Chapter 193
193
Third Person’s POV
Stormridge Pack – Duskgrave Estate.
Finished
Soft amber light spilled through the arched windows of the Duskgrave manor, casting warm glows across the garden path and bathing the stone courtyard in a peaceful glow. Inside the grand estate, Matriarch Duskgrave sat in her high–backed armchair, her expression tender as she looked at the young woman beside her.
“Riley, dear, your health is fragile. Go on up and get some rest,” she said kindly, voice gentle like falling snow.
Riley shook her head slowly, her fingers tightening slightly around the velvet of the armrest. “I’ll wait a little longer for Prince
armrest. “I’ll wait
Lucien.”
The old Luna’s heart softened. She had long grown fond of Riley–kind, quiet, strong despite all she had endured. Her eyes inadvertently dropped to the ring on Riley’s finger, and her smile brightened, deepening the wrinkles etched into her face.
That ring. It had once belonged to Lucien’s biological mother. For years, Lucien had guarded it as if it were a sacred relic. When he was a pup, he wore it around his neck with red thread. As he grew, he began wearing it on his little finger, never once parting with it.
Now, it was on Riley’s finger. That alone was proof–Lucien had made his choice. He’d chosen his mate, not out of duty, but with his whole heart.
“Well then, I’ll go up,” Matriarch Duskgrave said, rising with some effort and offering Riley a warm nod. “But don’t wait too long, child.”
“I won’t, Matriarch Duskgrave,” Riley replied softly, watching the elder disappear slowly up the stairs with the help of Mrs. Beck.
The living room fell quiet.
Riley curled up slightly on the plush couch, staring out into the night. Her thoughts wandered, far from the glowing hearth and the comfort of this new home.
Back at the Ebonclaw Pack manor–her childhood house–there had been no warmth. After school, she had returned to darkness. Not the kind that came from the absence of light, but the kind that came from being unwanted.
She would stand silently in the cold entry hall, too afraid to turn on the lights. No one greeted her. No one asked if she’d caten. She’d listen to the ticking of the clock and the silence between its beats, aching for someone to care.
It had been Mia, the elderly housemaid, who once left the kitchen light on for her. Just that small, quiet act had warmed Riley’s frozen heart. It was one of her few memories of tenderness in the Ebonclaw home.
Because she had once known what it meant to be forgotten, Riley now cherished every glimmer of care from the Duskgraves.
She wanted to wait for Lucien, like the fifteen–year–old girl who once waited by the door in winter, hoping someone–anyone -would remember she was there
Time passed slowly. The estate was hushed, peaceful. Only the grandfather clock’s ticking broke the silence, marking each minute’s passing with patient resolve.
When fatigue finally overcame her, Riley lay down gently on the couch, her delicate body curling into itself like a pup secking comfurt She closed her eyes, letting sleep pull be under
That was the sight Lucien Duskgrave turned heine to
The Alphia prices of sormridge stood quietly in the doorway, his keen eyes sweeping the rosa His grandmother and Mrs. Beck had clearly retired for the nigh
Only Kiley restated–aming like a flame kept turning past for hun
bomething in has normally cold rapryssion saturd
3.54 PM P P •
193
His footsteps lightened as he approached her.
Finished
Carefully, he leaned down, strong arms slipping under her shoulders and knees. She was so light, so breakable, as he lifted her against his chest.
Lucien carried her up the staircase with slow, sure steps. At the bedroom door, he paused, then gently laid her on the bed. His hands drew the covers over her like handling fine silk, each movement measured and quiet.
“Miss Riley,” he murmured lowly, a ghost of warmth in his voice, “may you have a good dream tonight.”
Then he turned, tall and silent as a shadow, and left the room–closing the door with barely a click.
But Lucien didn’t return to his own quarters.
Instead, he walked down the hall to the study, his long legs swift, his posture sharp with purpose. He sat at his heavy desk, flicked on the lamp, and the glow lit up the cold planes of his face.
He began reviewing the documents waiting for him–pack affairs, trade routes, court reports. The only sound in the room was the faint scrape of pen on parchment.
Fifteen minutes later, the silence shattered with a sharp ring.
He answered at once. “Speak.”
“Alpha Prince,” came Duke’s voice from the other end, tight with urgency. “I spotted Maddox.”
Lucien’s eyes narrowed.
After dropping Lucien off, Duke had driven toward his own den. On the way, he remembered he’d run out of cigars. He pulled over to a corner shop–and there, in a shadowy alley, he heard a soft, broken groan.
Drawn by the sound, he followed it, turning into the alleyway. Under the dim pack lights, he found Maddox collapsed in a pool of blood, face swollen, ribs jutting out, a picture of misery.
Earlier that day, Caelum Knox had already relayed Maddox’s vile threats and taunts to Lucien. Duke had been there. They had both heard what Maddox dared say to Riley.
Now, seeing him half–dead and discarded like trash, Duke hesitated only for a second before calling Lucien.
Lucien’s voice dropped in temperature, like frost layering a blade. “Take him to the pack hospital. Don’t let him die.”
Duke paused. “You want him… alive?”
“Alive,” Lucien repeated. “But don’t let him live well.”
A chill crawled down Duke’s spine.
Then Lucien added lips curving into something cold and inhuman. “His legs are gone anyway. No point keeping them. Have the medics amputate.
Duke froze
Even over the call the silence rang louder than thunder. The very suggestion made his stomach twist
Still, far lowed his head instinctively “Understood. Alpha
He hung up
In the study. Lucien remained motioniras staring into the shadows beyond the Lamps glow His expression was unreadable- but share us these storn colored eyes fury sunnered Fury as puse for what had been dose to Baley but for what Maddas repreared
A man tür Maddox didn‘) deserve the cry of a clean dril
He would suffer