Beneath the mask

Diego's POV

The flames licked the sky, casting a deceptive warmth over the land. It seemed like a peaceful night to those who didn’t know better—but history would remember it as the Blood Night, the night when everything crumbled into ruin.

“Run,” my mother whispered, blood streaming from her nose. Her lips quivered, her hands weak as they pushed at my small shoulders.

But I couldn’t move. I wouldn’t even if a part of me wanted to. My feet felt like it had a mind of its own, choosing to stay.

“No!”

My father stood tall, fighting with everything he had, but the blade… that cursed wolf blade… sank into him. I heard the sickening sound, saw the way his chest jerked, the way blood spilled from his lips.

“Papa!”

I fell to my knees beside him, tiny hands shaking his body as though my touch could drag him back. My tears fell hot against his still chest.

My mother coughed, folding to the ground, her body curling toward mine. Her last breath brushed my cheek.

The shrill ringing of an alarm ripped me back to the present.

I shot upright, gasping for air, my chest heaving like I’d just sprinted for miles. Sweat drenched me, dripping down my temples. My hands clawed at the sheets, trying to ground myself.

The alarm screamed again.

“Shut the fuck up!” I roared, snatching it from the table. I hurled it against the wall, metal and glass shattering across the floor. The echo rattled the walls, but not enough to drown out the sound of my mother’s dying voice in my head.

I pressed my palms to my face. My skin burned hot, my lungs refusing to calm.

“I was three,” I whispered, shaking my head. My voice cracked. “Three fucking years old, and I swore I buried this. I buried it.”

But I hadn’t. Not really.

My fists curled tight, nails biting into my palms. The images clawed their way back—my father’s collapse, my mother’s blood, the symbol on the cloaks of the wolves who destroyed everything.

New Age pack.

The name itself sent darts of hatred to my chest.

I slammed my fist against the wall, the metallic clang vibrating up my arm. “And they think I’ll sit across from them? Sign peace? Toast to their survival?” I barked out a bitter laugh. “Over my dead body.”

I forced myself up, pacing, dragging my hands through my hair, trying to find air in the thick weight pressing on my chest.

No more hiding. No more pretending to forgive.

I reached out with my mind. Butler. Now.

The door opened within minutes. He bowed low, but I didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“Get the elders. All of them. Council chamber. Now.”

His eyes flickered with hesitation, but one look at me—sweat-soaked, fists clenched, fury bleeding from every word—and he only nodded before rushing out.

I exhaled, but the breath was sharp, jagged.

“One last time,” I muttered to myself, staring at my reflection in the shattered pieces of the clock. “I’ll tell them one last time. Peace doesn’t work with monsters.”

I let out a sigh, dragging my body to the bathroom.

The bathroom steamed as I turned on the shower, the warm water cascading down my body. For a moment, I thought it would wash the heaviness off me. But the moment I shut my eyes, I saw it all again.

Blood. My mother’s lips trembling, whispering her last word to me—Run.

My father’s body collapsing under the wolf blade.

The pain was still there. The ache never dulled.

I’d promised her revenge that day. I’d sworn it on my tears, on the ashes of my childhood.

And I hadn’t forgotten.

Kendrick would pay for everything. Every damn thing.

I didn’t care if he was just a child when it happened. His bloodline, his name—it was enough. They’d destroyed me. And he was going to drown in the same misery.

The bathroom door burst open, jolting me out of my thoughts. My eyes snapped open, my chest heaving.

“Klaus,” I muttered, rolling my eyes as I stepped out of the shower, a towel hanging low on my waist. Water trailed down my skin, but I barely noticed.

He leaned on the frame, arms crossed, his face carved in that infuriating calm of his. “I sent your butler back. Canceled the meeting.”

My jaw tightened. “Of course you did.”

Klaus wasn’t just my Beta. He was my brother in every way that mattered. Every time I wanted to do something reckless, something that would burn this pack to the ground, he was the wall that stood in my way. And maybe—maybe—that was the only reason Silver Blade still had peace.

