Chapter 3

Cayla POV:

Three days later, I was back at my desk. The Alpha Command didn't account for sick days.

Cherrelle strutted in, tossing a file on my desk.

"Grafton wants Moonberry Tarts for the poker night. From the bakery on the Rogue border."

"That's twenty miles away," I said. "And there's a storm warning."

"Better get driving then, Shadow."

By the time I got back to the pack house, the storm had turned the world into a car wash. I was soaked, shivering, and clutching a box of soggy tarts.

The poker game was in the basement bar. Grafton sat in the center, surrounded by sycophants. Cherrelle was on his lap.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Cherrelle giggled.

"Put them down and leave," Grafton said, not looking up from his cards.

"Wait," Cherrelle said. "Truth or Dare. Grafton, I dare you to drink a shot of 'Midnight Madness'."

The room went dead silent.

Jeremy, the Gamma, stood up. "Cherrelle, are you insane? That's straight Wolfsbane extract. It's for torture, not toasts."

Wolfsbane. It causes paralysis, hallucinations, and agony.

"It's diluted," Cherrelle lied smoothly. "Just a little kick. Unless our big bad Alpha is scared?"

Grafton's jaw tightened. His pride was his leash, and she held the handle. "Pour it."

"No!" I stepped forward. The smell coming off that bottle was acrid enough to strip paint. "Grafton, don't. That's not diluted. It's pure concentrate."

"Silence, slave," Grafton snapped.

Cherrelle held the glass to his lips.

Justen's voice whispered in my head: Protect him.

I moved.

I threw myself across the table, knocking the cards flying.

"Get off!" Grafton shouted.

I snatched the glass.

"You won't believe me," I said, my voice shaking. "So I'll show you."

I downed the shot.

It tasted like battery acid.

The moment it hit my stomach, my insides dissolved. It was worse than silver. It felt like swallowing a live grenade.

I fell to my knees, clutching my throat.

"Cayla!" Jeremy shouted.

I looked up, gasping for air. I expected to see gratitude.

Instead, I saw Grafton rolling his eyes.

"Drama queen," he muttered. "She probably palmed the real glass. Get her out of here. She's ruining the vibe."

He didn't know. He couldn't feel the bond screaming because he had blocked it out with his own arrogance.

I curled into a ball on the sticky floor, dying inside, while the man I loved dealt the next hand.