by Elaina Jadin
I scoff as I set my coffee cup down on the desk. For Miri, everything is black and white, and the right decision is always as clear as day. I love her simple approach to life, but it’s an indulgence I can’t afford. She is not responsible for the future of an entire pack. Keeping the Barons in a position of power requires not only seeing the gray areas and the shadows, but mastering them, sometimes at great personal sacrifice.
“This isn’t about me,” I insist.
“Keep telling yourself that.” She shakes her head as she stands. “I’ll be back for that tray in thirty minutes. See that you eat—the Barons need you in top form if Terrion’s crew decides to escalate.”
The door closes behind her, and I’m left again to my thoughts and the scattered papers before me. When I look at my desk, all I see is Jemma on the desk in the office, bound and begging as I devoured her. I can still smell her arousal, taste her sweetness on my tongue, feel the silk of her heat on my fingers.
I growl, giving in, and let my head fall back, my eyes closing as I imagine what it would be like to keep her here forever. I’d have to get a new cushion, one just for her. The black one I’ve used with other submissives wouldn’t suit. A sapphire blue satin, embroidered with the Baron red along the edges. When her ass is bright pink with my handprints, the blue would contrast nicely, displaying her bottom perfectly.
She’d sit beside me, behind my desk where she’d be out of sight of everyone, on perfect display for me to rest my eyes on. Any time I wanted her, she’d be there, ready to take me in her mouth, or present her ass to me to tease her as I wish.
And if she disobeyed me, I’d get her close to the edge, over and over again, for days, never letting her leave my office, until the blue satin of her pillow was soaked from her excitement. Only when she begged me, tears pouring from her eyes, her skin gorgeously red from my palm, would I consider indulging her.
I breathe, drawing in a deep lungful before heaving it out with a big sigh, willing myself to cleanse my mind of the thoughts. It’s time to focus, Miri is right. It’s not just Terrion and the Latians—our enemies are many, and there are always new threats on the horizon to be mindful of. Other packs are restless, pressing for more territory, trying to shift the power structure.
I can’t be constantly thinking about Jemma when I need to protect my pack.
Tipping the mug, I drink the now cold coffee down to the dregs, and pull the first stack of papers towards me. It’s a bundle of reports documenting the movements of the other wolf packs, the foxes, and even our allies, the bears. There’s always deals to be made, and victories to be had.
For hours, I work, able to keep Jemma from my thoughts as I pour myself into the minute details of various pack movements, ongoing deals, new ventures, investment opportunities, and our latest balance sheets.
When I see Bryan’s name and the list of debts he’s accrued with various deals, I growl so loud it vibrates the heavy desk beneath my hands. That motherfucker. It’s clear from the sheets that we aren’t the only ones he owes a great deal of money to. He’s been putting his cash into risky bets, pushing it towards Terrion and the Latians.
But it’s not our main problem. I wouldn’t give two fucks about his list of debts right now if he weren’t still alive. That’s the real issue—that he’s still breathing.
Last night our team followed him through the hallways until he disappeared inside the Latians’ private suite on the other side of the stadium. When the fights concluded, that bastard emerged with no less than twenty Latians surrounding him, and they remained in a tight cluster all the way out to the parking lot, where they loaded up into their bulletproof SUVs and took off like a line of army tanks in a convoy.
They fucking knew we wanted his ass. That much was clear. It was either declare open war on the whole pack right then, or stand back and watch them go.
We never caught a whiff of their alpha—Terrion must have decided it was too risky to show his face last night. But I have no doubt he orchestrated the whole damn thing.
Of course, we had them followed, waiting for any opportunity to separate his vehicle from the rest. All we needed was one moment, one slip, and we would have taken him out.
But the motorcade turned off onto the gated private road leading deep into the Latians’ territory.
There hasn’t been a hint of activity coming or going from the road since. Clearly, Bryan’s enjoying a nice little vacation with our enemies.
And it appears at least one of our enemies is enjoying some time with us as well.
There’s no way Bryan should have been able to get anywhere near our private suite. The fact that he was able to corner Jemma means either someone fell asleep on the job—which doesn’t fucking happen, not if our men wish to keep all their appendages, or we have a traitor in our midst.
This morning, Kade, Bishop, and I tore our security team apart, interrogating each of them. Nothing suspicious came to light—not a whiff of deception or dishonesty. Either we’re looking in the wrong place, or one of our crew is exceptionally good at being duplicitous.
Not having the answer to that is one of the many reasons I have no appetite for the lunch Miri left. Deceit among the Barons cannot and will not be tolerated. The sooner I find out who must hang for their crime, the better.
I eye the paperwork on my desk and shoot a text off to Bishop. He’ll know more than what the ink of these reports reveal. He walks into my office five minutes later, his nose in his phone as always.
“What’s going on between Bryan and Terrion?” There’s no point waiting until he looks up from his phone, he’ll answer either way.
“For now, it seems like he’s helping fund their latest business venture, a new gentlemen’s club on the west side,” Bishop answers, settling into the chair Miri last occupied hours ago. He finally slips his phone into his pocket, looking at me and drumming his fingers against the leather armrest. “But I have a feeling there’s more to it.”
