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Chapter Six

L ina

Magnus released my arm as he swept the heavy oak door open to his study, gesturing for me to enter.

The contrast was immediate. In the banquet hall, the open doors had let the breeze in, and the air had borne a chill.

Here, within the confines of Magnus’s study, the air was hushed, warm from the fire licking at the hearth.

“Please,” Magnus said, his voice a low rumble vibrating with authority. “Take a seat.”

The study itself was an assertion of power, a curated space of masculine dominance.

Two Chesterfield sofas, worn and softened with age, stood before the crackling fire, offering a deceptive promise of comfort.

At the opposite end, a massive mahogany desk, its surface gleaming under the soft light of a brass lamp, and floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with leather-bound tomes dominated the room.

The air hummed with unspoken authority. It was the type of room where decisions were made, deals forged, and secrets kept.

It reminded me of my father’s study, and a familiar wave of vulnerability threatened to overtake me.

It recalled all the times my father had, with the same air of quiet command, decreed what was to be: my place and my destiny like his decree that I would enter into a mate bond with Magnus Blackthorn .

My once-intended mate.

Now, that very man sat across from me, his dark gaze assessing me.

Short gray hair, streaked with a few strands of still-ebony black, framed his face, hinting at the power of youth Stephen still possessed.

His jaw, as square and unyielding as his son’s, was set in a line that spoke of iron discipline.

Thick, bushy eyebrows, still mostly black, gave his forehead a heaviness like a gathering storm cloud.

He watched and waited, ready to dissect my words and intentions.

As I sat on the sofa, its cold, unyielding design made me sit up straighter, reminding me that everything in here was a facade, including myself.

This was a test of wills, and I knew it. I steeled myself, reminding myself to use the truth that I could share to my advantage.

Just then, the door opened again, the soft click a sharp intrusion.

Stephen entered, his movements as precise and economical as always.

He closed the door, shutting out the distant hum of the party, trapping us in the study’s confines.

Magnus didn’t look at him. Stephen took up a position by the door, like a bodyguard, his stance rigid.

My heart, which had steadied at my entrance, began a rapid beat against my ribs.

My skin prickled. With Stephen’s hands clasped behind his back, the white of his shirt strained against the taut muscles of his chest beneath his tuxedo jacket.

His square jaw and straight nose mirrored his father’s—a shared lineage of strength and control.

He looked like the statue of some classical hero, standing there, guarding the door.

Magnus clearly trusted him, or he wouldn’t have asked him to be present.

But I had leverage over Stephen. I had secrets that could destroy him.

Secrets that could destroy my plan, too.

But if there was one thing I knew about Stephen, it was that he didn’t want his father finding out about our past intimacy.

I’d wager that was why he’d been so eager to get me out of here earlier.

He’d been worried about me revealing the secret I had over him to Magnus.

But he could relax. As long as he kept quiet about us, so would I.

I turned my attention back to Magnus, suddenly aware of his scrutiny. I knew it was wise to give him as much truth as I dared. His dark brown eyes, like polished mahogany reflecting the firelight, searched me, already trying to detect the lies I was about to tell.

“I still can’t believe you’re here, Lina,” Magnus began, his voice far less emotive than it had been in the hall, where his charm had been on full display. “After all these years. The day of the attack, my packmates searched for you, but there was no trace.”

His words hung heavy in the air. He had believed me dead. I forced myself to meet his gaze, maintaining an unyielding front.

This was my moment. To convince him I was back to reclaim what was mine—without being a threat.

I nodded, striving for a tone that was respectful but resolute.

“That day, my mother threw me out the hall, screaming at me to run. She locked the doors to stop me from going back to help her.” I swallowed, blinking back the sudden sting of tears, allowing the memory of that horrifying moment to pool in my mind, a raw vulnerability I let him see.

“I wanted to go back. She was bleeding, but Mira, one of my packmates, found me in the corridor and told me to run. I remember coming outside with her, and then, he took me.”

“Who?” Magnus asked, his voice low, his eyes narrowing.

“A male shifter,” I said, forcing a tremble into my voice. “A rogue wolf.”

“One of the Totem-marked wolves?” Magnus pressed, the question sharp.

