uncers 181

hapter 181 

Patrick could barely breathe. The air inside the hall felt too thick, too heavy for his lungs. The sound of conversation–the polite laughter of businessmen clinking glasses–all sounded distant… like he was underwater, struggling to surface. 

He needed air. 

He excused himself from the circle of men he’d been standing with, ignoring whatever response they gave, and headed straight for the nearest exit. His palms were clammy, his heartbeat a loud, relentless drum against his ribs. 

He’s alive… Alexander is alive. 

The thought wouldn’t stop echoing. 

It was impossible. He knew it was impossible. No wolf–no one–could survive a direct stab from a poisoned silver dagger. He had driven that blade himself, felt it sink through muscle and bone. He’d watched Alexander lash out from the effect, watched him bleed out on the cold ground. There had been no mistake. 

And yet, tonight… here he was. 

Alexander Blackwell. Standing tall, breathing, laughing. 

Patrick reached the corridor and braced one hand against the wall, sucking in slow, uneven breaths. His shirt collar suddenly felt too tight. He tugged at it, trying to shake off the heat crawling up his neck. 

That was when he felt someone bump into him. 

“Alpha Patrick-” 

He turned sharply, instinct kicking in, only to see Conrad–his beta–standing there, slightly breathless. 

“Conrad,” he snapped, trying to compose himself. “Watch where you’re-” 

“I was just coming to find you,” Conrad cut in, lowering his voice. He looked over his shoulder, making sure no one else was near. “You won’t believe this, but I swear I just saw Alexander Blackwell in there.” 

Patrick froze. His eyes met Conrad’s. The man looked dead serious. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Conrad went on, “but it wasn’t a ghost, Alpha. He’s here… in the 

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flesh.” 

+25 Points 

Patrick’s lips parted slightly, but no words came. He gave a small, dry laugh–more out of disbelief than amusement. 

“I saw him too,” he said quietly. 

Conrad blinked. “You… you did?” 

Patrick nodded, running a trembling hand through his hair. “He was standing by the west table, talking to some people. Looked… perfectly fine.” His voice dropped lower. “He’s alive.” 

Conrad let out a slow exhale, shaking his head. “Then it’s true. I knew it. I told you, Alpha–if he were dead, it would’ve been everywhere by now. Blood Crescent would have buried him with full honors. There’d have been a ceremony, a statement, something. But there was nothing.” 

Patrick shot him a hard look. “Don’t start, Conrad.” 

The beta raised his hands in mock surrender but couldn’t help the faint smirk that tugged at 

his mouth. “I’m just saying… it looks like I was right.” 

Patrick sighed and leaned back against the wall, pressing his thumb and forefinger to his temples. “You were right,” he muttered under his breath, frustrated. “I was wrong.” 

“His eyes,” his voice caught slightly. “The way he looked at me.” 

Conrad frowned. “What do you mean?” 

Patrick’s gaze drifted past him, distant and unfocused. His mind replayed that moment in the hall–the exact instant Alexander’s eyes met his. There had been no surprise on Alexander’s face… no confusion… just calm recognition, like something clicked the moment they locked eyes. And beneath that calm, something else could be seen. 

That look… it was the same expression a predator gave its prey before the first strike- controlled, patient, and almost amused. 

Patrick swallowed hard. “His eyes,” he whispered, almost to himself. “He looked at me like… I 

don’t know.” 

Conrad’s brows furrowed. “Well, what did you expect?” 

The words hung between them, sharp and heavy. 

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. 

Conrad blinked slowly. “Alpha…” 

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Patrick didn’t look at him. He was staring at nothing, lost in a storm of his own thoughts. “It doesn’t make sense,” he murmured. “He shouldn’t be alive. He can’t be alive. Not after what I –“He stopped himself. 

Conrad shifted uneasily. “But… if he really knows, then why hasn’t he done anything? Why didn’t he confront you right there? Something’s not right.” 

Patrick shook his head. “That’s what scares me.” 

He could still see Alexander’s faint smirk–just the ghost of it, curling at the corner of his lips as he turned back to his conversation, leaving Patrick standing frozen like a fool. 

That wasn’t the expression of a man confused or forgiving. That was someone waiting. 

