CHAPTER 10 - SACRIFICIAL PAWN
Sarcasm won't save her this time. The cold steel of a knife presses against Chloe's throat in the dark depths of the southern woods.
The bite of the metal is a frozen wire cutting into my skin, forcing my chin upward toward the canopy of dead pines.
The scent of rotting winter earth and ancient rust fills my nose, mixed with a foul, heavy stench of unwashed fur that tells me exactly what kind of monster is standing behind me.
The shadows of the southern border are thick, completely untouched by the morning light that had filtered through the compound windows hours ago.
Everything down here is dead, gray, and rotting, a graveyard of rusted industrial fences from the old silver trade.
I told you to come alone, human, a harsh, familiar voice rasps right against my ear.
The weight of the person behind me shifts, and the dark, pulsing crimson light of a nearby automated control box reflects off the silver-plated blade.
It isn't a rogue holding the weapon. As the clouds part above the skeletal branches, letting a sliver of weak moonlight hit his face, the identity of the internal spy burns into my brain.
Elder Vance.
The severe silver hair and granite features that had condemned me in the council chamber are twisted into a hollow, mocking grin.
He isn't wearing his formal elder robes anymore; he is dressed in the dark, heavy tactical leather of the Nightshade pack, the twin-headed wolf emblem of Silver Ridge pinned upside down on his collar—a deliberate, stomach-turning insult to the bloodline he was sworn to protect.
You really are a naive little creature, Vance sneers, his fingers tightening on the hilt of the knife, pressing the edge just deep enough to make my pulse jump against the steel.
You thought you were tracking a digital footprint, but you were just walking straight into the slaughterhouse.
Did you honestly think a broken prince like Ethan could protect you from a true alliance?
I swallow hard, the movement causing the blade to nick my skin, a tiny bead of warm blood trickling down my collarbone.
My heart is a frantic bird trapping itself against my ribs, but I refuse to let him see me cry.
Sarcasm is the only shield I have left, and I am going to use it until the wire snaps.
An alliance? Is that what you call selling out your own pack house to a rival Alpha because you couldn't handle a twenty-five-year-old taking the throne?
I choke out, my voice raspy but steady. Wow.
The benefits package at Nightshade must be incredible.
Do they offer dental, or just a lot of leather jackets and treason?
Vance lets out a short, brutal laugh that sounds like stones grinding together.
Silence. You are a sacrificial pawn, Chloe.
A temporary tool to draw the rabid dog out of his den.
The moment Ethan realized his precious little human mate walked out into the snow alone, the pack bond became a shackle.
He is already running blindly toward this sector, his wolf completely unhinged by the panic.
He isn't thinking like an Alpha; he is thinking like a male about to lose his property. And when he arrives, the Nightshade main force will tear his throat out while he’s looking for you.
My stomach drops into a freezing, bottomless void.
He’s right. I didn't come down here because I thought I could win a physical fight; I came because the text message threatened to burn the compound with everyone in it. I wanted to buy time. I wanted to keep the fire away from the families upstairs, away from the pack that has secretly become my home over the last week. But looking at the cold, empty darkness of the woods, I realize my stubborn independence has just handed Ethan’s enemies the perfect weapon to execute him.
Back at the compound, the heavy security door to Ethan's office slams open with a force that shatters the iron hinges.
Ethan wakes up to find her side of the bed cold.
He hadn't been sleeping in the bed; he had been sitting on the floor right beside the mattress, his head resting against the frame to keep his scent anchored to mine while I rested.
The moment his fingers slide across the charcoal sheets, finding nothing but a fading patch of warmth and the lingering scent of vanilla, the human control inside his brain completely dissolves.
Panic, pure and blinding, takes over his wolf.
He doesn't call for Marcus. He doesn't issue a radio command to the scouts.
The dark, volatile energy exploding off his body is so massive that the glass light fixtures in the hallway shatter as he storms through the residential wing.
His inner beast is screaming, a wild, territorial madness that overrides every ounce of his logic.
The invisible wire connecting his chest to mine is no longer just pulling; it is bleeding, a phantom laceration that tells him his counterpart is being cut by a silver edge.
He hits the cold morning air of the courtyard in a full sprint, his body shifting in mid-air with a brutal, bone-snapping violence that doesn't care about the pain.
The massive black wolf emerges from the clothes before they even hit the dirt, a seven-foot engine of pure destruction that cuts through the snowy forest like a shadow of death.
He doesn't care about the traps, he doesn't care about the Nightshade lines waiting in the eastern sector; his entire universe has shrunk to a single, desperate command: "Get her back. "
Down in the rotten depths of the southern sector, Vance pulls me closer against his chest, the heavy smell of his betrayal clogging my throat.
You think you're special because a broken prince looked at you with gold eyes?
Vance mocks, his voice a low hiss as he tilts my head further back, the silver blade gleaming in the red light of the control box.
You are a biological mistake. A human freak who caught the scent of an Alpha line when it was at its weakest point.
When I cut your throat, the bond will snap, and the shock will drop Ethan to his knees before he can even shift.
You are nothing but a liability to the Silver Ridge bloodline.
I stare up at the gray sky through the branches, my breathing shallow, my vision slightly blurry without my glasses. But as I feel the tiny line of blood heating my skin, a sudden, fierce wave of absolute defiance takes over my fear. I look right into his yellowed, treacherous eyes.
Then kill me, you old coward, I spit out, a bloody smile tugging at the corner of my lips.
Go ahead. Cut the throat. But let me tell you something about Ethan since you've been too busy hiding in the shadows to notice.
He isn't broken anymore. He didn't come to the throne room yesterday because he was afraid of your transition ceremony; he stayed away because he was figuring out exactly which one of you opened the gates. If you think my death is going to make him drop to his knees, you are completely out of your mind. It’s going to make him a monster you can't contain.
He won't just kill you, Vance. He will erase your entire name from the history of this mountain.
Vance’s face contorts into a mask of pure, ugly rage, the granite skin tightening until his teeth are completely bared. You arrogant little bitch, he roars, his restraint finally shattering under the weight of my insult.
He wrenches his arm back, lifting the silver-plated knife high above his head, the red light catching the edge as he prepares to drive the metal down into my chest to complete the sacrifice.
I close my eyes, my fingers digging into the rotting dirt beneath my feet, waiting for the impact, praying that the wire between my heart and Ethan’s carries my last breath safely back to him.
Just as the spy raises the blade to strike a fatal blow, a deafening, monstrous roar tears through the trees.
The sound is so immense, so heavy with pure, unadulterated dominance that the rusted industrial fences around us buckle outward, the iron posts snapping like twigs. The very ground beneath my knees rolls with a mini-earthquake, sending a wave of dead pine needles flying into the air.
Ethan has arrived.
The massive black wolf crashes through the tree line like a falling star, his midnight coat covered in a layer of fresh white frost and the dark blood of whatever scouts he tore through to reach this sector.
His eyes aren't just gold anymore; they are two blinding, incandescent searchlights of pure, murderous liquid fire that illuminate the entire dead zone.
He doesn't pause to negotiate. He doesn't look at Vance’s tactical gear. Before the old elder can even turn his arm to redirect the knife, Ethan’s heavy, muscular frame hits him like an avalanche, the sheer kinetic force of the impact launching both of them across the dirt clearing into the darkness of the rusted vaults.