I shook my head. “They were plain gray.” I knew I couldn’t pin this on the rogue wolves who had attacked the mate ceremony as they were likely Magnus’s men.

“Where did they take you?” Magnus asked.

“I don’t know. I was blindfolded and tied up. He and some other shifters bundled me into a van.”

“How long was the drive?” Stephen’s clipped voice, laced with a quiet intensity, sliced through the silence, making my nerves tingle.

He had moved closer. His tall figure now loomed over me from the end of the sofa.

His expression was controlled, masking whatever thoughts and emotions churned beneath.

I sensed his anger, and I had to tread carefully to ensure that I didn’t betray any feeling toward him, anything that might alert Magnus to the secret about our shared past.

“A few hours, I suppose,” I said, my voice wobbling slightly. “I don’t know the exact time it took—I was bound and blindfolded,” I repeated.

“What did they want with you?” Magnus asked.

“To ransom me to my parents,” I said. “But when they heard they had been killed, their plan changed.” I took a steadying breath, knowing this was the moment to lean on the truth to give my fabrication some credit. “They tried to use me to access funds from my mom and dad’s accounts.”

Magnus’s attention sharpened. “How—did they take you to a bank?”

I shook my head. “No, they had a tech guy who used my knowledge of my father’s accounts to try to hack into them,” I said.

“How many years ago was this?” I definitely had Magnus’s attention now.

Because Emily had tried to hack into my parents’ bank accounts a few months after their deaths.

We’d abandoned the operation as we’d been detected by Blackthorn’s security team both times.

Pulling funds out into our own accounts had proved too risky.

“Early on, a few months after my parents passed,” I answered.

“Did they try again?” Magnus asked, his attention razor-sharp.

I frowned, pausing. “Yes, about a year of being with them, the hacker came back, asking to check the bank account details again.”

Magnus looked reflective, his gaze snapping to Stephen for a moment before he centered it back on me.

I thought I caught a flicker of disbelief in his expression. “When did you escape?” Magnus asked.

“Four months ago,” I said.

“How did you get out?” Stephen asked.

“I faked an illness, and they brought a doctor in. I managed to shift. I surprised the guard and ran like hell.” I paused, allowing a flicker of defiance to ignite in my eyes. “It wasn’t easy, but—”

“Did you get a look at the building?” Magnus interrupted. “Do you know where it’s located?”

“It was an old power station on the river in Philadelphia.”

“An old power station?” Stephen echoed, his gaze narrowing, his jaw ticking slightly. “The conditions you were held in must have been basic.” He was definitely calling me out on my bullshit.

I wasn’t going to let him. It was time to let my own defiance come out. I couldn’t allow him to crack my facade. I let the defiance pool in my eyes, and I stared him down. “It wasn’t the Ritz, by any means. But I had a mattress and a bucket and a hot meal on a good day.”

I let it show in my voice—the rage and indignation.

Yesterday, Matthew had planted a few signs of occupation in the old power station that my shadow company owned, corroborating my story—right down to the mattress and bucket I claimed to have used.

And, although my shadow company’s network consisted primarily of human employees, I knew a handful of shifters who had been willing to help me leave their scent around the few Philly buildings Matthew had planted evidence in.

It made me feel secure, and I let the anger I felt toward Stephen, daring to try to pick holes in my story, show.

It was the kind of anger I’d have toward captors who had held me for years.

A muscle ticked in Stephen’s jaw. He turned his gaze to Magnus.

I thought he was about to seek his father’s approval to continue his line of questioning, but he surprised me as he blurted out, “I’ll go to Philly tomorrow and see what I can find,” he said, the words clipped—a promise of action.

I sensed the anger rolling off him in waves.

“You will await my orders.” Magnus ground out, his voice a low warning. His thick brows scowled as he shot a look at his son. Stephen seemed to get the message, snapping his jaw shut and returning to his position by the door, as still and silent as a statue.

A surge of satisfaction shot through me that Stephen hadn’t succeeded in rattling me.

After a weighty moment of dangerous quiet, where it took all of my willpower not to squirm, Magnus finally shot another question at me. “When did you escape?”