Chapter 8
Failed Negotiation
Alexa
Alastair walks toward me, that same smile carved onto his face, and I instinctively step back, biting down on my trembling lower lip.
Memories crash over me all at once. The auction room. His white limo. His prison. A six foot nightmare stands in front of me now, breathing, glaring with vengeance in his eyes. And still, part of my mind is busy wondering whether the man behind me is another mate waiting to ruin my life.
“Why silence? You don’t miss me?” he asks, his voice rough.
His sharp gaze drags over me like I’m prey he has finally cornered. He steps closer, but suddenly the man behind me moves, stepping forward to block him, his body shielding mine.
They lock eyes from several meters apart. Alpha pressure floods the hallway from both sides, heavy and suffocating. My breath catches. Even if dominance doesn’t scare me, the air around us thickens, swirling with raw power.
“What took you two so long?” Mr. Moris steps out of the room. Like he senses the tension instantly, he cuts through it with his voice. “You sure you both want to cancel tonight’s meeting?”
“As long as you let me take that girl back to Blood Moon Pack, there won’t be any blood spilled tonight,” the brutal man says, nodding toward me.
“You’ll have to go through me first,” the man in front of me replies calmly.
“Then I’ll kill you,” Alpha Alastair growls.
Mr. Moris scoffs, completely unfazed. “And what do you need her for? Planning to make her your third mistress?”
Alpha Alastair shoots him a lethal glare. His fist clenches, claws threatening to surface as if he might tear my boss apart right here.
“She’s just an ordinary waitress, a rogue,” Mr. Moris says, deliberately stepping between them.
His gaze flickers between me and Alastair. I should have told him about Alastair sooner. How could I be foolish enough to think Alastair would never find me here?
“No, she’s not. She’s my runaway slave,” Alastair snarls.
Goddess. He calls me his runaway slave. Did he come here for revenge? To collect his one million dollar debt? Either way, one thing’s for certain. There’s no way I’m sleeping peacefully tonight.
“She is mine,” Alastair says, teeth clenched.
“You don’t get to claim her as your slave,” the tall man in front of me says, stepping closer to shield me.
“Back off, Alpha Romero. You don’t know a damn thing.”
Alpha Romero. My breath catches. The only Alpha Romero that I know of in this region is Alpha Romero Blackmoore from the First Light Pack.
What are the odds that two rivals from the strongest packs in the state end up in the same room?
It doesn’t matter what the meeting was supposed to be about.
Whatever it was, it collapses into chaos.
Alastair lunges first, throwing a punch at the man in front of me. Romero moves faster, dodging the blow, then drives a hard kick into Alastair’s stomach. The impact forces Alastair to stagger backward.
“Go, Brianna,” Mr. Moris barks.
I flee down the hallway as fast as my legs will carry me.
Behind me, Alastair roars in fury, the sound raw and unrestrained.
I glance back for half a second and see Mr. Moris land a sharp punch to Alastair’s ribs.
The situation spirals as more people gather, voices rising, bodies closing in around the fight.
“Bree, what’s going on?” Jo grabs my arm mid-run, her eyes wide, mouth hanging open.
“I have to go.”
I sprint up the stairs to the third floor, my breath coming fast and shallow as the noise below grows louder.
Once I reach my room, I dive for the closet and slip the scent-blocker necklace around my neck, the one Mr. Moris gave me for emergencies.
The only thing that matters now is that I have to escape.
It feels like being thrown back into the Blood Moon Pack all over again, running from guards, heart pounding, fear riding my spine. Only this time, Harlow isn’t here. This time, I have to survive on my own.
That was the promise I made to Mr. Moris when he learned about the danger hanging over me.
If any trouble followed me into the club, I had to leave before anyone else got hurt.
He always said he would protect me until his last breath, but how cruel would I be to let him die for me?
Mr. Moris is strong, but Alastair must be stronger.
I grab the small backpack I’ve kept hidden for situations like this. It has stayed untouched until now, waiting. With the scent-blocker necklace, I can hide in neutral human territory for at least a week. If things calm down by then, maybe I can come back.
“Why run?” Mythril coaxes softly. “Romero or Alastair could be our true mate. There are so many possibilities.”
“No,” I snap back. “Alastair is bad news. He’s ruthless, brutal, infamous for dark magic, and we owe him a massive debt.”
“Then we combine our magic. Get stronger. Pay it off,” Mythril insists as I rush down the stairs.
