45. Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Five
Emma
A drian greets my alphas with quick handshakes and murmured reassurances, his tone all business before his gaze settles on me.
His posture shifts, a conscious effort to soften the impressive line of his shoulders and tilt his chin low, trying to make himself appear less threatening.
It almost works—almost. Nothing could ever make Adrian anything but imposing.
I remember how Mira once confessed she was terrified of him at first, back before his softer side seemed possible. Now, she looks at him like he hangs the moon. The proof is in the gentle way he offers me a nod, eyes flickering with real warmth.
“Emma,” he says, voice gentler than anyone his size should manage. “I’d like to introduce you to Hawthorne Pack. They’re Mira’s security detail, and they’re here to help us bring Leah home.”
He gestures first to the alpha at his left. “This is Ronan.”
Ronan towers over everyone, at least six foot five, all broad shoulders and corded muscle under a perfectly tailored suit.
His tanned skin is marked with the shadow of tattoos that snake up his neck and tease the edge of his jaw, just beneath the crisp line of his shirt collar.
Stubble darkens his chin, and his brown eyes are steady, unwavering and watchful.
He gives me a nod, the barest lift of his chin, a silent promise that he’s exactly as capable as he looks.
Adrian shifts attention to the next alpha. “Gabriel.”
Gabriel has short, styled auburn hair and a neatly groomed beard that frames a sharp, handsome face.
His skin is lightly freckled, adding a touch of youth to his otherwise keen, serious expression.
His hazel eyes are as bright and cutting as a hawk’s, tracking every movement.
Though tall and fit, he carries himself as if he’s reading the room for threats, even in the calm.
There’s a smirk of humor just at the corner of his lips, but his gaze never loses focus.
“And this is Jax,” Adrian finishes.
Jax is enormous. He’s dark-skinned, tall and thickly muscled, with a short beard that softens his otherwise severe features. His eyes are an intelligent, brown-black. Every inch of him is alert, his stance blocking the space behind Adrian as if protecting the entire team with his body alone.
All three of them radiate power and professionalism, the kind that promises violence only if it's absolutely necessary. Pack Hawthorne looks impossibly capable, as though nothing could get past them if they didn’t want it to. I finally understand why Adrian trusts them to protect Mira.
For a moment, nerves skitter up my spine, but I lift my chin and meet their eyes, grateful for their help and the force they bring with them. Tonight, Leah has an army behind her, and so do I.
Asher turns to me, his expression fierce but soft.
This look I’ve come to know as his way of holding me close even when he has to let me go.
It’s time for my mates to split off, to blend into the crowd, as we’ve planned a dozen times over.
I hate this part, the moment when I must trust our strategy more than the comfort of their nearness because my face isn’t plastered across wanted bulletins like theirs.
I’m safest in the open even though we plan to stick to the edge of the crowd. Omegas draw eyes anyway, but with Ronan at my side, I’ll be just another pretty thing on an alpha’s arm. My alphas, though, are too well known to risk walking beside me.
Even though I know this is what we have to do, my heart clings to them, not wanting the warmth of their presence to fade.
Asher plants a steadying kiss on my forehead, hands lingering an extra moment on my arms. “Be strong, Moonbeam. Do what you need to and let Ronan keep you safe. We’ll be in constant contact with him. I swear we’ll never be far.”
Phoenix clasps the back of my neck, bending to murmur, “You got this, Tough Girl. Don’t let anyone lay a finger on you. Knew from the start you’d be the bravest one of us.” He flicks a wry grin at Ronan as if daring him to do his job well.
Soren’s goodbye is quieter, slipping a note of calm straight into my bones as he squeezes my hand. “We’re so proud of you. We’re always there, even when you can’t see us.”
Turning to Ronan, Asher’s eyes narrow, less threat and more fierce pack demand. “Do whatever it takes to protect her.”
Ronan dips his chin. “I’ll look after her with my life.” His voice is gravel-dark and unyielding. A shiver ripples down my spine. Not from fear, but from the certainty in his words. He means every syllable.
My mates slip away with Adrian and Cole, their tailored forms swallowed up by the night, moving into the world of darkness, silk, champagne, and secrets. I watch them go, a hole forming in my chest even as my courage flares.
