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Chapter Seventeen

L ina

Still, it had been worth it to stay with Betty and my friends as long as possible. My daughter’s fever had lifted completely last night, and I had been able to enjoy some quiet time in which I gently prepared her for my departure again.

I’d promised her I wouldn’t be gone long, a couple of days at most. I fully intended to keep that promise by taking advantage of the leverage I had over Stephen.

Just as he would have already handed a pre-approved report to Magnus detailing how I had spent the weekend in Philadelphia with my friend, I’d get him to tell the same story later this week.

As I exited the elevator and walked toward our office, my heart raced—an anxious countdown echoing in my chest with each step.

A heady mix of anticipation and anxiety coiled inside me at the thought of seeing Stephen again.

I’d told myself I wouldn’t be affected by him.

I’d spent so much time with him this weekend that I reasoned I was immune, but as I stepped into our office and caught sight of him behind his desk, my resolve shattered.

His jet-black hair, the strong cut of his jaw, and the way he filled that clean-cut shirt made my pulse quicken.

“Stephen.” I greeted him, striving for indifference as I settled into my chair.

“Lina,” his voice layered with an intimacy that made me freeze mid-task. I couldn’t control the flush stealing across my cheeks.

My gaze charged to him, anger clouding my expression. I saw that his green stare had a heat that matched his tone.

What the fuck is he doing?

We were at work. Dozens of colleagues roamed the shared office space beyond our door.

I suddenly didn’t know if I wanted to shout at him or straddle him, either of which would decimate the careful facade I’d crafted the last month.

The memory of his mouth on my body flashed through my mind, igniting a desire that threatened to steal my reason.

Just as the tension escalated, Ella, our assistant, knocked on the door. Relief and annoyance mingled within me.

“The Alpha wants to see you, Lina,” Ella greeted me.

“I’ll be right there.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, my gaze shot to Stephen. “What did you tell Magnus?”

“Only that you spent the night with a female friend in Philly,” he replied, his gaze protective, an undercurrent of something deeper simmering just beneath the surface.

Something my wolf wanted to trust.

“I’m coming with you,” he asserted, rising.

“He didn’t summon you,” I bit out. “Don’t disrupt my plan—”

He opened his mouth to argue, but I cut across him.“Or yours.” I savored the brief satisfaction as he sank back into his chair, tension radiating off him like heat while he cast a murderous look at the door.

But my satisfaction was replaced by icy dread the instant I knocked on Magnus’s door, and he called for me to enter.

Magnus regarded me with a cool, piercing gaze that set my instincts on edge. The tick in his jaw suggested his displeasure, a reminder of the severity that lay beneath his calm facade.

He didn’t ask me to sit down. “You weren’t home this weekend,” he began, leaning back in his desk chair, his brown eyes boring into me, a fierceness in them I hadn’t yet witnessed. In contrast, his tone was calm. “We planned to finalize a date for our mate ceremony.”

I feigned forgetfulness, smacking my brow. “I’m sorry, Alpha. I forgot. A friend from Philly wanted to catch up.”

“No matter,” he replied, his slight smile only seeming to amplify the menace lurking beneath. “I took the liberty of sending out invitations. Our union will take place this Saturday.”

The coolness with which he informed me of it sounded as if he were talking about a deal Blackthorn was entering into. To be fair, he’d likely have shown more excitement about a lucrative deal.

A wave of panic tore through me despite this having always been my plan.

“I trust you have no meet-ups that will conflict with this date?” His tone dared me to oppose him.

“No, Alpha,” I murmured, the authority in his voice telling me not to try to sugar-coat my answer.

The silence stretched, heavy, and I fought the urge to squirm under his gaze. Submissiveness was all he desired. Dread curdled in my stomach the longer the quiet wound on for. I fought the urge to look away or fidget with my clammy hands.

“Let me say this only once,” he continued, the gravity of his words sinking into my bones. “The union your parents brokered with me will be honored. But any hint of deceit, and you will regret crossing me.”

I nodded, dread coiling within me. Magnus didn’t want me. He wanted absolute control over me.

“Before you return to work,” he added, a glint in his eyes suggesting something sinister, “I remember your mother had a pendant, a family heirloom she wore during your parents’ mate ceremony. It must be in your parents’ lockbox. Do you remember where she kept her lockbox?”

A frown tugged at my lips as I pretended to search my memories. The realization struck me like ice water. That was why he kept my mother alive.

“I don’t recall a lockbox, unfortunately,” I replied, affecting confusion while frustration darkened his brow.

“Very well,” he growled, dismissing me with a wave. “You best be getting on.”

Relief flooded me as I escaped his unsettling presence, my instincts still reviled by his scrutiny.

As soon as I shut the door to our office behind me, Stephen’s tense frame came into focus. “What did he want?” he growled.

“To set a date for our mate ceremony,” I said, refusing to meet his gaze, knowing it would fill with a mix of anger and hurt.