“A feeling?” I tilt my head at Bishop with skepticism. The man doesn’t get feelings. He either knows, or he doesn’t.
He tips his head in concession. “An educated suspicion, then.”
I reach for a pen, tapping the end of it against a blank paper. We have digital files for everything, but sometimes it’s better to work on paper. Paper is easier to destroy, and impossible to access remotely. When running an illegal empire, not getting hacked is important.
Speaking of which, Bishop’s tapping on his phone again, and I’m thankful once again that he’s on our side. I’ve yet to see a firewall or security system he can’t get through. If we hadn’t found him that day, someone else surely would be utilizing his clever mind right now, likely against the Barons.
It’s been a long time since Bishop joined us after he was exiled from his own pack. So long that there are times I forget he wasn’t born into the Barons. Kade and I found him, his fur matted with blood, his eyes dark and devoid of care. It was a month before he fully recovered. Even longer before he’d been willing to shift back into his human form.
But I know, somehow, that even if we hadn’t taken him in, he’d have survived. His hatred was keeping him alive, and he had an abundance of it.
His screams at night still spread chills through me when I think of them. They were unearthly, full of anger and rage, of confusion and despair. They haunted the halls of this compound, scaring away even the fiercest of our kind.
Only Miri, Kade, and myself were willing to get near him, but it was never easy. He was as likely to try to manipulate us with sweet talk as he was to lunge for our throats. He and Kade got into more fights than I can count.
It was Miri who finally brought him out of the darkness. Kade and Bishop were tearing into each other as usual when she thrust herself into the middle of their fight, got a firm grip on each, and scolded them mightily, just as she scolds misbehaving pups.
Kade slunk off to the corner to lick his wounds, his respect for Miri so ingrained that he’d have listened to her in
the middle of a battlefield.
Bishop just stared at Miri with death in his eyes, his teeth bared with a fury that made my hackles raise. I was in the doorway, ready to leap into the fray and put him down if I had to—no harm would come to Miri under my watch.
But then she hugged him, squeezing him so tightly there was no way he could break out of her arms despite being massively bigger than her. He was stiff, fighting her affection, as she continued to hold him while she whispered in his ear.
To this day, I still don’t know what she’d said to him. And I suspect I never will.
What passed between them was for Bishop’s ears only.
But his haunches finally dropped, and he lowered his head, resting it on her shoulder. I stayed, watching closely, uncertain if it was another one of his ruses. Part of me expected that he’d rip her throat out the moment she became too trusting.
Eventually she let go of him and took him by the scruff, guiding him to the kitchen and onto a bench. She bandaged him up, just as she’d nursed the wounds of countless wolves before him, chattering and fussing at him the entire time.
It wasn’t an overnight change because even Miri’s fierce hugs and magic words couldn’t heal someone as damaged as Bishop. But that was the turning point.
Rather than constantly fighting against us, he started to make small strides.
Eventually, he stopped treating us as a threat, and attached himself to Kade. I don’t know who was more surprised at that, me or Kade, but Kade accepted their bond with honor, treating him as a brother, as though they’d been born in the same litter.
When we took Bishop on our first raid, we witnessed first hand the brutality he was capable of. The other wolves were full of fire that drove them into a frenzy. They howled with excitement, their blood burning with the need to hunt, to earn their victory.
Bishop was perfectly calm. His eyes were cold, his methods cruel and punishing. Whether he killed with his jaws, a blade, or a gun, there was no emotion.
To him, he may as well have been killing flies.
He’s still never told us why his pack exiled him, why we’d found him lying in the deep snow on the brink of death in a remote, godforsaken part of the wilderness. I’ve never pressed him for details—a wolf’s story is his own, and knowing Bishop, he may very well go to his grave without telling a soul.
It doesn’t matter though. He became a Baron, and his loyalty is absolute. He is one of us.
More than that, within a few years he rose through the ranks to become my fellow alpha. He earned my unconditional respect, and my brotherly love. I trust him with my life—and our business. Which is one of the many reasons I’ve requested his counsel today.
I wave a hand at the papers we’ve both scribbled on as we laid out the connections between Bryan and Terrion. “What do you suggest we do about this shit?”
I ask him, not because I’m indecisive or without a plan of my own, but because I value Bishop’s insight. I know he’s been considering Bryan’s potential actions all the way through to the end. One never plays chess with Bishop, because by the first move, he’s already won. Your only hope is to see how long you can delay defeat.
“Invite them here,” he proposes. “We’ll have a huge dinner. Our alphas and theirs.”
I raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Taking council with them would be ill advised. Especially now that we know they’re harboring Bryan. It’s clear they’re testing us, using him as a pawn in their games.”
“Not for a council meeting. A social event,” Bishop explains, settling back into his chair. “We’ll drink, tell stories, and charm them. We’ll remind them of your good nature and generosity—of how you let them live and granted them the opportunity to rebuild their pack. Make them doubt themselves and question their own motives.”
“I see.” I draw in a deep breath, steepling my fingers beneath my chin as I contemplate Bishop’s idea.