“Are you insane? He already has plenty of mistresses. We’d just be another toy, not a mate.” My chest tightens. “And have you forgotten he locked us up for no reason at all?”
“If I could mind link his wolf, I’d know what he really feels,” Mythril says, still trying to defend him.
“You can’t mind link anyone. So shut up.”
I push Mythril deeper into my subconscious. It won’t last long, but it’s enough to remind myself that I’m learning control, inch by inch.
When I reach the ground floor, I veer into the kitchen and slam the door shut behind me. The head chef and a few salamander-hybrid cooks freeze, their fiery breath dying on the stovetops as they stare.
The employee exit is just ahead. Before I can reach it, the scent of tobacco mixed with vanilla hits me hard. A hand clamps onto my shoulder.
I duck, spin, grab the arm, and twist it behind the person’s back. Years of training under Mr. Moris kick in. In seconds, I have them immobilized.
“Whoa. Easy,” the man groans. “It’s me, Brianna.”
I freeze. Romero. It’s Romero, not Alastair. I release him immediately, my heart pounding. “Alpha Romero. I’m sorry. Are you okay? What about Alpha Alastair?”
Bruises and cuts mark his face. His shirt is torn, damp with sweat, yet his expression stays calm and controlled.
“He’s being held off by Mr. Moris and the others,” Romero says. “He sent me to get you out until things settle down. We need to move. Now.”
* * *
The last time I rode a Rider was six years ago, back when Alastair owned that white limo. I’ve only been in the back seat for fifteen minutes, and my stomach is already turning. Mythril is restless too, pacing inside me without pause.
The Rider is faster than a wolf at full sprint, but the speed comes at a cost. It absorbs the magic of both driver and passengers to fuel its boosters.
The power bends light around us, making us nearly transparent, almost invisible to human eyes.
The teleportation magic is not flawless, but when someone needs to move instantly, it’s still the most reliable option.
Because it feeds on magic, the ride is dangerous. Nausea coils tight in my gut as the Rider tears down the road. The surge alone tells me Alpha Romero and the driver are burning through their energy to push us faster.
“Are you sure this won’t stir up trouble, Alpha?” A man drives the Rolls Royce at lightning speed.
“It’s the opposite, Julius,” Romero says. “We’re getting out of trouble.”
His fingers clamp, his face hardening. “You know how Alastair gets when he loses his temper. Staying would just turn into a pointless brawl. We head back to the pack. That’s the smart move.”
His voice is cold and steady. He glances at me, quick and unreadable, and I have no idea what he sees when he looks my way.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. His hand settles on my shoulder, and the edge in his voice softens into concern, his brows pulling together.
“I’m nauseous,” I mutter, clutching my stomach as my other hand covers my mouth. “I might throw up any second. I told you this was a bad idea.”
“Hang in there,” he says. “We’re almost there.”
He reaches under the seat, grabs a black leather tool bag, and dumps its contents onto the floor before handing it to me, already bracing for the inevitable. He gives my shoulder a firm squeeze, and somehow the warmth of his touch steadies me.
“Julius, ease up once we clear the first border,” he says, calm but unmistakably firm.
Julius checks the rearview mirror, catches my reflection, and nods. True to the order, the Rider slows as we cross into unfamiliar territory not long after. The moment I step off, my stomach rebels. I vomit into the bag, the stench hitting my nose like acid rain mixed with rotten meat.
“Nice,” Mythril scoffs. “Puking on an Alpha’s doorstep again.”
Her comment makes everything worse, but all I can do is cough and gag, trying to clear the foul taste from my mouth. At least the bag spares me a deeper humiliation in front of Romero.
Before I can recover, Romero scoops me up. I try to push him away, turning my face aside, but his grip only tightens. He carries me through the entrance, barking orders at the Beta and the guards, while I cling to him with weak arms, biting my lip and burying my face against his broad chest.
“Put up protective shields and lock down the first border,” he commands. “I want reports on any movement outside it. I don’t care how small.”
Then he turns to the servants rushing toward us. “Get clean clothes ready. Fill the tub with hot water. I want her cleaned up now.”
Why does he sound so on edge? What is running through his mind? I can’t tell. The world starts to blur, my thoughts drifting farther apart.
“I told you,” Mythril murmurs softly. “He could be our true mate.”
“It’s okay, Brianna,” Romero whispers. “You’re safe now.”
