After My Mate Stole My Rogue Kill, I Defied Him

The ballroom was a sea of silk and diamonds.

I stepped through the archway, and the noise hit me first—laughter, clinking glasses, the rustle of expensive fabric. Chandeliers dripped crystal light across polished marble floors. The air smelled like champagne and wolf musk, that particular blend of dominance and territory that made my skin crawl.

Colin stood on the raised platform at the far end, surrounded by admirers. His Beta sash caught the light every time he moved, and he moved a lot, gesturing broadly as he told some story that had the crowd hanging on his words. Probably about the rogue territory he'd "cleared" last month.

The one I'd actually cleared while he slept.

I kept to the wall, heading toward the refreshment tables where I could blend into the background. Just a few more hours. Just until he made his move.

"Freya!"

Mrs. Phillips' voice cut through the music like a blade.

I turned. She was gliding toward me, a crystal wine glass in each hand, her emerald dress shimmering with every step. Behind her, a cluster of high-ranking she-wolves watched with predatory interest—Luna Harrison, Gamma Chen's mate, and two others I didn't recognize.

"There you are," Mrs. Phillips said, her smile sharp enough to draw blood. "We were just talking about you."

Valkyrie stirred. *Careful.*

I kept my expression neutral. "Mrs. Phillips."

"I was telling the ladies about your... condition." She gestured vaguely at me with one of the wine glasses. "How brave you are, attending despite being wolfless. It must be so difficult, being surrounded by all this power you'll never have."

The she-wolves tittered.

Luna Harrison leaned in, her voice dripping false sympathy. "It's admirable, really. Most wolves in your position would have left the pack by now. Found somewhere more... suitable."

"Colin is my mate," I said quietly. "I belong here."

"For now," one of the others murmured.

Mrs. Phillips stepped closer, and I saw it coming a split second before it happened. The slight shift in her weight. The angle of her foot. The way her hand tilted the wine glass just so.

She stumbled forward, her heel catching on absolutely nothing, and I moved on instinct—reaching out to steady her.

Big mistake.

The wine glass tipped, and suddenly I was drowning in red. Cold liquid splashed across my chest, soaking through the grey fabric, dripping down my arms. The smell of expensive Merlot filled my nose.

The she-wolves gasped in perfect, rehearsed unison.

"Oh no!" Mrs. Phillips pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with fake horror. "I'm so sorry, Freya! How clumsy of me!"

Laughter rippled through the nearby crowd. Heads turned. Conversations stopped.

I stood there, wine dripping from my chin, staining my dress a deep crimson that looked almost like blood. The fabric clung to my skin, cold and wet and humiliating.

Mrs. Phillips dabbed at my shoulder with a cocktail napkin, her touch deliberately rough. "You poor thing. That dress was already so worn, and now it's completely ruined. What a shame."

More laughter.

Valkyrie roared. *Kill her. Kill her now.*

I wiped a drop of wine from my cheek. Slowly. Deliberately.

Then I looked at Mrs. Phillips.

I didn't say anything. Didn't need to. I just looked at her, my expression completely blank, and watched the color drain from her face.

Something in my eyes must have shown through. Something that made her take an involuntary step back, her smile faltering.

The laughter died.

"Excuse me," I said softly.

I turned and walked away, leaving a trail of red droplets on the white marble.

The crowd parted. No one spoke. I could feel their eyes on my back, confused by whatever they'd just witnessed.

I found a shadowed alcove near the balcony doors, partially hidden by a marble column. My hands were steady as I pulled a handkerchief from my small purse and dabbed at the worst of the stains. The dress was ruined, but that didn't matter. Nothing about this dress mattered.

The necklace burned against my throat, working overtime to suppress the rage flooding through my system.

"Interesting."

The voice came from above.

I looked up. The balcony overlooked the ballroom, and standing at the railing was a man I'd only seen in photographs. Tall. Dark hair. Eyes like molten gold. The Lycan Prince wore a perfectly tailored black suit, and even from this distance, his aura pressed down on the room like a physical weight.

He was looking directly at me.

Not at the wine-stained dress. Not at my bowed head or submissive posture.

At my stance.

I realized with a jolt that I'd positioned myself wrong. My feet were shoulder-width apart, weight balanced, hands loose at my sides. Ready to move. Ready to fight.

A warrior's stance.

The Prince tilted his head slightly, and a small smile played at the corner of his mouth. He raised one hand, and a massive wolf in a dark suit materialized beside him—his Gamma, probably.

The Prince leaned in, whispered something, and the Gamma's eyes locked onto me.

Valkyrie laughed, wild and reckless. *They see you.*

I forced myself to slouch, to round my shoulders, to look small and defeated. But it was too late.

The Prince knew.

And across the ballroom, Colin stepped up to the microphone, his voice booming through the speakers.

"Thank you all for coming tonight. I have an important announcement to make."

My heart didn't race. It went cold and steady, like ice forming over still water.

Showtime.