Dominic didn’t answer.
Theodore shoved a fresh drink into his hand anyway. “You should come down. The pack’s dying to toast their fearless Alpha. Or at least dance with one of the dozen girls waiting to be noticed.”
“I’ve danced enough,” Dominic said flatly.
“You haven’t danced once.”
“Exactly.”
Theodore laughed, tilting his head back. He was everything Dominic wasn’t tonight. Bright, careless, charming in a way that effortlessly caught attention. It was part of why Dominic kept him close. People liked Theodore; he could smooth edges. Soothe insults. Inspire loyalty.
But right now, that same lightness irritated him beyond belief.
“You should enjoy yourself for once,” Theodore said, “you won. You built all this. Doesn’t that count for something?”
Dominic’s gaze swept the garden. The laughter. The banners. The strength of his pack on full display.
“Yes,” he said, “of course it counts.”
He didn’t sound convinced.
Theodore’s smile dimmed slightly, then recovered. “You’re still thinking about the reports, aren’t you? Leonid?”
Dominic’s jaw tightened, “There’s nothing to think about. Leonid has his pack. Traitors, the whole lot of them. There’s a mountain range between us. They pose no threat.”
“That’s not what the others are saying.”
“The others,” Dominic said evenly, “like to imagine Leonid is planning something. They believe his little rebellion must have had a reason. The politics keep them entertained, but it’s a fantasy. Leonid just wants to be king of his own little kingdom.”
Theodore studied him for a moment. “You don’t believe that.”
Dominic turned his head, his expression unreadable. “What I believe doesn’t matter. What matters is that the pack feels safe.”
Theodore hesitated, but wisely decided against talking back. Instead, he made a big show of spreading his arms out and stumbling back into the crowd. “Well, if you’re not gonna take advantage of all these lovely ladies, then somebody’s gonna have to do it for you!”
Dominic’s jaw tightened, and he shook his head. Theodore was one of his closest friends, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t sometimes a complete ass.
He was nothing like his sister.
His hand tightened around the glass.
Layla Hawthorne.
He shouldn’t think about her. Shouldn’t dwell on the memories. How defiant she was for someone so small. She’d looked at him differently than anyone else ever had. Not with fear, not with awe. With something like loathing. It had fascinated him.
He’d told himself that fascination was disgust. That what she stirred in him was contempt. It was easier that way.
He exhaled slowly, setting the glass down on the railing.
The crowd roared as someone started a song. He could see the younger wolves circling the center floor, bodies loose and fluid with joy. It was the kind of noise he used to love. The unity of it, the raw pulse of belonging. Now it sounded distant, hollow.
He didn’t care that she wasn’t here.
He couldn’t afford to.
He’d built this pack into something his father never could. A united force, disciplined, thriving. Protectors of the weak, no longer persecutors. And yet, as the celebration carried on below, Dominic couldn’t shake the sense that everything around him was made of glass. One wrong move, one crack in the façade, and it would all shatter.
He turned from the garden, slipping into the warm light of The Anchor.
