Elara adjusted the diamond cuff at her wrist, wincing as she looked in the mirror. Her reflection blinked back at her — a woman in crimson satin, lips the color of rose blood, and dark curls swept up like a queen. She looked like she belonged in this world. But inside, she was a mess of nerves.
Dominic's penthouse buzzed with stylists and attendants prepping her for the annual Lunar Gala, a gathering of Alpha elites. The most powerful packs would be there, dressed in silk, wrapped in secrets. It wasn't just a social event — it was a battlefield of charm, dominance, and politics. And she, the human Luna-to-be, was expected to stand beside the infamous Dominic Wolfe.
She caught her breath when the elevator doors opened.
Dominic stepped into the room, dressed in a charcoal-black tuxedo that hugged his frame like shadow. No tie. Shirt collar open just enough to show the top edge of the crescent scar she'd noticed days ago.
"You're late," she said, to mask the racing of her heart.
"I was finalizing tonight's security. Too many Alphas in one room — it's like a powder keg waiting for a spark."
His eyes scanned her slowly, thoroughly.
"You look…dangerous."
She blinked. "Is that a compliment or a warning?"
"Both."
He extended his hand. She hesitated, then placed hers in his. A spark flared up her arm.
The mating mark on her collarbone burned faintly again, but she ignored it.
They arrived at the Crescent Palace an hour later — a gothic marvel of stone and steel that loomed against the moonlight like a cathedral of wolves. Paparazzi cameras flashed as soon as they exited the limousine. Dominic's arm slid around her waist like a shield. She straightened her spine and summoned every ounce of bravery she had.
Inside, the air crackled with power.
Shifters of all ranks mingled under the sweeping chandelier. The scent of musk, wine, and dominance clung to the room. The walls pulsed with ancient lunar runes. Elara could feel them — not just see them. Her psychic sense, which had long lay dormant, was awakening in this den of supernatural energy.
"I hate this place," Dominic muttered under his breath. "Too many watching eyes. Too many agendas."
A voice sliced through the hum of chatter.
"Well, well. The ghost Alpha emerges. And he brings…a toy?"
A tall, auburn-haired man with jade-green eyes approached them. His aura was like a hot wind — arrogant, sharp.
"Elara, meet Alpha Rhys of the Bloodfang Pack," Dominic said flatly.
Rhys smiled, but it never touched his eyes. "A human? Dominic, I didn't think you'd stoop to theatrics."
"She's not a toy," Dominic said, his voice cold as frost. "She's my fiancée."
Rhys raised a brow. "Ah. So the rumors were true. I thought you were bluffing to keep the Council off your back."
"I don't bluff," Dominic growled.
Elara stepped forward, surprised at her own voice. "And I don't appreciate being spoken about like furniture."
Rhys's smirk faltered. He bowed — mockingly.
"My apologies, Luna-to-be. Let's hope you survive your first full moon."
As he melted into the crowd, Elara turned to Dominic. "What's his problem?"
"Old rivalry. Rhys has always wanted my seat on the High Council."
"And now he sees me as leverage," she said softly.
Dominic looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. "Yes."
As they moved further into the crowd, Elara's head began to throb. The runes on the walls pulsed brighter. She stopped in front of a carved pillar and reached out.
Her fingers grazed the etchings, and the symbol glowed beneath her touch.
Dominic noticed. "What did you just do?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "But I can feel them. These symbols…they're not just decorations. They're alive."
A woman in silver swept toward them. Tall, angular, beautiful — but her presence felt like poisoned honey.
"Dominic. You didn't tell me you were bringing her."
"Sylva," Dominic said with obvious restraint. "Elara, this is Sylva Moonthorn. She…used to be a friend."
Sylva's smile was venom-laced. "How quaint. A human standing beside the great Alpha Wolfe. Is this your redemption arc, or your suicide note?"
Elara's head throbbed harder. A flash of red seared behind her eyes. Her psychic senses bloomed into a painful clarity. She could feel the woman's energy — it was drenched in death.
"She's a necromancer," Elara whispered.
Sylva's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
"You've bound spirits to your aura. You've fed off them. That's why you smell like ash and rosewater."
Sylva recoiled slightly. Dominic's body tensed beside her.
"How do you know that?" he asked quietly.
"I don't know how I know. I just do."
Dominic stared at her, long and hard.
Later, in a quieter corner of the ballroom, Elara leaned on the marble balcony. Her heart was still racing. The city glittered beneath them.
Dominic joined her, his presence a magnetic pull.
"You're more than just psychic," he said. "A human shouldn't be able to read necromancers. That takes ancestral power."
She turned to him. "Then tell me. What exactly did you bring me into?"
He hesitated. For the first time, she saw the fracture behind his armor.
"I brought you into survival," he said. "There are things coming. Forces that want to take my pack. My power. My life. You were supposed to be a cover story. A legal loop. But now…"
"Now what?"
"Now I think you're something else entirely."
The air around them thickened. The mating mark on her skin pulsed — and when she looked at him, she knew he felt it too.
Just then, a scream rang out inside the ballroom.
They turned as one. The lights flickered. A surge of magical energy roared through the hall. A body fell to the floor — eyes glowing, mouth frothing.
Dominic cursed under his breath. "It's started."
"What has?"
"The culling. Someone is testing dark magic at the Gala."
He grabbed her wrist. "Stay close. Don't speak to anyone unless I say so. And Elara — if anything happens to me tonight, run."
She didn't argue.
Because deep inside, she already knew.
The Gala wasn't just a political event. It was a challenge.
And tonight, someone had triggered war.