Chapter 6

Two days later. The midday sun beat down on the busy streets of Manhattan.

Inside the hushed, opulent dining room of Le Bernardin, Easton Marks sat perfectly still.

He was seated at a private corner table, wearing a bespoke navy suit. His face was an emotionless mask, carved from stone.

Sitting across from him was Peregrine Thorne, a top-tier Alpha from a prominent political dynasty. Peregrine was elegantly slicing into a piece of bluefin tuna, talking endlessly about a recent corporate merger.

Easton wasn't listening.

His mother, Lorraine, had threatened to freeze his proxy votes in the family trust if he didn't attend this arranged blind date. Easton had agreed only to get her off his back.

He picked up his crystal glass of sparkling water and took a slow sip.

His mind was stuck on the report his assistant had given him that morning. Alston had never called an ambulance during the storm. He had survived the heat cycle completely unanchored.

Easton's jaw tightened. He twisted the platinum watch band on his left wrist, the metal biting into his skin. The thought of Alston enduring that agony alone made a dark, possessive rage coil in his gut.

He was about to stand up and walk out of the restaurant when the heavy mahogany doors at the entrance swung open.

A woman walked in.

She was dressed in a tight, crimson designer dress, her heels clicking loudly against the marble floor.

Before Easton even fully looked at her, his Enigma senses caught the scent.

It was the cheap, artificial rose perfume. The exact same scent that had been clinging to Braydon's clothes.

Easton's eyes narrowed. He recognized her from the background files. Emelia. Braydon's mistress.

Emelia didn't wait for the hostess. She marched past the front desk, her chin held high in an arrogant tilt. She walked straight toward a secluded booth in the far back corner of the restaurant.

Easton's gaze followed her.

When he saw who was sitting in the booth, his blood turned to ice.

Alston was sitting there.

He looked like a ghost. His skin was translucent, devoid of any color. He was wearing a thick, cream-colored turtleneck sweater, pulled up high under his chin.

Easton knew exactly why. Alston was hiding the ugly, bruised puncture marks on his neck from injecting black-market suppressants.

Alston was staring down at the table, his hands wrapped tightly around a cup of black coffee. His knuckles were bone-white.

Emelia slid into the booth across from him.

She didn't say hello. She unclasped her limited-edition Hermes Birkin bag and slammed it down onto the polished wood table.

The heavy thud echoed through the quiet restaurant.

Several wealthy patrons at nearby tables turned their heads, frowning at the disruption.

Easton's hand tightened around his water glass. He shifted slightly in his chair, using the large floral centerpiece on his table to obscure his face while keeping a direct line of sight to the corner booth.

Peregrine noticed Easton's distraction. He followed Easton's gaze and chuckled softly.

"Ah," Peregrine said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "The classic Upper East Side tragedy. The mistress confronting the discarded wife. It's almost too cliché to watch."

Easton slowly turned his head.

He locked eyes with Peregrine. He didn't say a word, but he let a fraction of his Enigma aura slip out. The heavy, suffocating pressure of a true apex predator slammed into Peregrine.

Peregrine choked on his breath. The smug smile vanished from his face. He shrank back into his chair, suddenly terrified to make another sound.

Easton looked back at the corner booth.

Emelia reached into her designer bag. She pulled out a thick stack of legal papers and shoved them roughly across the table. The papers hit Alston's coffee cup, spilling dark liquid onto the white tablecloth.

Alston flinched. He slowly lowered his eyes to read the bold print on the first page.

Even from across the room, Easton could see Alston's thin shoulders tremble.

It was a divorce agreement.

Emelia leaned forward, a vicious smirk on her red lips. She reached up and casually brushed her hair over her shoulder, exposing the side of her neck.

Right over her scent gland was a fresh, dark purple bite mark. An Alpha's claim.

It was a deliberate, sickening display of dominance. She was showing Alston exactly what Braydon had been doing while Alston was dying in the hallway.

Alston stared at the bite mark. His eyes filled with tears, but he bit his lower lip so hard a drop of blood welled up. He reached out with shaking fingers and pushed the divorce papers back toward Emelia.

He was refusing to sign.

Emelia's face twisted in fury. She stood up abruptly. She grabbed her glass of ice water from the table and pulled her arm back, preparing to throw the freezing water directly into Alston's face.

The last thread of Easton's control snapped.

Easton stood up.

He pushed his chair back with such explosive force that it tipped over and crashed onto the marble floor. The loud bang silenced the entire restaurant.

Easton didn't look at Peregrine. He didn't look at the shocked waiters.

He stepped out from behind his table. His face was a mask of lethal, terrifying calm, but his eyes were burning gold.

He walked straight toward the corner booth.