Chapter 186
ELENA
"Silverclaw," Derek said.
It was quiet. Just the word. One word, one name—but it detonated in my mind like a stone cracking glass.
Silverclaw.
I blinked at him.
Moonstone’s generational enemy.
The pack our grandparents warned us about. The one they said would slit our throats in our sleep if we let our guard down. I had grown up hearing whispers about them, warnings coated in blood and fear.
And Derek—the man I had just recently fucked in an alley, the one who made my wolf howl with need and recognition—was their Alpha.
My heart thudded.
"You’re the Alpha of Silverclaw," I repeated slowly.
He nodded. Calm. Steady. No shame, no flinch. Just truth.
I sat back into the leather seat of his private jet and stared at him for a full beat. My brain flipped through every warning, every ancient grudge, every cold look passed between our elders whenever Silverclaw came up.
And yet—
I wasn’t afraid.
That was the strange part. There was no fear in my chest. No sense of danger.
There was only fascination. I recalled vaguely that we had a current treaty.
Finally, I raised an eyebrow, unable to stop the sly smile tugging at my lips.
"Okay," I said. "You’re going to need to tell me everything."
We were mid-flight.
Derek leaned back into his seat across from me and started talking, his hands clasped loosely in his lap.
He told me about Silverclaw. About the generations that came before him, about the isolationist mindset, the ruthless reputation, the slow turn toward diplomacy. He told me about his rise to Alpha, how he implemented reforms, how he wanted to build a legacy that didn’t rely on dominance or fear.
"Why volunteer at the Foundation then?" I asked, genuinely curious.
His eyes met mine. "Because if you want a pack that respects all its members, you start by serving them. Including the smallest ones."
My breath hitched a little at that. My fingers curled around the champagne glass in front of me. That answer had felt… real. Undeniably so.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was holding something back. Just a flicker of restraint in his eyes. Something shuttered. Carefully chosen words. I couldn’t put my finger on it—and maybe I didn’t want to. Not right now.
Not when I was having such a good time.
I sipped the champagne. A flight attendant appeared a moment later, placing a silver tray in front of me with a warm meal beneath a golden cloche. It lifted with a puff of steam and the scent of truffle butter and rosemary filled the cabin.
Derek was saying something about Iceland’s summit protocol, but my eyes were on him. Not just my eyes.
Nox paced beneath my skin. Prowling. Wanting. Recognizing.
He was hers.
And maybe—maybe I was his.
I must have dozed off somewhere over the ocean. The seat reclined slightly, and the hum of the engine lulled me.
I woke when we touched down in Reykjavík.
Derek reached over gently and helped unbuckle me before I could even open my eyes. His hand slid into mine as we descended the steps of the jet into the icy Nordic air.
A sleek black town car waited at the base of the tarmac.
Joe stood beside it, already holding the door open, his usual calm expression in place. But it was the woman next to him—Caroline—that gave me pause.
She was stunning. Impeccably dressed. Perfect posture. Eyes like frost.
She looked me over once. Not with overt malice, but with a kind of detached curiosity. As if I were a detail in a report she hadn’t expected.
Derek made quick introductions. "Elena, these are my Betas. Joe you know. This is Caroline."
"It’s so nice to meet you," I said.
Caroline gave me a thin smile. "Likewise."
There was a vibe there. Subtle. Cold.
I couldn’t place it yet.
Nevertheless, I was determined to win her over, one way or the other.
I always did.
The drive to the hosting pack’s estate took less than an hour, but it felt like entering another world.
The farther we drove, the more the landscape transformed. The narrow road twisted through cliffs crusted in ice and snow, bordered by dense evergreen forests that seemed untouched by time.
The trees stood tall and ancient, their limbs heavy with frost, like silent sentinels bearing witness to everything we were about to walk into. I caught glimpses of ravens darting between branches and the occasional glint of water far below—rivers frozen in motion, glassed over with winter’s hold.
