Aysel's POV Celestine's tears had stained the hospital pillow in the middle of the night because of me. Knox-I could almost smell his fury-hated me as much as the entire Draven lineage would ever allow. Celestine's leg injury had cost her a critical promotion, a chance she'd fought for tooth and nail. Knox had a score to settle, and I wasn't about to cower away. But here's the problem: I am not easy prey. I am a Moonvale wolf, and wolves like me do not simply expose themselves. I could hunker in my den all day, curled up like a tortoise, invisible to those who would dare strike me. That was the art of patience-and Knox's predatory gaze had never found me at home. "Ah, what is this?" Knox's voice rolled over the music like low thunder. "After all this time, the Frostfang lady and the Moonvale wolf won't even grant me a drink?" His eyes were predatory, but his teeth were clenched-anger and hunger mixed. The sound that escaped Skylar was a laugh, sharp and gleaming with wolfish mirth. Knox's ears twitched-he felt it, the double-edged bite of our words. Knox's kind of wolf is dangerous enough on its own. His blood ran with Ironhowl dominance, and I could smell his allegiance to Celestine in every tense movement he made. Yet in the shadow of the rising young Alpha Knox's cousin, Serena, he had been humbled. Even the Ironhowl Pack could not fully shield him from the weight of his own family politics. His jaw tightened, nostrils flaring. He gestured imperiously at the bar servers. "Bring the drinks!" A cascade of colorful liquid was placed before us. I barely glanced at them. "Not sharing a table," I said coldly. The wolf within him snarled. Knox lunged into conversation, attempting to corral me into a trap I had no intention of stepping into. "That stunt with the messages a while back-you were behind it, weren't you, Aysel? Finish these drinks and I'll let it slide." I let my amber gaze sweep over him, unbothered. "Slide or not, your opinion is irrelevant." Knox's fangs glinted in the bar's light, a sharp warning. He proposed a bet, claws metaphorically out: if I fell before him, I'd kneel before Celestine; if he fell, he'd leave me be for three months and gift me a car. I snorted, cold as ice. "No," I said flatly. "Then confess for ten minutes." I shook my head. "Not playing." His growl rolled low in his throat, and I could smell it-the primal frustration of a wolf who cannot dominate his prey. "You can't lose," he spat. "I don't respond to childish challenges," I said, the wolf inside me rising, coiled and ready. I saw the dark storm behind his amber eyes. Knox Draven might think he is Alpha, but Moonvale wolves are patient hunters, and tonight, I was untouchable. The tension thickened like mist over the forest. The bar's chaos tried to hide it, but it was palpable-my ears twitched at every subtle sound of claws on wood, the hum of other wolves moving around us. Then other packlings-exposed and brash-ambled toward us. Young Ironhowl sycophants, greedy for favor. Knox's teeth flashed in a grin that did not reach his eyes. "Tonight, whoever makes these two wolves drink gets ten thousand credits. No limits. Any method." They licked their lips, the scent of greed obvious. Their paws fumbled with bottles, but I could smell fear beneath their bravado. A lanky one stepped forward, hand reaching for Skylar. The second he tried, a hard leather bag crashed into his face with a sickening thud. "Back off, gutter wolf!" Skylar snapped. I tilted my head, amber eyes icy, and flicked a splash of liquor at the man leering at me. He squealed, caught between burn and humiliation. The barlings froze. My fur bristled, every muscle coiled. One wrong step toward either of us, and they would find themselves flattened under fangs and claws. Knox's own scent mixed with frustration, arousal, and the hunger to control in tension, a storm barely restrained. "Knox," Skylar hissed, "using such methods on women? No wonder your Alpha regards you with contempt." He growled, and raised the stakes: twenty thousand credits now. The packlings wavered, caught between loyalty, greed, and fear. I could smell every hesitation, every twitch of their tails. They were prey trapped in the den of wolves. I licked my lips, tasting the tang of power, the scent of the hunt. Tonight, the Ironhowl wolves would learn what it means to underestimate a Moonvale predator.