SIX
RONAN’S POV
The glass shattered.
I didn’t move. I just stood there, watching the golden liquid seep into the cracks of the marble floor, the broken shards glinting under the chandelier’s light. My mother had handed Ciara that drink. She had been about to take a sip.
And then Alpha Darragh Byrne had taken it from her hand and dropped it.
Like he already knew something.
Heat built under my skin, crawling up my throat. I curled my fingers into fists, forcing myself to breathe evenly. The entire room had seen it, seen him make a spectacle of something that should have been nothing. But it wasn’t nothing, was it? Because now, all eyes were on Ciara as she let him lead her onto the dance floor.
Like she hadn’t been meant for me.
I turned on my heel, walking away before I did something stupid. Not too fast, not too slow. Just enough to get out before I let the anger simmering in my chest reach my face.
The veranda doors opened easily under my hand, the night air cold against my skin. I exhaled hard and dragged a hand down my face, trying to steady myself. My pulse pounded, my breath coming too fast.
“Fucking bastard,” I muttered. “Fucking Alpha bastard.”
I pressed my hands to the railing, gripping the cool metal until the sharp bite of pain in my fingers forced me to loosen my hold. My mother had planned this night to the last detail. Ciara had walked into this gathering, just like she was supposed to. And yet, somehow, everything was different.
Because of him.
Darragh Byrne. I wondered why he had even be invited.
He had changed something. I didn’t know what, but I knew I wasn’t imagining it.
A quiet shuffle of movement behind me barely registered before a familiar voice spoke.
“How are you holding up?”
It was Ewan.
I let out a slow breath, forcing my shoulders to loosen. “I’ll live.” I glanced at him, shaking my head slightly. “We’ll adjust. Find another born Luna.”
Ewan stood beside me, silent, his arms crossed. He wasn’t looking at me, though. His gaze flickered toward the garden, unreadable.
After a long pause, he spoke. “Do we have to?”
I turned toward him fully. “What?”
His jaw tightened, like he was thinking too hard about his next words. “Do we have to find another?”
I took a step closer, closing the space between us. The dim light caught the angles of his face, the sharp cut of his jaw. My fingers brushed against his skin, tracing along his chin, lingering for just a second too long.
“You know this is the way things have to be.”
Ewan’s breath hitched, but he didn’t move. He didn’t lean into me, didn’t pull away. Just stood there, his expression unreadable.
I let my touch linger for a moment longer before pressing my fingers more firmly under his chin. “We knew this might happen,” I said, my voice quiet, steady. “That she might not be the one. Mother will find another.”
Ewan’s lips parted, like he wanted to say something, but before he could, the veranda doors slammed open.
Mom was pissed as she charged toward us in a blur of silk and cold fury, her fingers wrapping around my wrist as she yanked my hand away from Ewan.
“Can you two stop this?” she snapped, her voice low but sharp enough to cut. “We are in public for goddess’ sake!”
I pulled my wrist free from her grip, rolling my shoulders back. “No one is watching.”
Brigid’s glare deepened. “You think no one watches you? You think no one saw you storm out like a child? You think no one is paying attention to him?” She flicked her gaze toward Ewan. He still hadn’t moved, still hadn’t spoken.
I clenched my jaw, shoving my hands into my pockets. “So what do you suggest? What happens now that Ciara O’Callahan is not on the table for grabs.”
Brigid exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple like she was barely holding on to her patience. She turned to the side, pacing once before stopping in front of me again.
“We let this go for now,” she said, voice clipped. “We reassess. We plan. You do not make this worse by acting like you’ve lost something important.”
I narrowed my eyes. “But I have. Our father is sick. Our half brother is set to inherit everything and with how the born Luna of Silvercrest despises you, we will be left in the dust with nothing to our name.”
Brigid’s nostrils flared. “I WOULD NEVER LET THAT HAPPEN TO US! You should know better!”
I ground my teeth, holding my silence.
Brigid straightened, smoothing out her expression. “And the Alpha of Moonveil is not the problem. He is just a complication. And complications,” she said, her voice even now, her face a perfect mask, “can be managed.”
A slow, creeping chill slid down my spine.
Ewan stayed silent, his arms still crossed, his face blank. But I knew him. He was listening to every word.
I let my gaze flick past Brigid, back toward the ballroom, where the music swelled and laughter echoed across the walls. The night went on, undisturbed, as if nothing had happened.
“How will it be managed? You think you have what it takes to kill an Alpha known for his brutal and apathetic nature?”
Brigid chuckled, low and almost amused. “I didn’t say anything about murder.”
I frowned, shifting my stance. “Then what?”
She smoothed the front of her gown, her fingers calm, her expression still composed. “I’ve started looking into Darragh.” She glanced at me, lips tilting in the barest hint of a smirk. “Guess what I found out.”
I stiffened. “What?”
Brigid didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she took my wrist, her touch light but firm, and led me away from the veranda, back toward the ballroom. The doors remained open, the warm glow of chandeliers spilling onto the terrace, where the music played on and the conversations hummed like nothing had gone wrong.
“Look at them,” she murmured.
I followed her gaze.
Darragh and Ciara.
They moved together across the dance floor, and it didn’t matter that his posture was a little stiff, that his movements lacked the practiced ease of a man who enjoyed these things. What mattered was how people were looking at them.
Awe. Admiration.
A fated mate bond revealed in front of the most powerful wolves in the region. It was a rare sight. It didn’t matter that it had disrupted my plans. People loved a story like this.
I exhaled sharply. “So?”
Brigid didn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, directing my attention to a young woman near the refreshments table.
She gripped her drink too tightly, her knuckles white, her face flushed red—not with embarrassment, but with something much sharper.
Rage.
I arched a brow. “Who is she?”
Brigid hummed. “Our second option.”
I studied the girl again, narrowing my eyes. There was something vaguely familiar about her features, though I couldn’t place it.
Brigid answered before I could ask. “Sara Maychild.”
I stilled. “Maychild.”
Brigid nodded, the smirk returning to her face.
I glanced at the girl again. “She’s a witch?”
“Her father was a warlock,” Brigid corrected. “She was raised among wolves, but she’s still a Maychild. More importantly…” She leaned in slightly, her voice dipping just low enough that only I could hear. “She’s cousin to Darragh Byrne.”
That caught my attention.
Brigid let the silence stretch for a moment, letting me take it in.
Finally, I said, “And?”
Brigid’s smile deepened. “Very close to Darragh. Some might say too close.”
I frowned, my mind working through what she was implying.
Brigid stepped back, letting me think, her expression smooth and patient.
I glanced back at the girl, then at Darragh. Then back at the girl.
Interesting.