* * *
Through the narrow gap in the curtains, the moon gleams bright against the night sky. It’s shifting from full to waning, leaving behind its strongest pull as it makes way for the coming new moon. Another monthly blessing ritual at the Silver Moon Pack must have just ended.
A quiet ache rolls through me as I stare up at the moon. No, I don’t miss Alpha Gabriel, and I don’t miss that pack. I have no regrets from never coming back to Silver Moon, especially not after the humiliation of being sold off like a broken machine.
What I miss is home. Not the house my stepmother stole from me, but the warm place that existed when my parents were still alive.
A home filled with the sweet scent of chocolate cake my mother baked.
A green, thriving flower garden my father tended with pride, praised by every neighbor who passed by.
Above everything else, there is this longing I can never explain. Every time the full moon rises, loneliness settles in my chest, and I find myself wishing I could trace the source of it, understand why it follows me so faithfully.
A knock sounds at the door, sharp enough to pull me from my thoughts. I turn, tense.
“Yes?” I answer.
Romero steps inside and closes the door behind him. He walks toward me with the same calm grace he carried at the club, offering a soft, sympathetic smile.
“How you holding up, Brianna?”
“Thanks to you, Alpha Romero, I finally feel safe,” I say, returning the smile.
He helped me escape Alastair’s fury, ordered the women of the pack to clean me up, and gave me a guest room without hesitation. The soft nightgown, the carefully prepared food, the large plush bed, all of it is more than a rogue like me should expect, and every bit of it comes from his generosity.
“Then stay,” he says, his brown eyes steady.
I blink. “Stay? What do you mean?”
“I think you know what I mean.”
He doesn’t move, his gaze fixed on mine. My hazel eyes hold his, searching, weighing every unspoken intention.
I shake my head slowly. “No. I don’t want to be a burden.”
He lets out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “You wouldn’t be. Truth is, I’d be glad to have you here.”
“You don’t even know who I am,” I say, dropping my gaze to the floor.
“Then tell me,” he says gently. His fingertips lift my chin until I’m looking at him again. “Tell me straight. Do you feel what I’m feeling?”
My pulse jumps. Heat spreads through my body, pooling low, aching and needy. I want to lean into him, to breathe him in, to let his calm strength wrap around me. The urge to be protected, claimed, cared for, presses hard against my chest.
Does he really feel the same? Four mates. The idea is absurd, almost laughable.
“Nothing is impossible for the Moon Goddess, dear. Just go for it,” Mythril murmurs. “He might be your last chance.”
“I don’t care who you were before or where you came from,” Romero says quietly. “All I know is the Moon Goddess brought you to me.”
His hands slide around my wrists, his touch sending sparks along my skin. He leans in slowly, giving me time, asking without words.
“I’ve been searching for you,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “Brianna, be my Luna. Stand with me as the Luna of the First Light Pack. I’ll protect you. I swear it.”
The gentleness in his voice unravels something inside me. Even Gabriel never spoke to me like this. When we discovered we were potential mates on my seventeenth birthday, everything moved too fast. No promises. No tenderness. Just a night I still regret.
Alastair was worse. That day left nothing but trauma behind, and Harlow vanished without a second glance, as if I had never mattered at all. This feels different.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“Give me more time to prove it to you that we are true mates. I’ll prove it to you that I can protect you, cherish you, and we’ll be happy together forever.”
His finger brushes under my chin, light as a leaf. I want to believe him, to trust him, and I can’t lie that I’m captivated by his promises. He’s giving me a hope of something real, stable, and true. Maybe, just maybe, I can trust this instinct one more time.
I gulp before I nod, letting myself to open up for him. Slowly, his lips meet mine in a soft, careful kiss, as if he’s afraid I might break. It’s exactly the reassurance I need, right when doubt threatens to take hold.
What if he hurts me too?
I shove the thought away and focus on the way his lips tease my lower lip, gentle but deliberate.
I hesitate only a moment, searching his eyes for certainty, before kissing him back.
Our tongues meet, slow and exploratory, finding comfort in each other.
Time blurs as his warm breath fans my lips, desire building with every second.
His mouth drifts to my cheek, ear, neck, sending a shiver through me. His tongue traces my skin, making me gasp, then moan. My knees weaken as his teeth graze softly, never cruel, always controlled.
His hands slide beneath my nightgown, settling at my waist. The tenderness sharpens into urgency, the air between us thickening as the moment shifts, unmistakably, toward something deeper.