My fist clenched. “You think you can keep doing this? Running interference every time I—”

“Every time you let your ghosts lead you by the throat?” Klaus’s voice cut sharp through the air. He closed the distance between us, his eyes steady on mine. “Diego, this isn’t just about a peace treaty. This is about you. About your future. About finding the mate who will steady that storm in you. You can’t keep letting the past eat you alive.”

I wanted to snap at him, shove him out of the room, drown in my anger. But he was right, and we both knew it.

“Mate,” I scoffed under my breath. “What woman would want a man like me?”

Klaus didn’t flinch. “The one meant for you. The one who’ll see past this.” He gestured at me—my scars, my rage, the bitterness I carried like a second skin.

Then, just as quickly, he turned on his heel and left, leaving me alone with the dripping water and the silence that screamed louder than any nightmare.

I dragged in a breath, forcing the tremor out of my chest.

The peace treaty was tonight.

I doubted if I was strong enough to subdue the hatred clawing through me.

But Klaus was right about one thing.

He’d be there.

And maybe—for once—that would be enough.

The day dragged itself to an end, stretching each hour like it wanted to test my patience. And when the sun finally dipped, I found myself standing in front of the mirror.

A tuxedo. Black. I tugged at the lapels,rolling my eyes at my reflection. I didn’t recognize the man staring back—someone too polished, worse of all, too calm.

With a short huff, I turned away and left the room, my footsteps echoing through the mansion’s long halls. The night air outside was cool, but it did little to calm the storm inside me. I slid into the car, the leather groaning under my weight as I gripped the wheel tighter than necessary.

The engine roared to life. Headlights sliced through the dark road as I sped off, Klaus’s vehicle trailing behind like my ever-present conscience.

By the time the gates of the New Age Pack loomed before me, every breath felt heavier. My chest rose and fell too fast, the weight of memory pressing in. My hands tightened on the wheel, and for a brief moment, I almost turned back.

Almost.

The gate guards shifted uneasily under my stare, but before I could step forward, Klaus’s hand came down on my shoulder. Firm. Solid. Grounding.

“You’ve got this,” he said. His voice wasn’t just reassurance—it was a reminder.

But the truth was, I didn’t. Not in the way he thought. Because I’d promised myself one thing: if Kendrick, or his parents, so much as stepped out of line tonight, I’d make this night memorable in ways they’d never forget.

Inside, the packhouse was alive—too alive. The hall pulsed with music and laughter, bodies pressed close in celebration. Crystal glasses clinked, the air thick with perfume and wine. It was meant to be dazzling, intoxicating.

I felt nothing. Only exhaustion. Only the irritation clawing at my bones.

A butler bowed low and guided me through the crowd, weaving past the laughing faces until we reached the high table. And there they were—the Alpha of the New Age Pack and his Luna. They welcomed me warmly, smiles too wide, too polished.

And then Kendrick—young, bright-eyed, his face lighting up like I was some long-lost brother. He surged forward, embracing me tightly.

“Diego!” he exclaimed, almost breathless with excitement. “I can’t believe you came. Thank you—for accepting this treaty.”

I stiffened in his arms, my jaw locking as his sincerity stabbed somewhere I refused to name. Slowly, I pried myself free and forced a smile that felt like glass cutting my lips.

That’s when my eyes drifted past him.

His wife.

I had heard she was ill, frail, perhaps too weak to even sit through a ceremony. But the woman by his side… she didn’t look sick. She clung to him with all the vibrance of someone in perfect health, her lips pressing against his cheek, her laughter ringing soft but steady.

Each kiss she gave him twisted something sharp inside me.

The conversation dragged on—pleasantries, political promises, words that meant nothing. My head began to pound, the noise of the hall like needles in my ears. I needed air.

Finally, I excused myself.

The cold hit me as soon as I stepped outside. Fresh, biting, clean in a way the hall had never been. I drew in a lungful of it, tilting my head back as the silver moon bathed me in its light. For a moment, my shoulders eased, my chest no longer so tight.

Just as I shut my eyes, savouring the moment of peace, I heard his voice scream…

“Mate.”