Chapter 204: Purple eyed alpha
Jason Luna stood among the outer ring of security stationed near the shadowed edge of the grand hall, a position that offered him a perfect vantage without drawing so much as a glance. His uniform, dark jacket, polished boots, and the discreet insignia of a minor provincial house, fit him as easily as the practiced stillness he wore. He held his stance with the kind of composure that made him invisible, eyes scanning, ears catching threads of laughter, the rustle of gowns, and the distant cadence of formal greetings still echoing from the terrace.
His gaze slid, not hurried, toward the movement in the crowd. There, close to the columned alcove, stood the minor noblewoman he’d shadowed for weeks. She was dressed in soft blush silk, with straight platinum blonde hair, and her expression was fixed in that cultivated pleasantness that cloaked far sharper intentions.
Jason moved with the fluid efficiency of someone who belonged everywhere and nowhere. He stepped from his post as if merely circling the perimeter, weaving through a knot of lesser guards without pause. His hand dipped into his pocket, fingers closing around cool glass.
When he reached her, he didn’t bow, didn’t speak. He simply extended his gloved hand, palm up, the small vial resting like a drop of shadow against his skin.
The noblewoman didn’t look at him. Her gaze stayed fixed ahead, a faint smile curving her lips as she lifted her fan and flicked it idly, shielding the subtle movement of her other hand as she took the vial. Jason stepped back into the shifting crowd before anyone noticed, his face unreadable, slipping once more into the line of security with seamless ease.
The woman closed her fan with a soft snap and turned slightly, catching the eye of a waiting attendant, a young man with steady hands and no questions in his eyes. She offered him a brief nod, slipping the vial into his palm as if passing him nothing more than a note.
"Serve the special wine to the dominant alpha with the purple eyes," she said, each word laced with an almost careless grace, like giving an order about seating, not a directive meant to carry the weight of something far darker.
The attendant inclined his head once, silent and efficient, tucking the vial into his sleeve as though it had never passed between them. Without hesitation, he slipped away toward the service corridor, disappearing into the current of movement where silver trays were already being loaded and polished glasses lined up like soldiers awaiting command.
And across the room, unaware yet watched from the corner of a sharp-eyed spy, Trevor stood at the head table beside Lucas, violet glints catching in his gaze as laughter and ceremony swelled around him, completely unaware that somewhere behind the walls, a glass of wine was being chosen with his name on it.
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