Chapter 11: Subtle

Maeve

Before Lyra could question me further, the atmosphere in the room changed.

There was no announcement. No opening of trumpets or call from the Huntmaster.

One moment, the ballroom was filled with music and conversation. The next, power rolled through it. It moved across the marble like an invisible storm.

My wolf lifted her head.

The pressure pressed against my skin, heavy and commanding. Several younger women stopped speaking. A servant near the wine table nearly dropped the bottle in his hands.

One by one, heads turned toward the western entrance.

I did not need to look. I felt him. Ronan Caine entered the ballroom as if he owned the air inside it. Perhaps he did.

He wore black again.

A formal coat this time, tailored across his broad shoulders and left open over a dark shirt. The top buttons remained undone, revealing the base of his throat and the faint edge of a scar disappearing beneath the fabric.

His dark hair had been pushed away from his face, though one stubborn lock had already fallen across his forehead.

He looked controlled.

That was the most frightening part.

There was no sign of the creature I had felt beneath his skin at the registration desk. No claws. No flash of gold overtaking his eyes.

Only the Alpha. Cold. Still. Watching everything.

The man beside him could only have been his Beta.

Cassian Rook was nearly as tall as Ronan, though built leaner. His dark brown hair had been tied at the base of his neck, exposing the scar that ran from his left temple to his jaw. Another pale mark crossed the back of one hand.

He did not carry Ronan’s crushing power, but there was something equally dangerous in the way he studied the room.

Ronan entered like a storm. Cassian entered like the blade hidden inside it.

Every conversation died. The musicians stopped playing halfway through a note. Several wolves bowed their heads.

I remained standing tall.

Ronan’s gaze moved once across the ballroom. It passed over the gathered hunters near the northern wall. Over the servants. Over the women watching him with open interest. Then it landed on me.

My body responded before my mind did. Heat moved across my skin. My wolf pressed forward, suddenly restless.

Ronan’s eyes darkened. He did not look away.

Lyra inhaled softly beside me. I could feel her waiting for his attention to shift. It did not.

Ronan watched me as though the other forty-one women had disappeared.

Sable leaned closer. “Why is the most dangerous Alpha in this room looking at you like he already caught you?”

I kept my gaze locked on his. “Because he’s arrogant enough to believe he has.”

From across the ballroom, the corner of Ronan’s mouth lifted. He could not possibly have heard me over the distance between us. His expression said otherwise.

Lyra’s grip tightened around her wineglass. “You said you didn’t want him.”

“I don’t.”

“Then stop staring.”

I finally looked at her. “You first.”

Sable released a quiet sound that might have been a laugh.

Before Lyra could answer, a staff struck the marble floor. The sharp crack echoed through the ballroom.

An older man stepped onto the raised platform where the musicians had been seated.

Huntmaster Aldric Holt wore long ceremonial robes of charcoal and silver. His white hair fell to his shoulders, and an old injury had left one side of his face slightly lower than the other. A staff carved from black wood rested in his right hand.

The silver wolf’s head mounted at its top caught the chandelier light.

“Participants and hunters,” he called. His voice carried without effort. “Take your designated places. The registration period has ended.”

Movement spread through the ballroom.

The women were directed toward the center of the floor, where a large silver circle had been inlaid into the marble. Until that moment, I had assumed it was simply decoration.

Up close, I saw the words carved around its edge. Ancient promises. Warnings. Names of Moon Goddesses and forgotten wolves.

The hunters gathered outside the circle.

Seventeen men.

Some looked young and hungry for the prestige of a successful capture. Others stood with the calm confidence of wolves accustomed to taking what they wanted.

Alpha Darius Blackthorne remained nearest the platform.

He was the host of this year’s Hunt and looked every bit the part. Tall, golden-haired, and dressed in deep blue, he carried none of Ronan’s darkness.

His smile was easier. That did not make him safe. A charming predator was still a predator.

Cassian remained behind the hunters with the other Betas and advisors.

Ronan stood alone. No one seemed willing to stand too close to him.

Lyra positioned herself where he would have a clear view of her.

Sable noticed. “She isn’t subtle,” she whispered.

“I don’t think she’s trying to be.”