance. “We’ll play along with his game. Bastian thinks he can pressure us with his weapons, but he’s forgotten one thing…”
Raga turned, his golden eyes flashing with cruelty. “Blackwood wolves always hunt in silence, and we tear out our prey’s throats right in front of his followers.”