“Maybe,” Patrick whispered, “he’s just biding his time.” 

Conrad’s shoulders tensed. “You think he’s planning something?” 

Patrick laughed dryly. “If he’s anything like I know he is… then yes. And whatever it is, it won’t 

be small.” 

He pushed off the wall and straightened his jacket, forcing his composure back into place.” We need to leave. Now.” 

Conrad blinked. “Leave? But the event-” 

“I don’t care about the event,” Patrick snapped. “We’re done here.” 

Conrad hesitated, then nodded and fell into step beside him as they started toward the exit. 

Patrick didn’t look back. He didn’t have to. He could feel Alexander’s presence still lingering in 

that hall. 

Inside the hall, more people drifted toward Alexander, probably to initiate some kind of business partnership. Hands reached out to shake his, smiles spread wide, introductions 

overlapped. 

Alphas from neighboring territories, human magnates, councilmen with carefully schooled expressions–all of them seemed eager to exchange a few words with him. 

Cole lingered close, offering polite nods and brief responses when someone addressed him, but his attention wasn’t really on the conversations. His gaze kept flicking toward Alexander, studying him in silence. 

Something wasn’t sitting right. Cole had asked him earlier about Patrick–about the way 

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Patrick had been staring at him like he’d seen a ghost–and Alexander’s response had been… strange. 

It wasn’t that Alexander had lied–Cole would’ve known if he had. It was that his explanation felt hollow. Alexander might have satisfied everyone else with that smooth, deliberate calm of his, but Cole wasn’t everyone else. He’d known him long enough to recognize when something was being buried. 

The night wore on, the murmur of conversation rising and falling like a tide. Cole could feel his patience thinning with each passing minute. Finally, when another round of men approached them, exchanging cheerful greetings and laughter, Cole forced a polite smile, then leaned forward slightly. 

“Gentlemen,” he said smoothly, “if you’ll excuse us, I need to borrow my Alpha for a moment.” 

The men stepped back with courteous nods, and Alexander turned to look at him–one brow raised, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. Still, he didn’t protest. He simply straightened his suit jacket and followed Cole toward the edge of the hall. 

They stopped near a quieter corner, away from the conversation, just far enough for privacy. Cole turned to face him fully, his formal tone dropping as quickly as the practiced smile he’d 

worn. 

“Alright,” he said, his voice low but edged with frustration. “Drop the Alpha act for a second. You’re going to have to do better than that half–answer you gave me earlier.” 

Alexander’s expression remained calm. He didn’t interrupt. 

Cole pressed on. “What exactly happened between you and Patrick? Because my gut’s telling me there’s more to this than you’re saying.” 

For a long, tense moment, Alexander didn’t speak. He just looked at Cole, as though he were weighing what could and couldn’t be said. Then, quietly, he said, “Patrick stabbed me.” 

Cole blinked, then scoffed. “Yeah, I get it–he stabbed you in the back. Typical Patrick move… I never really trusted the man. But what did he actually do, Alex?” 

“He stabbed me,” he repeated, calm as ever, “literally… with a silver dagger coated with wolfsbane.” 

The silence that followed was heavy enough to be felt. Cole stared at him, his brow furrowing. It took him a second to realize Alexander wasn’t joking. 

Then Alexander’s hand moved–unhurried, deliberate–as he pulled at the edge of his shirt, loosening it just enough for the light to catch the faint, uneven discoloration along his side. 

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For a moment, Cole just stared. His mind couldn’t reconcile what his eyes were seeing. 

The sound of laughter from across the hall faded, replaced by the dull roar of disbelief in his head. He blinked once, twice, and then frowned. 

“Wait… what?” His voice cracked slightly. He took an involuntary step back, confusion flickering across his face. “Are you saying-” He stopped mid–sentence, searching Alexander’s face for some sign of a joke, anything. But there was none. 

The weight of what Alexander was implying started to sink in, slow and cold. Cole’s chest tightened. “That’s not possible,” he whispered. “If he actually stabbed you with silver and wolfsbane, there’s no way you’d be standing here right now. No way you came back from 

that.” 

His disbelief turned quiet… almost afraid. His next word came out low, heavy, trembling with both awe and confusion. 

“How?” 

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