Chapter 4

Blackthorne smelled like whiskey, expensive cologne, and wolves pretending they weren’t wolves.

It wasn’t a student bar. Crestfall Academy’s kids weren’t allowed inside. Blackthorne belonged to the adults who sponsored the academy, funded the city’s “unity,” and broke that unity in private the moment the cameras turned away.

The bouncer recognized me and opened the rope without a word. Eyes followed me—Alpha eyes, pack-wife eyes, human donor eyes—hungry for proof that the Fontaine girl hadn’t drowned, hadn’t broken, hadn’t become a convenient tragedy.

I walked in anyway, spine straight, lungs still aching from salt-water punishment.

And there he was.

Alger Reynolds stood near the center booth like he owned the air around him. One arm draped over the leather backrest, the other angled toward Poppy Bennett in a way that looked protective and intimate, meant for the public. His profile was the face Waterfall City loved to plaster on billboards: sharp jaw, controlled expression, a prince built for cameras.

Poppy sat close to him, pink dress traded for a softer cream sweater and a skirt that made her look like she belonged in an academy brochure. She laughed at something he said, then glanced around—casual, searching.

She found me instantly.

Her eyes widened. Her mouth parted as if surprised.

Then her expression smoothed into something sweet.

She leaned in toward Alger and whispered in his ear.

Alger’s gaze snapped to me.

The second he saw me, his body went rigid. Dominance flared from him in a hot wave—pine and smoke, that Alpha pressure that used to feel like warmth when it belonged to me.

Now it felt like a hand around my throat.

I didn’t stop. I didn’t hesitate. I walked through the bar as if the crowd were furniture and Alger Reynolds were nobody.

My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. A live notification. Someone had already spotted me.

Good.

Ralap’s message had been a single line: Left side, by the mirrored wall.

I turned my head.

Ralap Callahan stood exactly where he said he would, back to the mirror, posture loose as if he’d been waiting five minutes instead of five years. He wore black—black coat, black shirt, no tie—and looked like he’d stepped out of a boardroom where the only currency was power.

His eyes met mine. Dark. Calm.

No surprise.

As if he’d known I would come.

My wolf stirred. Not in submission. In recognition of danger that didn’t pretend to be safe.

I stopped in front of him.

Up close, he smelled like winter—cold air and something sharp beneath it, like steel freshly honed.

“You’re punctual,” he said quietly.

“I’m desperate,” I replied, voice flat.

Ralap’s mouth curved. “Honesty is a rare vice.”

I didn’t let myself smile. Not yet.

Behind me, I felt Alger’s gaze like heat on my back. I heard the scrape of his chair, the shift in the room as people sensed a collision.

Ralap’s eyes flicked past me, just once, toward Alger. He didn’t change posture, didn’t tense, but something in the air tightened.

Predators recognizing predators.

“You want them to see,” Ralap murmured.

“Yes.”

“Then do it,” he said.

So I did.

I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.

It wasn’t a delicate embrace. It wasn’t polite. I pressed close enough that the cameras could not pretend it was accidental. I let my cheek touch his shoulder. I let the crowd see the Fontaine girl choosing the Callahan heir.

Ralap’s hand settled at my waist, steady and unmistakable.

His voice was low, meant for my ear alone. “Breathe.”

I realized I’d been holding my breath.

I forced air into my lungs.

The bar erupted in murmurs. Phone screens lifted. Someone whispered my name like it was a curse and a prayer.

I pulled back just enough to look at Ralap.

“I missed you,” I said, soft and practiced.

Ralap’s eyes held mine. He didn’t blink.

He understood the performance. But he didn’t mock it.

“You look like you fought the sea and won,” he replied.

I swallowed the sudden sting behind my eyes. “Barely.”

A chair slammed behind me.

“Priscilla.”

Alger’s voice cut through the bar. The prince had stepped out of his booth, and the crowd parted instinctively, like wolves making space for an Alpha’s rage.

I turned slowly.

Alger stood ten feet away, shoulders tight, eyes burning red at the edges—the wolf inside him pushing toward the surface. He didn’t fully shift, not in public, but his control was fraying.

Poppy clung to his arm, eyes wide, playing frightened. “Alger, don’t—”

He shook her off without looking.

His gaze was locked on me.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

I let my expression stay blank. Cold. “Having a drink.”

“Don’t lie,” he snapped. “You—”

Ralap’s voice slid in, calm as ice. “Reynolds.”

Alger’s attention flicked to him like a blade.

“You stay out of this,” Alger snarled. “She’s mine.”

The word hit the room like a slap.

My wolf snarled silently under my skin.

Ralap’s hand tightened slightly at my waist. Not possessive. Anchoring.

Ralap’s tone didn’t change. “No one is ‘yours’ anymore.”

Alger stepped forward. “You think you can steal her? You’ve always wanted what I have.”

Ralap’s mouth curved faintly. “If I wanted it, I’d already have it.”

The crowd sucked in a collective breath.

Alger’s fists clenched. His scent spiked with rage, dominance pouring out to crush the room. Humans near the entrance shifted uneasily, pale under the pressure.

And then Alger took another step—toward me.

My body reacted before my mind could. The memory of the shove flashed white. The ocean. The water filling my lungs.

I flinched.

Not big. Not dramatic.

Just enough.

Alger saw it.

Something twisted in his face—surprise, then anger, then something darker.

“Stop acting scared,” he hissed. “You’re not—”

“Touch her,” Ralap said quietly, “and you’ll regret it.”

Alger laughed, harsh. “Threatening me in public? Bold.”

Ralap didn’t move. “It’s not a threat. It’s a warning.”

Poppy’s voice trembled from Alger’s booth. “Priscilla… why are you doing this? I never wanted to take him from you.”

The lie was so clean it almost impressed me.

I looked at her. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Poppy’s eyes glistened. “You’ve hated me since the first day. You made everyone hate me.”

My jaw tightened.

Three days of rumors. Three days of my name dragged through Crestfall’s corridors.

And now she wanted the story to be simple: the rich Omega persecuted the poor human.

Alger’s gaze flicked between us. His expression sharpened into certainty.

“See?” he said, voice low. “This is jealousy. This is you punishing me.”

I smiled, very slightly.

“Whatever helps you sleep,” I said.

Alger’s face flushed with rage.

Then he moved—fast, like an Alpha deciding rules didn’t apply.

Ralap’s hand released my waist, and in a blur, he stepped forward, placing himself between Alger and me.

The first punch didn’t land.

Ralap caught Alger’s wrist and twisted just enough to stop him, not enough to escalate—yet.

“Not here,” Ralap said, still calm.

Alger yanked free, eyes red now. “You don’t get to tell me where—”

“Alger.” Rex’s voice came from the side, sharp with warning. “Walk away.”

Alger didn’t even hear him.

His gaze snapped back to me over Ralap’s shoulder. “Come here,” he ordered.

I didn’t move.

Ralap glanced at me, just once. A silent question: do you want me to end this?

I lifted my chin.

“No,” I said softly, to Alger. “I’m staying.”

The bar went quiet—so quiet I could hear ice clink in glasses.

Alger’s breath shuddered. “You’re doing this to hurt me.”

I stepped closer to Ralap, letting my shoulder brush his arm, letting the cameras frame it perfectly.

“I’m doing this,” I said, “to live.”

Alger’s stare shattered into something wild.

And in the corner of my eye, I saw Poppy smile—tiny, triumphant—because she had finally gotten what she wanted.

A war.

Alger took one more step, eyes blazing—then a security guard raised a phone and whispered, “They’re streaming this, sir.”