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A beast.A slave.An Omega.

This couldn’t be happening.Not here. Not in his house.But it was. And I knew I wouldn’t survive the next one. The second rune was on the verge of cracking, I had minutes, hours at best. Unless I made it back to her. The witch. The only one who could carve me whole again. My pulse raced as a plan—awful, vile,brilliant—coiled through my mind like smoke turning to poison. I pushed off the wall, legs shaking, face tight with pain. Then I stilled.

Breathed. Slipped back into the part of myself I thought I’d buried—Not the fighter. Not the stray. The daughter. The trained one. I dug deep into the back of my mind, to the lessons I’d sworn never to use. The teachings whispered in candlelight by mothers and matrons with glass smiles and bloody hands.

If you can’t outrun the Alpha—make him drop his guard. If you can’t win the fight—seduce the war.

I crossed the room to the small armoire I had never once opened. It was filled with dresses—gifts, offerings, bribes. Most of them still wore the scent of perfumed silk and faintly of fear. I hadn’t looked at them twice before.

But now… Now I needed a weapon.

My hand moved through them like a surgeon choosing her blade. Velvet. Satin. Lace. Red. Black. Green.And then I found it.The one.Deep crimson, slit high on the thigh, bodice so tight it might as well be skin, the neckline cut low enough to be indecent.

I held it up to the firelight. The wolf in me stirred again. Not howling. Not clawing. Just… watching. And I whispered to her, in the quiet of my mind:

Let me play their game.

Let me win us time.

And then we run. Again.

I pulled the dress from its hanger. If Andros wanted a dinner guest— He’d get far more than he bargained for.

CHAPTER 13

Andros

I expected her to be dragged here. Part of me hoped for it. I’d imagined it more than once—Garrick’s hand tight around her arm, her lips curled in defiance, her body stiff and furious, spitting venom the whole way down the hall. It would’ve made things simple.

Predictable. But when the door opened. When I saw her—Fuck. She didn’t walk in. Shearrived. Every inch of her poured from that doorway like sin spun into silk.

The dress was red. Not just any red—blood red. The kind that begged to be licked off the floor after the kill. Tight, obscene, the slit up her thigh flashing smooth, lethal skin with every step. The neckline dipped so low it was a goddamn invitation, and the way it clung to her waist, to the subtle curve of her hips…

I forgot the food. The wine. My own fucking name. The wolf in me went utterly silent—then growled. Low. Warning.Something was wrong. She was too perfect. Too smooth. Too calculated.

Lexa never moved without purpose. And right now, her every step was choreographed seduction. The sway of her hips, the flick of her lashes, the subtle way she touched her hair when she glanced at the firelight like it meant nothing.

I had no idea what the game was.But gods help me—I wanted to play it with her.

She sat across from me, graceful as a queen, not a single glance out of place. She crossed her legs slowly, letting the slit of her dress slide up just enough to be felt more than seen. She didn’t look at me right away—no, she let me look at her first.

“Not what you expected?” she asked, voice honey-drenched poison.

My throat was dry. I reached for the wine just to have something to do.

“You clean up well,” I muttered, eyes dragging down her neck, over the delicate curve of her collarbone. “Almost made me forget I told Garrick to bring you here in chains.”

“Almost?” She tilted her head, lashes fluttering as if amused. “Pity. I could’ve made chains look good.”

She sipped the wine like she wasn’t trying to drive me mad. But she was. Everything about her tonight was designed to distract, to tempt, to disarm. Andgods, it was working.

I leaned back in my chair, letting her watch me watch her.

“So tell me,” I said, voice low, dark, curling like smoke in a locked room, “what changed?”

She gave a small smile and tapped her fingers along the stem of her glass.

“You said dinner,” she purred, “not a negotiation. I thought I’d dress for the occasion.”