Chapter 71
Click. Flash. And another click.
They definitely know what they’re doing.
I feel it before I see it.
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That sharp prickle at the back of my neck. The kind of awareness that slithers up your spine and whispers in your ear- you’re being watched.
And then, a flicker. A glint of light where there shouldn’t be any. In the deep forest below the balcony. The only thing a human would see is the eternity of trees along the horizon.
But no, not me. Especially not Enoch.
I shift in his hold, my breath still uneven, my pulse an erratic drumbeat against his chest. The warmth of his lips lingers on my skin, but my focus sharpens on the dark patch of trees below the balcony. My wolf hones in on movement, on the nearly imperceptible rustling of leaves.
There.
A human crouches behind a tree, their camera lens reflecting the ballroom lights like a fucking beacon.
My stomach plummets.
Stupid paparazzi.
I can’t believe I’ms saying that because I too, am one.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Every single alarm bell in my head wails at once.
Enoch–his face–undeniable proof of who he is. A ghost, a myth, the king who rose from the dead, caught in the middle of a secret rendezvous with some mystery woman. Me.
If this gets out, it’s not just me who’s screwed.
Liam’s company will burn. I will burn–or worse, fired. I already made two records of humiliation, putting the company on blacklist from most events they could have had scooped on simply because the company had a…
“Mad woman”
If I get caught in this, it would already be strike three. The final fucking nail in my coffin.
My pulse hammers in my ears. My brain kicks into damage control even as Enoch’s lips trace my jaw, completely unaware of the fire about to consume us both.
I react on instinct.
I shove him.
Hard.
His grip tightens for half a second, his body unmoving, his wolf–dark eyes locking onto mine in stunned refusal.
“No,” he growls, voice rough with those red eyes beginning to surface. No, no, no. This can’t happen now. I bite my lip when
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his hands tighten on my arms. He’d rather be caught a werewolf by the entire human race than risk letting me go?
I can’t do this. Not here. Not now.
My mind races, my options thinning. I need him to let me go.
So, I do the only thing that I know will make him pause.
I kiss him.
Soft. Slow. A whisper of goodbye against his lips.
Enoch stills. His body goes rigid, his fingers twitching on my waist like they want to hold me tighter–but then his lashes Autter, his grip loosens, and his breath catches.
There he is, the obedient dog I raised.
Turns out, I still hold his leash.
I take advantage of the fraction of hesitation, pressing my lips to his forehead, his nose, his mouth–our usual rhythm of calming him down. Memorizing the feel of him, the scent of him, the way he always–always–leans into me as though I’m the only thing that makes sense.
And then, as my lips graze his ear, I seal it.
“Find me again.”
The words barely leave my mouth before I rip away. Before I run.
I don’t look back. If I do, I’ll crumble.
I bolt through the balcony doors, plunging back into the masquerade, into the faceless sea of bodies and gilded masks. My hands yank my own mask back into place, securing my anonymity as I weave through the crowd, heart hammering.
The chandeliers cast golden halos onto the dancers, the air thick with perfume and expensive liquor. Laughter swirls around me, oblivious, while my skin burns with the weight of what just happened.
I keep moving. Keep running.
By the time I make it outside, a cab is already idling in the grand driveway. The driver doesn’t question me when I fling myself into the backseat, lungs heaving.
“Go,” I say, voice raw.
Even if I go back to the party, I can’t be seen in the ballroom any longer. They caught a good picture of my dress–not the midnight one, but the one I actually wore. If I linger in the party any linger, it would only be a matter of time before they figure out who I am.
The city blurs past the window, streaks of neon and late–night bustle, but I barely see it. My pulse is still somewhere back on that balcony. My lips still tingling from a goodbye I never wanted to give.
I press my fingers to them, trying to steady my breath.
Find me.
Goddess help me, I want him to.
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Chapter 71
The next morning, I wake up in my apartment with the worst sleep hangover known to man.
I’m still wearing my dress from last night, one shoe kicked off, my hair an absolute disaster.
I groan, rolling over and burying my face in my pillow.
You kissed him. You told him to find you. You ran away like a coward.
Brilliant. Fucking brilliant, Taryn.
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I force myself up, peeling the dress off and trudging to the bathroom. A cold shower brings me back to life just enough to function, and by the time I’m at work in the office kitchen making coffee, I almost convince myself that last night was a fever dream.
Almost.
Then Zoe kicks the door open like a human wrecking ball.
“Ugh, I still can’t get over it!”
I freeze mid–pour, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
“Over what?” I ask, schooling my expression.
Zoe all but vibrates with energy, eyes wide as she clutches her phone. “The King. Last night. How he danced with that mysterious woman in a midnight blue gown. No one knows who she is!”
“Yeah, you said that like a hundred times last night.” I chuckle.
“You weren’t there to see the scene! It was so perfect.” She murmurs.