“And when is that happy event?” he demanded, his voice tight.

“This Saturday,” I stated flatly, withholding Magnus’s inquiry about the lockbox.

We don’t share our secrets.

The day passed in a painful silence, and every short exchange was reduced to work-related messages via our internal chat. I told myself the distance between us was what I wanted, yet it was the absence of connection that ate at me, gnawing away at my thoughts.

In the relative silence of the office, the mystery of the lockbox loomed large in my mind. What did Magnus want inside it, and why did he keep my mother alive? More importantly, had my mom ever mentioned it to me?

That evening, as the workday drew to a close, I remained seated at my desk, thankful to have finally reached the last page of the dry medical study I had been reading, when a flicker of memory teased at the edges of my thoughts: a sun-drenched day in Central Park, the vibrant fall colors around me like flame.

I’d been waiting for my mom for one of our usual catch-ups.

She always made time for me, regardless of her demanding duties as Silvermoon luna.

But this time, she’d been late, and I’d sat on a bench, the sun beating down on the two steaming coffees in my hand, growing lukewarm, and the first stirrings of worry had flickered.

When she appeared, she was out of breath and her eyes too bright. She waved away my concern about her tardiness, attributing it to a meeting at the docks on pack business—a matter that had taken longer than expected .

But by the time we’d walked through the park and wandered through the Met art gallery, my worries had gone.

I could almost hear her laughter now, light and melodious, lifting my spirits.

But later, in the gallery, she’d lingered over a striking abstract of silver and blue, and she’d turned to me, her eyes sparkling with intensity.

“It reminds me of an ornate lockbox we have in storage at the docks, made of chromium. Beneath the second window to the right of the door.”

“A lockbox? At the docks?” I’d echoed curiously. “Like where you were today?”

She shook her head, suddenly looking embarrassed. “Art stirs the strangest associations, doesn’t it?”

Her manner and her distractedness had struck me as odd at the time. But when she hadn’t elaborated, I’d taken her words at face value.

But with wonder, now, I realized she’d been telling me a secret without me knowing it at the time. I knew my father had rented a warehouse by the docks for storage. And unknown to me now, she’d given me the means to find whatever she’d hidden.

“Lina?” Stephen’s voice cut through my reverie, pulling me back into the present.

I startled, looking up from my laptop. I caught sight of the message on my screen, too. He’d messaged me three times and was looking at me, concern stamped across his face.

“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head as my gaze fastened onto him. But whatever he saw there only made him more agitated. “You’ve gone really pale, are you all right?”

“Yeah, just…tired,” I said, leaning back in my chair and massaging my temples. “What do you need?” I asked.

“It’s not important,” he said, then added more gently. “How was Betty last night?” he asked instead.

My gaze shot to him, my chest fluttering as he said her name. “Her fever’s gone,” I shared.

“That’s good,” he said with a smile. Once again, my heart twisted, not knowing what to do about the tenderness I saw in his expression.

But…maybe this was an opportunity.

I looked at the time. 5:00 p.m. It wasn’t too early to knock off.

“Listen, can I take an early finish?” I ventured. “I really need to get some sleep.”

Once again, protectiveness stole over Stephen’s face. A softness that made my heart twinge played at the edges of his mouth. “Of course, go—get some rest.”

Thanking him, I stepped into the office’s mundane corridor, my heart racing as conflicting emotions surged. The want in his gaze was palpable, a tether that both anchored me and stifled me.

But I quashed the feeling down. I needed to follow the trail of breadcrumbs my mom had left for me by myself.

Soon, I drove out of the parking lot toward the docks.

The Hudson River shimmered in the fading light, its surface dancing like liquid silver as I navigated the congested streets of New York.

The salty scent of the water wafted through my slightly cracked window, mingling with the earthy aroma of wet asphalt.

In the distance, the silhouettes of warehouses loomed against the horizon, their weathered facades whispering secrets of a bygone era. Approaching my family’s old warehouse, my heart raced with anticipation. The memory of my mother’s voice urged me on.

With my shifter strength, I ripped the padlock off the chain wrapped around the gates and stole into the warehouse. Shadows draped across the dusty wooden floorboards while the faint sounds of the river lapping against the docks reached my ears.

“Beneath the second window to the right of the door,” my mother’s voice echoed in my mind, each word a mantra that drove me forward.

I inspected the bricks carefully and found four that looked loose. With a steady hand, I removed the first and then another, creating just enough space to reach into the hollow. Cold metal met my fingers, sending a thrill of hope coursing through me.

When I finally laid eyes on the lockbox—adorned with delicate swirls—I traced the dial mechanism on the front. It had six numbers, requiring the right code to unlock whatever secrets lay inside.

Hope surged through me, and I felt reinvigorated, warmed by the memory of my mother’s voice urging me onward. I clutched the box to me, hugging it to my chest, feeling as if she were guiding me to her.