Suspicions and Strategies
Draven gathered his closest allies in the war room. The map of Crimson Fang territory sprawled across the table, its edges dotted with notes and markers from the ongoing investigation. Susan, Jamie, and Alaric stood around him, their expressions a mix of frustration and determination.
“This wasn’t random,” Draven said, pacing the length of the room like a caged predator. “They knew what they were doing. And they knew Isla would drink from that goblet.”
Jamie leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. “What about Seraphine?” he asked, his tone skeptical. “She’s already proven she’s capable of this kind of thing.”
Draven stopped pacing, his gaze sharp. “I don’t think so. Not this time.”
“Doesn’t hurt to check,” Susan added, her voice firm.
Draven nodded and made his way to the underground cells. Seraphine’s quarters were dim and cold, the air thick with her lingering malice. She was shackled to the wall, her crescent mark glowing faintly in the shadows.
When Draven entered, she didn’t bother to look up right away. “Oh, my dear brother-in-law,” she drawled, finally lifting her eyes to meet his. “What brings you to my humble abode? Did Isla finally tire of playing saint?”
Draven stepped closer, his presence towering over her. “Someone tried to kill Isla tonight,” he said bluntly, his voice a blade cutting through the tension.
Seraphine’s smirk faltered briefly, replaced by something darker. “And you think it was me?” she asked, her tone dripping with mock indignation. “Honestly, Draven. If I wanted Isla dead, she’d already be buried.”
His growl rumbled low in his throat, but his instincts told him she wasn’t lying. Seraphine leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering to a venomous whisper. “You have bigger enemies than me, Alpha. If I were you, I’d be asking myself who else hates you enough to go after your precious Luna.”
Draven studied her for a long moment before turning on his heel. Seraphine’s laughter followed him out of the cell. “Happy hunting!” she called after him.
Back in the war room, he relayed his findings. “It wasn’t her,” he said, his tone definitive.
“Then who?” Jamie asked, his frustration showing.
Draven’s eyes darkened. “Someone who knows our routines. Someone who knows how to get close without being seen.”
Alaric stepped forward, his expression thoughtful. “If we can’t find them, maybe we should make them come to us.”
Draven raised an eyebrow. “And how do you suggest we do that?”
Alaric’s lips curled into a sly grin. “By giving them something they want. Something they can’t resist.”
The room fell silent, the weight of the suggestion settling over them. Draven exchanged a look with Isla, who had quietly entered the room. “If it means keeping you safe,” he said to her, his voice low, “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