I stare at her. Blank. Empty.
On the inside, I am screaming.
My fingers tighten around my mug. “Huh.” I take a slow sip. “How romantic.”
Zoe lets out a dramatic sigh, collapsing into a chair. “Ugh, I know, right? The way people are describing it, it was like something out of a fairy tale. Can you imagine being the girl who danced with him?”
Yes. Yes, I can.
I hum noncommittally, turning back to my coffee machine so she doesn’t see the twitch at the corner of my lips. Internally, I smirk.
“Hey, Taryn.”
I glance up from my coffee, mid–sip, and find a junior staffer peeking into the breakroom. She looks nervous, shifting her weight from foot to foot like she’d rather be anywhere but here. Great. That’s always a promising sign.
“Liam’s calling for you,” she says.
The coffee goes down the wrong way. I choke, coughing so hard I nearly see God. Zoe, ever the dramatic best friend, slams her palm onto my back like she’s trying to force a demon out of me.
“What did you do now?” she stage–whispers.
I wheeze, my throat burning. “Maybe he just wants to give me a raise.”
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Zoe snorts. “And maybe I’m secretly mated to the King of Vampires. Come on, T. It’s Liam.”
I groan, setting my cup down before standing. The queasiness in my stomach is instant. It’s just last night since the ball. Since him. Since I tried to shove that entire part of my life into a dark, locked box and throw it into the fucking ocean.
I tried so hard to avoid that paparazzi and run off, did they still get my name?
I walk to Liam’s office like a woman marching toward a firing squad.
The door is cracked open. I don’t knock–I never do, and he never complains.
Liam’s behind his desk, fingers steepled, eyes sharp. He looks like he’s been waiting for me.
Close the door.”
Yeah, that’s not ominous or anything.
I do as I’m told, stepping into the office and folding my arms as I meet his gaze. “So, what’s up, Boss?”
He studies me for a beat, something unreadable shifting behind those calculating blue eyes.
“You’re still up for the assignment, aren’t you?”
The words feel like an ice bath.
I blink, my mouth parting slightly. Oh, fuck.
The assignment.
The investigation.
The goddamn Alpha King.
A sharp inhale burns my lungs. “I-”
I don’t know what to say. No? After everything? After clawing my way into this job, proving myself, pushing through the wreckage of the last few months? But I can’t say yes, either. Not when I know who I’d be hunting.`
Not when I’ve already found him.
Liam leans back, watching me with the patience of someone who already knows exactly how this conversation will end. “You’re hesitating.”
I force my lips into a half–smirk. “What, you want me to act like a soulless journalist? Maybe I grew a conscience overnight.”
His mouth twitches. Not a smile, but close. “You came here for a reason, Sinclair. And I don’t believe for a second that it was just for a career.”
I exhale sharply, dragging a hand through my hair. “Liam-”
“You want the truth, don’t you?” His voice is softer now, but not gentle. It’s razor–edged, cutting past my bullshit like he always does. “You came here to redeem yourself. To know what happened to your parents. To see if the Imperial Pack had a hand in their deaths. To dig through their filth and find what’s been buried.”
My nails bite into my palms.
“You can’t tell me you suddenly don’t care,” he continues. “Not when you fought so hard to be here.”
My heart is hammering so loud it’s a goddamn drumline.
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I swallow. “I-”
He tilts his head slightly. “Or is it because of him?”
It’s not a question. It’s an execution. “Do you guys know each other? After all, you were disappearing an awful lot last ni
I freeze. Fuck Liam and his hypersense.
He holds my gaze, unblinking. “You were different after the ball. Edgy. Lost in your head. That little stunt outside the p was reckless as hell, but this?” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “This is self–destruction.”
My throat is so tight I can barely breathe.
You think this is easy?” I bite out. “Just–what, waltzing into his world? Getting close to him again?”
“It’s not supposed to be easy.” Liam’s voice is even, “This is media, Taryn. You don’t get to care who gets run over. And d lie to me–you
do want to know his secrets. You want to know how deep this goes.”
I close my eyes for half a second.
He’s right.
Fucking hell, he’s right.
I’ve spent years clawing for the truth, for something that makes sense of the wreckage my life became. And here it is, handed to me on a goddamn silver platter. The one assignment that could unravel it all.
That will unravel it all.
My fingers tremble. I ball them into fists.
Liam watches me, waiting.
I exhale slowly, the words tasting like steel on my tongue. “Fine.”
His expression doesn’t change. But there’s something there–a flicker of satisfaction, maybe.
“You’re infiltrating the King’s palace,” he says.
I go still.
My stomach twists into a violent knot.
He tosses a file across the desk, and it skids to a stop in front of me. My name is printed on the tab.
My pulse is a war drum in my
ears.
I stare at the file. I stare at Liam.
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