Fated to the Alpha Who Killed Me (by Sherry) novel Chapter 34

Fated to the Alpha Who Killed Me

Chapter 34

Violet’s POV:

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“Daemon.” My father’s booming voice dropped an octave, the hostility evaporating so quickly it was almost

comical. He stepped forward, the hand that had been clenched in a fist only seconds ago now extended in a

welcoming grip. “We were just… concerned.”

Daemon took the hand, his shake firm, his other hand presenting the vintage wine case with practiced

reverence. “My apologies, Marcus. A security breach at the northern supply lines required my personal

oversight.”

He turned his gaze to my mother and offered a slight, charming bow. “Eleanor. You look radiant as always.

Forgive my lateness.”

My mother’s scowl dissolved instantly into a flushed, flustered smile. She smoothed her skirt, the protective mother wolf replaced by the gracious hostess in a heartbeat. “Oh, stop it. You work too hard, Daemon. We were just saying how much pressure you must be under. Come, sit. The roast is still warm.”

Just like that, the accusation of disrespect was buried under the rug of decorum. I stood by the mantle, sipping my drink, marveling at the absurdity.

The lunch passed in a blur of political posturing. They spoke of tariffs and territory lines, of alliances and power. Daemon played his part perfectly–the attentive son–in–law, the formidable Alpha.

By the time coffee was served, Daemon was already checking his watch–the performance was over. He rose smoothly, the charm receding to reveal the impatient Alpha beneath.

“I need to get back,” he announced, offering a final nod to my father. Then he turned his cold gaze to me. “I’ll have the driver bring the car around. You can follow behind.”

“No need for a convoy,” I cut in, my voice breezy but sharp enough to slice through the warm haze of the room. I stood up, meeting his gaze with a challenge. “We can load my bike onto your Beast.”

The nickname for his custom armored SUV–a behemoth of black steel.

“The rack isn’t set up,” Daemon said, his tone low, a warning woven into the words.

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Chapter 34

“The Delta guards are outside. I’m sure they can figure it out,” I replied, flashing a sweet, hollow smile at my mother. “Right, Mom? It’s safer if we ride together. Less carbon footprint.”

“Of course!” My mother beamed at us. “It’s lovely to see you two so… united. Go on, Daemon, take your

mate home.”

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Daemon stared at me for a beat too long, his silver eyes narrowing. He knew I was cornering him, trapping him in the role of the devoted husband he was pretending to be in front of the gallery.

Finally, he let out a short, controlled breath and gave a stiff nod.

Outside, the air was crisp, cleansing the scent of cigar smoke from my lungs. Daemon stood by the driver’s

side, his hand already on the door handle.

“Get in,” he commanded, dropping the charming facade the moment the front door clicked shut.

I didn’t move toward the passenger side. Instead, I stepped directly into his personal space, my hand

covering his on the handle.

“You drank half a bottle of whiskey, Daemon,” I said, my tone clipped. “I’m driving.”

I didn’t wait for his rebuttal. I yanked the door open, forcing him to step back.

He glared at me, his silver–flecked eyes narrowing, but he relented with a scoff of disgust, stalking around to the passenger side. I climbed into the driver’s seat, the leather molding to my back. But as soon as I shut

the door, the air inside the cabin assaulted me.

Sea breeze and white jasmine.

Celeste had been in this car this morning. Didn’t she reconcile with Zane?

I started the engine, the roar of the V8 drowning out the ringing in my ears. I pulled out of the driveway with aggressive speed, the tires biting into the gravel. Daemon leaned his head back against the headrest,

closing his eyes.

Then, the silence shattered.

Daemon’s phone buzzed against the center console. He cracked one eye open, saw the screen, and sat up

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instantly. He didn’t even glance at me before stabbing the answer button, routing the call through the car’s

Bluetooth system.

“Daemon?”

It was Celeste. She sounded small, terrified, and broken.

“I’m here,” Daemon said. The transformation in his voice was immediate and visceral. Gone was the cold, dismissive husband; in his place was a man whose voice dripped with low, protective honey. “What’s wrong?

Are you hurt?”

“I… I don’t know what to do,” she sobbed, the sound wet and jagged. “They were so aggressive… I was just

walking by the training grounds and… please, I’m scared.”

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