Page 40 of Broken Wolf Heart
His jaw tightens. “She consented and took that serum willingly. Now, I demand my price in return.”
“You manipulated her just like you’ve done with everyone else,” I say. “That’s not strength. That’s fear. You’re terrified of what she is. Because if she’s stronger than you, ifIam—then all the blood you spilled, the games you’ve played—it would all be for nothing.”
His expression stills. Rage burns behind his eyes.
“I built this city,” he says.
“Maybe. But then you bled it dry.”
“She’s not ready for something like this.”
“She’s more ready than you ever were.”
He leans back in the seat slowly, crossing one leg over the other. The utter calm in his expression makes him look like a king in exile. Dethroned but not yet buried.
“I’ll give you one last chance,” he says, staring straight ahead now. “Bring her to me. Let’s do this the old way. A clean transfer of power. She steps down. Gives me the crown. We walk away civil.”
I yank my hands from my pockets. My fingers flex at my sides.
Inside, my wolf stirs. There’s a hunger in it that’s never been there before. A thirst for a messy kill. Not just death and vengeance but carnage. Mayhem. Torture. And for the first time in my life, I can feel true temptation to give in to the darkness my father tried to instill in me.
“Fuck you,” I say quietly but with the conviction of the emotion behind it.
His eyes narrow. “She steps down,” he repeats, “or she gets taken out of the equation.”
My vision goes red.
I step closer, voice razor-sharp but eerily calm. “If you ever—ever—touch my wife, I will peel your flesh from your fucking bones and keep you alive long enough to watch while I burn the pieces.”
Rocco flinches in the front seat. Doesn’t look back. Doesn’t have to.
My father?
He just smiles.
Like he’s been waiting for me to say that.
“There he is,” he whispers, triumphant. “I’ve waited a long time for the monster to reveal himself. Unfortunately, you’re too late.”
I should walk away.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
Because the words he says next lodge in my chest like splinters.
“This pack is mine,” he says quietly. “To rule. To shape. To own. And I will have it in the end. Over her dead body if necessary. And yours.”
I stare at him. Heart pounding. My wolf pressing against the edges of my control, snarling to be let loose. He wants me to break. To lose it. To give him proof that I’m too emotional, too unstable, toomuch like herto be trusted with power.
Instead, I breathe.
One breath.
Two.
Then I take a step back.
