CHAPTER 24: THREE MOVES AHEAD

She reacted like I had actually pulled a trigger on a loaded gun. She reeled back so hard, I had to catch her. Still, she staggered like her legs could no longer hold her upright. Her head drooped, her shoulders quivering under some unseen weight.

When she raised her head to me, her eyes were dry.

A mischievous smile curled her full lips.

It was my turn to be caught in the headlights.

"You put a gun to her head and she smiles," Zver’s tone was curious, amused.

"I’m in a new place now," she said, her voice steady but her fingers betraying the faintest tremor. "A new realm. The old rules, the old obligations... they don’t apply here." Her gaze stayed fixed on me, dry humour curling her lips more, though they still trembled. "I see that now. And yes—maybe I went about it the wrong way."

The words had a looseness to them, almost casual, but the quiver in her shoulders told a different story. She was still running on the echo of what I’d just done, still feeling the phantom weight of the barrel that had tested her nerve.

Any person would, much less a hybrid not used to the high stakes of the Umbra realm.

My eyes narrowed.

She pulled away, tearing my arms off of her. She glanced at me, her smile turning thinner with each second she held it. She twisted away from me, still unsteady on her feet, yet moved towards the bed.

My fingers twitched, instinctively reaching for her, the need to keep her within arm’s length flaring before I could think better of it.

She didn’t look back, didn’t slow—just kept that shaky, stubborn walk toward the bed like she was determined to pretend her legs weren’t about to give out.

"Careful," I said, my voice lower than I intended.

She stopped. Not because she obeyed—Lilith Brooks didn’t take orders—but because the air between us shifted. Her chin tilted just enough for me to see the edge of her profile, the curve of that thin smile that was holding on by threads.

"I’m not glass, Vladimir," she murmured, though her voice had that hitch—the kind you heard from someone still steadying themselves.

Guilt unfurled, but I stomped it out before it could blossom fully. She needed to learn this. There was too much at stake here, and if she didn’t learn to act on instinct—to let herself be a little feral—she was a goner. The Umbra didn’t tolerate hesitation, and neither would the things hunting her.

And then there was her goal. The thing that mattered to her more than her own skin.

"About your proposition," I said at last, letting the words fall with deliberate weight. "Kustav—"

Her eyes snapped to mine so fast I felt the air move between us. Hope flared there, sharp and bright, like stars tearing through a night sky.

"What about it?" Her voice was suddenly alive, trembling with tentative hope, almost breathless.

I didn’t answer immediately. Watching her like this—unguarded, strung tight between desperation and belief—was its own kind of weapon. One I hadn’t decided whether to use or spare her from.

Finally, I spoke.

"The Onyx Concord has reached a decision." My voice was even, but the quiet in it felt heavier than shouting. "You will be put in Kustav’s care... within his pack."

If I hadn’t seen the worst things this realm could carve into a person, I might have said I’d never seen anyone wither so fast. The colour drained from her skin as if the words had pulled it out. The hope in her eyes shattered, leaving something hollow and wild in its place. Horror seemed to pour from her in waves, seeping from every pore, until it clung to the air between us.

Her fingers curled against her palms in the way a body braces for a blow it can’t dodge. She bit down on her lips, her eyes darting as if calculating every possible outcome. When she spoke again, her voice was hoarse. "I will have to live in his pack," she mumbled. "He will be my handler."

"Yes," I replied. "That will be the basic arrangement."

"Because I happen to be his daughter," she muttered.

I didn’t need to clarify for her.

"They want that man to have some sick power over me. A rapist, a tyrant, his borders closed to even this council of yours." She lifted her eyes to me. "Aren’t you High Alpha? You’re higher in rank than the rest of them. Why can’t you stop this?"

I held her stare. "You mistake my position for absolute rule," I said. "I might wear the crown, but the Onyx Concord is not a single head—it is a living thing. Thirteen Alphas. Thirteen packs. Each with teeth of their own. The head commands, yes, but it cannot survive without the body. And the body has a say."

Her lips parted, but I continued, my voice low, deliberate. "I have the ultimate word when there is unity. When enough of them stand behind it."

"There could be fallout if not all—or many—agree," she finished for me without missing a beat.

It caught me. Not in a bad way—I’d never thought her stupid—but I hadn’t expected her to cut to the marrow so quickly. There was no panic in her voice now, only the sharp, measured tone of someone piecing together a puzzle while the clock bled seconds away.

My eyes narrowed, reassessing her in real time. "You understand more than I thought."

"I studied political systems," she said, the words sharp but quiet, as if measuring how much to reveal. "Governance, power structures, negotiation tactics. I know how a council works when the figurehead isn’t absolute. I know that every motion—every decision—bleeds compromise from all parties involved.

"So what is it they want from me? My guess is, putting into consideration how this realm views hybrids, despite being forced here, tells me you are desperate."

I crooked a brow. "How do we view hybrids?" I asked.

"Low ranks, halflings..." her words curled with feigned venom. "I am aware I am not exactly welcome."

Maybe her hesitance to fight was a con, but her sharpness was definitely a pro.

"I know enough to understand that most councils don’t waste time on what doesn’t feed their own interests." Her gaze narrowed. "You don’t just want me. You need me." She drew out the words.

She tilted her head, studying me from head to toe, deliberate and unhurried. "And you..." her lips curved faintly, though the sound behind it wasn’t amusement, "you don’t look like a man who wastes either time or money. You wouldn’t have dropped a billion dollars unless I was necessary. Which tells me I’m more than some pawn to hand over for convenience. You don’t want me to be handed over to Kustav."

"She is not to be underestimated," Zver purred, intrigued.

"So, are you going to tell me your plan or..."

My brows rose, slow. "And how are you so sure I have one?"

She didn’t hesitate. "Because you’re High Alpha for a reason. In a realm like this, where most have claws and teeth, the man who wears the crown over all must be able to see the board three moves ahead," she finished.

"No greater truth has ever been told," Zver agreed with a cackle.