Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
VIDAR
Igripped the steering wheel of the Aventador, the engine’s roar a low, vibrating hum that synchronized with the thrum in my veins. I was pushing eighty-five, then ninety, weaving through the thinning traffic on the Long Island Expressway.
I passed a state trooper tucked into a median crossover.
He pulled out, his lights flickering for a fraction of a second before he caught sight of my plates.
He braked hard, his nose dipping as he retreated back into the shadows.
He knew better. In this part of the state, the Blackwood name was a sovereign border.
As the smog of the city fell away in my rearview mirror, the air began to change.
The gray, suffocating density of Manhattan gave way to the wide-open expanse of the North Shore.
The sky cleared into a bruised purple and gold, and for the first time since Adolpha Vane had walked into my office, I felt like I could breathe.
I needed the room. I needed the space to settle the sudden, chaotic heat her scent had stirred up in my blood.
I turned off the main road and approached the heavy iron gates of our community. They slid open before I even touched the remote; the sensors recognizing my arrival with silent, mechanical obedience.
I pulled into the gravel drive of The Rookery. To the outside world, it was a relic of the Gatsby era; a sprawling stone fortress hidden behind manicured oaks. But to us, it was the only soil on earth that was truly ours.
The sun was dipping low over the terrace, casting long, golden shadows that made the limestone glow.
I stepped out of the car, the silence of the estate wrapping around me like a heavy cloak.
I looked up at the grand staircase visible through the foyer windows.
For a fleeting second, I was ten years old again, sliding down those banisters with Magnus and Gunnar, our laughter echoing off the vaulted ceilings until my mother threatened to put us to work in the kitchen.
I remembered my father standing by the fireplace, his hand on my shoulder, teaching me that the strength of the pack wasn't in the howl, but in the foundation of the home.
I remembered spinning my baby sister around the hall before we sent her off to college, her laughter the brightest thing I ever allowed myself to receive from a woman who wasn't my mother.
Those were memories. Today was about the acquisition.
I turned the knob of the front door. It wasn't locked. There was no need for it to be. Aside from patrols roaming the grounds, there were wolves inside the house. My family members were the highest on the food chain for miles.
I entered the Great Hall, my shoes echoing against the white marble.
This part of the house was a theater of power, a cavernous space of cold stone, soaring ceilings, and gold-leafed molding meant to intimidate anyone who crossed the threshold.
It smelled of citrus polish and expensive order.
We only entertained guests here; outsiders who needed to be reminded of the scale of the Blackwood legacy.
I bypassed the receiving room, with its stiff Louis XIV chairs and velvet ropes, and moved deeper into the house, toward the heart of the estate.
The atmosphere shifted the moment I crossed into the family quarters.
Here, the marble gave way to hand-scraped oak and thick, plush rugs that ate the sound of my footsteps.
The air was warmer, smelling of wood smoke and the lingering scent of my mother's perfume.
This was where we actually lived—the sanctuary behind the fortress.
Magnus and Gunnar were sprawled in the family room, the oversized leather sofas bearing the indentations of their weight.
Magnus had his boots up on a trunk that had been in our family for three generations, while Gunnar was tossed back in a recliner, nursing a glass of bourbon and looking like he hadn't a care in the world. This was the homeyness the public never saw; the mess of discarded jackets, the dog’s water bowl in the corner, and the lived-in comfort of a pack that didn't have to perform for anyone.
"There's the groom," Gunnar snorted from his sprawl.
I greeted him with my middle finger.
"She's not with you?" asked Magnus, peering over my shoulder.
"I sent her a car. She should be here shortly."
"Well," Gunnar prompted. "Tell us about her."
"She spent the last few years working at Sterling that defiant, emerald fire in her eyes.
I felt that same dark, low-frequency thrum in my blood that had hit me the moment I smelled her.
She was a prize, the ultimate trophy to signify the end of the Vane line and the expansion of ours.
I would put her in the finest silks, drip her in diamonds, and show the city that even the most rebellious wolf could be brought to heel by the right master.
"You’re going to break her?" Gunnar asked, a smirk playing on his lips.
"I’m going to refine her," I corrected.
I wasn't a monster; I was a protector. I would treat her with the respect a Blackwood wife deserved. But first, I would ensure she understood the hierarchy. She would be the jewel in our crown; silent, beautiful, and mine for the taking.
The sound of tires crunching on gravel drifted through the open window.
"She’s here." Magnus straightened up, his posture shifting into the defensive stance of a soldier.
I smoothed my jacket and checked my reflection in the darkened glass. I looked exactly like my father—immovable, absolute. Adolpha Vane was about to step out of that car and into a life she couldn't even imagine. And I was going to be the first thing she saw.
Magnus and Gunnar exchanged a lightning-fast look, a silent communication perfected over decades of shared trouble, and then they lunged.
The defensive stance Magnus had taken wasn't for a soldier; it was for a tackle.
He hit me mid-turn, his massive shoulder catching me in the ribs, while Gunnar dived for my waist. Suddenly, the three most powerful men in the Blackwood empire were a heap of tangled limbs and muffled curses on the plush rug of the den.
"Get off me," I growled, shoving Gunnar’s head away.
"Why so eager, bro?" Gunnar panted, pinning my arm.
"Stop being fucking children," I snapped, throwing a blind elbow that connected with Magnus’s chest.
Magnus grunted, locking his arms around my waist to keep me from the door. "We’re just performing a security check."
It was as if we were ten years old again, a chaotic scuffle of teeth and elbows.
I finally managed to plant a foot and heave, sending Gunnar rolling across the floor.
I broke free from Magnus’s grip with a snarl, scrambled to my feet, and practically dove into the hallway.
I stopped just short of the Great Hall, gasping for air, frantically straightening my shirt and smoothing my hair back into its disciplined mask.
I took a breath, composed my face into an expression of cold, aristocratic welcome, and stepped out onto the marble. But I was too late. The heavy oak front door was already wide open. Ivar stood on the threshold. He leaned against the frame and made puppy-dog eyes at my bride to be.
Addie stood on the stoop, her face set in a mask of pure, icy fury that could have withered a lesser man. She looked ready to demand a refund on her life. When her eyes landed on Ivar, her anger momentarily derailed by the sight of the boyish grin greeting her.
"Well, well," Ivar said, his voice a smooth, honeyed purr. "Vidar didn't mention he was bringing home a goddess. Honestly, you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen."
Addie blinked, her corporate mask slipping as she processed the sheer audacity of the kid.
"Too bad you have to marry my stiff older brother. But don't worry. I’ll be around to make you laugh when he starts lecturing you on logistics."
To my utter shock, a grin broke across Addie’s face; a genuine flash of humor that I hadn't seen in our meeting.
"You don't look old enough to be having much fun," she said, her voice dry as she glanced down at the heavy math textbook tucked under his arm.
"Actually, maybe you can help me with my calculus homework later? I heard you were smart, as well as beautiful."
That little—
The effect was instantaneous. Addie’s entire posture softened, the tension bleeding out of her shoulders as she looked at him with something approaching warmth.
It would appear she was a sucker for a compliment when it came to her intelligence.
Or maybe that was just for a Blackwood who wasn't currently holding her leash.
I reached the door, my hand clamping down on Ivar’s shoulder with enough force to bruise. "Go do your homework in the den."
Ivar gave me a mocking wink before disappearing back into the house, leaving a trail of boyish laughter behind him.
Addie’s gaze traveled up from the empty doorway to my face. The second our eyes met, the warmth vanished. Her smile fell away as if it had never existed, replaced instantly by that hard, emerald wall of resentment. The anger was back, colder and sharper than before.
"Where's my car?"