The air grew colder the higher we climbed, and inside the car, condensation fogged the windows. Derek’s hand was resting on his knee, relaxed, but his eyes tracked the horizon with quiet precision.
A man preparing for something. A man stepping into territory where he’d be watched from the moment he arrived.
When the estate finally came into view, it rose from the stone like it had been grown from the cliffs themselves. Slate-roofed towers capped in silver snow, blackstone walls, and windows that gleamed like polished obsidian.
The outer wall was lined with spears and banners—each one embroidered with the Stormfang sigil: a wolf’s head split down the middle by a jagged line of silver thread.
The gates opened soundlessly, as though they’d been watching us long before we arrived. The town car rolled forward slowly, tires crunching across packed snow and stone.
Wolves lined the entry in symmetrical rows—guards, but not brutish. They were elegant in posture, polished, disciplined to the last muscle. Each one wore a long navy coat, a silver emblem pinned at the collarbone, their faces expressionless as we passed.
I sat up a little straighter in my seat.
The car eased to a stop beneath a covered stone archway, and before the driver could exit, the door on Derek’s side opened.
The Alpha of Stormfang stepped forward.
He was tall, nearly Derek’s height, with steel-gray hair combed sharply back from his temples and pale skin that looked nearly translucent under the dim exterior lighting. His coat was crisp and formal, black with embroidered silver threading that climbed the sleeves like roots.
His bearing wasn’t just regal—it was imposing. A wolf used to command. A wolf who didn’t waste smiles.
He gave Derek one anyway.
“Stormfang welcomes Silverclaw,” he said, the words formal but not unfriendly. Still, his mouth barely curved.
Derek stepped forward, extending his hand with steady confidence. “We’re honored to be your guests.”
Their hands clasped with the kind of grip that carried weight—respect, scrutiny, warning.
Then the Alpha’s eyes flicked past him—to me.
“You’ve brought your Luna.”
There was a pause.
A pause that stretched just a breath too long.
His words weren’t sharp, but there was something veiled beneath them. Surprise, perhaps. Or judgment. Or something else entirely. His gaze lingered on me, not inappropriately, but with the sharp curiosity of someone recalculating a game plan.
And in that pause, I felt the air shift.
Joe didn’t move, but his eyes narrowed slightly beside the car.
Caroline’s chin lifted a fraction.
I met the Alpha’s gaze with polite composure, giving him the kind of neutral nod that could be interpreted as whatever he wanted it to be. Deferential. Regal. Disinterested.
A glance passed between him and Derek—quick, but loaded.
I couldn’t decipher it.
Derek answered smoothly, "She’s certainly a Luna. But she’s not yet mine."
Yet.
The word echoed in my chest.
Not yet.
Not yet.
Something warm and low flickered inside me. I didn’t know what it was, only that I wanted to feel it again.
The Luna of the pack, a tall woman in dark silks, met us inside the doors and offered a gracious smile.
"We’ve arranged private quarters for our honored guests," she said, and motioned for us to follow.
The interior of the estate was lit with golden sconces and woven tapestries. It felt ancient. Grand.
She led us up a sweeping staircase and down a hall lined with candles.
"Alpha King, your room is here," she said, gesturing to the left.
She turned to me. "Luna Hart, yours is just across the hall."
I nodded politely. "Thank you."
I reached my door. So did Derek.
We both paused.
The Luna moved on.
He looked at me. I looked at him.
A shared glance. Heavy. Heated.
We each stepped inside our rooms at the same time, both doors clicking shut in near unison.
The wood between us felt thinner than air.
I stood there for a moment, back against the door.
Wondering.
If I opened it now—if I stepped across the hall and knocked once—would he answer?
Would he pull me in without a word?
I pressed my palms to the door, heart thudding.
What would happen if I slipped across the hall in the middle of the night? If I slipped into the bed of the man who was rapidly proving to be my undoing?
