Seraphine’s Scheme
Inside the packhouse, Draven led Seraphine to a private meeting room, his strides purposeful and unhurried. He didn’t bother looking back to see if she followed; the sound of her heels clicking against the floor was confirmation enough.
He opened the door and gestured for her to enter first. “Talk.”
Seraphine swept past him, her perfume leaving a faint trail of jasmine in the air. She turned to face him, leaning casually against the table, her posture relaxed but calculated to draw attention.
“I’ll keep this simple,” she said, her tone light. “Midnight Crest wants stronger ties with Crimson Fang, and I think I can offer you something no one else can.”
Draven’s lip twitched as though suppressing a laugh. “And what’s that? More empty promises?”
She pouted playfully, a glimmer of challenge in her eyes. “Oh, Alpha. Don’t be so cynical. I’m talking about partnership. Strength.” Her gaze swept over him again, her voice dipping slightly. “And maybe a bit of… chemistry.”
Draven crossed his arms, the muscles in his forearms flexing subtly. “Chemistry?” he repeated dryly. “I didn’t realize treaties required flirting.”
Seraphine’s laugh was light and musical, though her eyes burned with irritation at his lack of reaction. “I like to keep things interesting. You could use a little spark in your life, don’t you think?”
Draven stepped closer, his towering presence making the room feel smaller. His dark eyes locked on hers, unflinching. “If I want sparks, I’ll light a fire. But thanks for the offer.”
Seraphine’s smile faltered for just a moment before she pushed off the table, closing the distance between them. Her fingers brushed against his forearm, lingering. “You might change your mind,” she murmured.
Draven’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move. His voice, however, was cold as steel. “If you’re done, I have more pressing matters.”
Seraphine stepped back, her lips pressing into a thin line as she smoothed her dress. “For now,” she said, her tone edged with promise. “But we’ll see who you choose when the time comes.”
As the door closed behind her, Draven let out a slow breath, his thoughts already shifting back to Isla.
Upstairs, Isla paced in Draven’s room, her nerves frayed. She pressed her palms against the window, staring out at the sprawling Crimson Fang territory. “I can’t stay here,” she whispered to herself.
Her wolf, Lira, stirred in her mind. Not for long. We’ll leave when the time is right.
“But how?” Isla murmured. “He’s watching me. They’re all watching me.”
Her gaze fell to the bed—Draven’s bed—its size and luxury making her feel smaller than ever. She could almost hear his voice again, smooth and commanding.
“I’ll bear him an heir,” she muttered bitterly, her stomach twisting. “What kind of life is that?”