“And while their alphas are here,” he continues, “we’ll send a feast and some other enticing gifts to the rest of their pack. Wolves with full bellies and fresh females warming their beds are less likely to take up arms.”
“I was thinking a raid on their compound would be a good start,” I tell him, sitting forward with finality. “But I suppose we could try using a little honey to sweeten things, first. However, I don’t trust them for a second. We need to prepare for stronger measures if they don’t come to heel.”
Bishop nods, and I can see his wheels spinning with plans already. “Of course.”
“And Bryan? Regardless of what happens with the Latians, he must be dealt with.”
Bishop gets that gleam in his eyes—the one that tells me he’s hungering for Bryan’s death as much as I am. “We’ll convince them to turn Bryan over,” he says. “Terrion has no tact, but he’s not stupid. Bryan’s worth far more as a peace offering to us than he is serving as their lackey.”
“Perhaps. Something tells me I may yet come to regret letting any of the Latians continue to draw breath. But yes, send the invites,” I say, standing up and tugging at the cuffs of my shirt before buttoning my suit jacket. “We’ll need to let Miri know that we’ll have guests.”
“Should Jemma attend, or no?” Bishop asks as he rises from his seat.
The mention of her name causes me pause. He stares at me, waiting for an answer, and I wonder if he sees the weakness in me, the same one that Miri so easily sniffed out. Is it apparent that my resolve is as delicate as a spider’s web when it comes to the woman downstairs?
“I think we should wait and see what she decides,” Bishop says after a moment, but there’s no judgment in his voice at my silence.
I snort at the absurdity of the suggestion, shooting him a dubious look. “She does not get to dictate her choice in this matter—that is for us to decide.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Bishop agrees calmly. “But we did offer her the choice of continuing on with us for a month, or leaving after seven days. Her first week with us is drawing to an end. Simply put—she may not be here to attend the dinner.”
My mood darkens at his reminder. The time with her has gone so fast—it feels as if only a single night has passed since I bent her over this very desk and spanked her until she was writhing for more. On the other hand, it seems as though the years before she arrived have ceased to exist. Her presence is so all-consuming that it’s obliterated everything that came before.
“Fine. Withhold any mention of the dinner from her, for now,” I tell Bishop, turning away so that he cannot see the firm set of my jaw and the turmoil in my eyes.
If she chooses to leave… I will honor our agreement, as well as the silent promise I made to myself—to remove Bryan from her life forever. She may not be ours to keep, but he will die before he touches her again.
My chest tightens at the thought of her walking out of here. And yet, I know if she stays… she will be my undoing.
28
Jemma
Faint howls and shadowy shapes of wolves are soft in the distance of my dreams as I wake. The nightmares haven’t been able to rouse me from sleep since I’ve been here, and it’s not even been the full seven days. Tomorrow I must make a choice—leave this place and return to my real life, or continue my stay with these men.
It’s a simple decision. Home means dancing. Bryan. Sleepless nights.
Here means more of Draven, Bishop, and Kade. And here, the terror stays at bay while I sleep.
I think of the fight, the two wolves with Bryan and the chilling howls during Kade’s match. It’s as though the stadium was filled with wolves. The beasts of my nightmares don’t have to find me in my sleep, because they roam this very building.
And yet... I’m okay. I’ve come face-to-face with the demons of my dreams and survived. It hasn’t been easy, but for the first time in ages, I’m not afraid to go to sleep, hear the bark of a dog, or even to picture the wolves in my mind.
The ribbon is gone from my arm—Bishop removed it last night when we returned from
the fights. He said it’s to be worn whenever I’m in public, but that it’s not needed while I’m here in their private quarters.
I run my fingers over my wrist and arm, tracing the lines of where it pressed against my skin yesterday. I liked the visual reminder of Draven’s promise, and the anchor it provided me yesterday.
Now, I miss it. But perhaps I’ll have a chance to wear it again.
I roll out of bed, stretching lazily, my body aching pleasantly from the rough and tumble encounter with Kade last night. My face warms at the memory, an amusing embarrassment fanning the heat on my cheeks at how ineffective my punches and kicks must have been compared to fighting Nikolai in the ring.
It felt good, though. To lash out, to finally fight back, to take what I wanted instead of cowering again. Kade took my anger and lit it up like a stick of dynamite. I expected to be punished for yelling at him, but instead he let me battle with my rage, provoking me and pushing me until I was nothing but fire inside. And then… then he made me explode in the best way possible, until every ounce of anger was consumed as I went up in flames.
A hot shower will do wonders for my sore muscles. As I wait for the water to warm, I look at the girl in the mirror and realize she’s becoming unrecognizable.
The shadows are disappearing under her eyes, the angles of her body are softening, looking more healthy than hungry. Her hair looks full and shiny from being pampered with the luxurious shampoo and conditioner that the bathroom is stocked with. Her skin is still pale, but kissed with hues of soft purple along her neck and shoulders—the marks of being desired.
She’s growing strong, the girl in the mirror. She doesn’t look haunted or scared.
I press my hand against the glass with longing, as though my other half is trapped in the reflection, and I meet my own eyes. How long has it been since I could stand to look at myself, to look into my own eyes and not feel shame, despair, or apathy?