Ronan steps into the circle their presence leaves, offering his elbow with old-world formality and a hint of comfort in that big, solid frame. “Ready, Omega? We’ll take the side entrance. You’re here, but let’s make sure no one notices you too much. ”
His dark scent hits me in the back of my throat with his promise.
Relief flickers in me. I’m happy to disappear.
I slip my hand around his arm, drawing strength from his steadiness.
Together, we step out, moving around the grand front doors and instead ducking into a quiet side hallway still thick with velvet shadows.
The gala can swirl on in all its spectacle; for now, I am just a ghost in its midst, floating silent and unseen, exactly where I need to be.
Ronan steers me through a maze of quiet corridors with an ease that belies his massive frame.
His pace is brisk but never rushed, his confidence unwavering.
He shields me, tucking me behind a wall of careful intent.
Something about the way he knows exactly where to turn and pause has me glancing up at him, curiosity slipping past my nerves.
“You’ve been here before?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
He offers a small, rumbling chuckle as he glances at me. “Nope. First time. But we all studied the floor plans inside and out. We went over every layout, every exit and stairwell. I know this building like the back of my hand.”
Relief bites through my anxiety. Of course they’d do that. Ronan leads us out onto a landing overlooking the grand ballroom three stories below. The echo of music and dozens—no, hundreds—of voices float up on a glittering current, rising through ornate railings and gilded archways.
The crowd is a living sea, the lights from crystal chandeliers washing over shimmering gowns, sleek tuxedos, and jewels that wink at every turn.
Alphas and betas shoulder against each other, everyone striving to be seen.
The air is charged: excitement, hunger, ambition moving in ripples across the crowd.
It’s a world away from the quiet shadows up here.
On the third level, the pace is slower. Just a scattering of older alphas and betas, men in dark suits with lines of silver at their temples, talking quietly in small circles or staring down at the spectacle.
There’s a sense of a preference to watch rather than mingle with the crowd below.
I realize, with a grateful breath, that I would never survive in that mass.
The energy is suffocating from here. I don’t think I could even draw breath if I were pressed between them .
My eyes search, heart clenching, but I spot none of my alphas in that jostling throng. Just strangers, secrets, and flashing teeth beneath velvet lights. I try to tell myself that’s a good thing. Blending in was always the plan.
A waiter drifts by with a tray balanced high, crystal flutes shimmering with pale bubbles. Ronan snags two, handing one to me with a murmured, “Hold this. It’ll help us look like we belong.”
I swallow, turning the glass in my fingers. “I don’t want to drink it.”
He leans close, voice pitched for my ears only. “You just have to hold it. Watch.” He lifts his own glass and mimics a sip, the movement smooth and natural. But this close, I see the trick—his lips never actually touch the champagne, and not a drop leaves the rim.
It’s a small deception, but it settles me. Ronan has more control over this night than I imagined.
There’s a subtle shift in the current below.
A ripple in the music of voices, laughter thinned to hush.
I peer down to see Axel Turns stride through the grand front doors, the crowd parting for him like oil from water.
He’s flanked by his pack—two enormous alphas in formal wear so dark and sharp they look like hired executioners.
Their bulk dwarfs the fragile omega between them: Aubrey, small and heartbreakingly delicate, sandwiched tight between their bodies.
The commissioner radiates authority, head high, prowling forward with the impatience of a man used to getting everything he wants.
Aubrey, so much smaller, willow-thin in a pale suit, doesn’t even look up.
His gaze is fixed on the polished floor, shoulders rounded in on himself.
Even from far above I see how he shakes, his body trembling.
Aubrey walks with his pack, locked in by his bonded alphas on either side, moving in perfect step as though this is all choreographed, yet his spirit is utterly alone within that group.
Rage flares in my chest, hot and white, coiling behind my ribs until I’m shaking.
The commissioner, swaggering like a king, is the architect of this living hell—the one who built the prison Aubrey can’t escape, the one who shatters omegas like Leah, myself and so many others.
The urge to drive my nails into the handrail is so strong my fists ache with it.