Page 20 of Cursed By Fate

“Not so sure of yourselves now, are you?” I continued. “So desperate for intel you’re starting to sweat?” I set down my drink, keeping my hand steady and my eyes locked on him.

“We’re not the ones who should be sweating.” Ewan’s voice held a mean little bite, ready to sink in. “If we catch even the slightest whiff of betrayal—”

I leaned back, cutting him off again. “For the record, I have nothing to do with my father or the politics of my pack. Where did you hear that rumor, anyway? About my father?”

The rest of the pack was dead silent. I felt the eyes, the doubts, the tension crackling through the room like lightning.

Bram cleared his throat. “Whoa, hey. Is this the part where we have to pick sides? Because I was promised a nice relaxing meal.” He chuckled nervously, trying to steer us out of choppy waters.

Ewan’s gaze stayed glued to me, his smile widening with a trace of malice. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Your pack is living it up rich in the city, while we’re just trying to survive out here in the mountains and defend what’s ours. Maybe Daddy doesn’t want you back, afterall.”

My skin prickled, and I turned toward the entrance of the dining hall. I had a dozen retorts ready, but swallowed them. Let them think I was done talking. It would be more fun when they realized I wasn’t.

A tall figure walked in, a jagged scar running down one side of his face, and I was frozen in place. I knew that scar. I knew who gave it to him, and why. My heart started kicking in my chest like it had a grudge.

The room froze as he made his way to the center. “The Silver Ridge Alpha sends his regards,” he said, eyes fixed Tristan. “And a message: return what belongs to him, or prepare for war.”

I tried to read his expression, but all I could see was determination and bruises. I was surprised to see him in one piece. Alaric didn’t usually send broken soldiers to deliver threats.

No one moved as the emissary stood there, waiting. They didn’t even pretend not to be looking at me.

“An answer,” the scarred man continued, his voice gaining strength. “By morning.” The way he said it with all the weightof the threat and everything else he left unsaid, made me feel it wasn’t just me he was demanding back.

The air in the room was so heavy I could hardly breathe. The minute he turned to leave, the silence broke into chaos.

“That’s a little harsh for a dinner invitation,” Bram said, trying to bring the temperature back down to lukewarm.

Ewan ignored him. He looked at me like he’d known all along, like this was the nail in my coffin and he was happy to pound it in. “Somebody didn’t get the memo about playing nice.”

“That’s what I call a two-for-one threat,” Renna said. “Not subtle, but effective.”

Tristan was the only one not talking. The way he looked at me—serious and questioning and a thousand other things—told me more than words could have. He was trying to figure out what his answer would be. Maybe I was too.

“Does the Alpha expect the answer to come wrapped up with a bow?” Ewan said. “Or is he assuming his little package will be home in time to unwrap it herself?”

The comment got to me more than it should have. The words cut, sharper than I wanted to let on.

“We can’t trust her,” another voice piped up. It didn’t matter whose. The whole room was suddenly full of opinions and arguments, voices swirling around me in a dizzying spiral. The only ones not adding to it were Tristan and me.

It was a world away from the first, awkward pause when I’d walked in with the alpha. But the weight of all those stares on me, waiting for an answer I didn’t know if I could give, felt exactly the same.

I took a breath and said nothing, feeling everything and everyone start to close in.

Chapter six

Tristan

After the chaos at dinner, I made sure a private bedroom was set up for Serena and headed to my own chambers for some air. The scent of pine smoke greeted me as I shut the door. I paused for a moment, listening. The distant howls of my pack filtered up from the forest below as they raced restlessly into the night, but no footsteps echoed in the hall. Good. I turned the key in the lock, and the old iron groaned like it disapproved of myneed to be alone. I didn't care. Tonight, privacy mattered more than the usual display of strength. The mountain air that seeped in through the window carried a faint shimmer of something older than scent—an undercurrent of silver and stone, as if the mountain itself was breathing through the cracks. Shadows danced across the stone walls, thrown by the flickering light of a single oil lamp. The room felt different. Smaller. Like its silence was heavier than it had been before Serena and her damn birthmark. I settled into the worn leather chair near the hearth, but the tension didn’t leave my body. It clung to me as stubbornly as the memory of her startled eyes, the way her mark lit up when I touched her wrist. That moment. That fucking moment was all I could think about, even when I didn’t want to.

She was supposed to be a tool, but now the tool was making me feel like the fool. I couldn't even get the upper hand without being reminded of the iridescent glow that surged from her wrist to my shoulder. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and buried my face in my hands. This wasn’t like me. Losing control, losing focus. Letting something—or someone—interfere with what had always been the most important thing.

I ran a hand through my dark hair, feeling the weight of everything that had happened. The kidnapping had been a gamble, a way to draw the Silver Ridge pack out, to make them vulnerable. Now, with Serena in our hold, nothing was going as planned. She was supposed to be a pawn, but the second our marks connected, that went to shit. Now her father sends threats to get her back, but I know she doesn’t want to return to her own pack who treated her like a prisoner. What the hell was I going to do?

I exhaled and listened to the fire crackle. It mixed with the low sound of my pack in the distance, howls winding through the trees like a living, breathing thing. It had a pulse. The same kindI felt every time I saw Serena, the way her eyes challenged me, her fearlessness wrapped in wit.

I pulled back my shirt, fingers brushing the crescent mark. No spark, no clarity—just the echo of her face, the confusion we shared. It should’ve been nothing. It wasn’t.

I stared at the hearth, trying to force the fire to burn away the questions. Nothing I had been told or expected explained this. A birthmark was just that—nothing more. And yet... It made no sense, but neither did the feeling in my gut. This need to know more, to protect her from everything—including myself.

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