Fated to the Alpha Who Killed Me (by Sherry) novel Chapter 98

Chapter 98

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‘I- My voice came out rough. Through the bond I felt Onyx rising, furious and territorial. “I’d like to switch

to Dare instead.”

My refusal was an answer. Daemon’s face went dark with fury and betrayal. Beside him, Celeste’s lips curved

in a brief, smug smile.

“Alright,” Evan said slowly. “Your dare is to kiss any man in this room–except Alpha Daemon.”

The booth erupted in chaos, but all I could focus on was the sudden understanding that this was Evan

testing something, and I was caught in whatever power play existed between him and Daemon. Had they

already started fracturing over her?

Daemon still hadn’t spoken. His silence felt dangerous, and when I looked at him, he was staring at Evan

with an intensity that promised violence.

“No,” I said clearly, reaching for the whiskey. “I choose to drink. And I’m done with this game.”

The whiskey burned going down. I finished every drop, grabbed my bag, and stood. “Thank you for the

invitation, Giselle, but I have an early morning.”

I walked out with my head high. Behind me I heard chairs scraping as Sienna, Jade, and Lily followed.

“That was insane,” Lily breathed once we’d claimed a booth near the stage. “What the hell was Evan

thinking?”

“That was a targeted strike,” Sienna snarled, signaling for drinks. “Vi was the collateral damage.”

The waitress arrived with shots. “To terrible men,” Sienna declared. “And to Vi, who’s done playing their

games.”

We drank. Then we drank more. The warmth spread through my limbs, and soon I was laughing at Jade’s

impression of Lucian. The stage rotated performers, and the whole bar pulsed with energy.

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Chapter 98

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I lost track of how many drinks I’d had. Everything took on a pleasant fuzziness. When Sienna started

cheering for a muscular dancer with silver hair, I joined in.

“Vi!” Sienna’s hand landed on my shoulder. “You should give him your gift!”

Before I could protest, she’d pressed the black box into my hands and was pushing me toward the stage.

The room tilted as I stood. “This is a terrible idea.”

“It’s a Christmas miracle! Go!”

I found myself at the stage edge. The dancer looked down at me with mercury–colored eyes and a wolfish

grin.

I opened the box. The leather harness lay coiled inside. The dancer’s grin widened.

“Merry Christmas?” I offered weakly.

He reached down, accepting the box. “Want to help me model it?”

The crowd roared. I was drunk enough, angry enough to think: why not?

I let him pull me onto the stage. Through the haze I thought I saw a familiar figure in black at the VIP

railing, blood–red eyes burning with fury.

Then the music swelled, and the dancer was putting the harness on, and I was laughing because it was

ridiculous. I helped buckle one strap, and the crowd went wild.

Sienna’s arm came around my waist, guiding me through the crowd. “Bathroom,” I mumbled.

The ladies‘ room materialized ahead. I splashed cold water on my face.

When we emerged, I was still unsteady on my feet, trying to locate Sienna in the crowd. Then I felt it–a

hand slapping my ass, the contact deliberate and violating.

I whirled around. A man stood there grinning at me, his expression leering and self–satisfied. “Merry

Christmas, sweetheart.”

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Rage flooded through me. My hand was already rising when suddenly the man was gone.

He’d been literally ripped away from me and slammed against the nearest wall with brutal force. I blinked, trying to process what I was seeing, and my brain finally registered the familiar black shirt and broad

shoulders.

Daemon.

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His hand was around the man’s throat, lifting him off the ground. His eyes had gone completely red–Onyx

had taken full control.

“She’s MINE,” Daemon snarled, his voice inhuman.

People backed away. Someone screamed. The bartender shouted something about security, but nobody

intervened.

“Daemon,” I tried, but my voice came out slurred. “Stop.”

He didn’t hear. His fist slammed into the man’s face. Blood sprayed. Another punch. Another. The sound of

breaking bone.

I stumbled forward, but the movement made my stomach lurch. The room tilted.

I vomited.

The sound broke through Daemon’s rage. He dropped the man and whirled toward me. His eyes were still

red, his hands covered in blood.

“Violet,” he said, voice almost normal.

Someone called for an ambulance. Sienna shouted my name from across the bar.

Daemon moved toward me, and I flinched. He froze, pain flickering across his face. Then he bent and lifted

me over his shoulder.

The world inverted. I dangled upside–down as Daemon strode toward the exit. Through my sideways vision,

I glimpsed Evan standing in the VIP corridor, watching us with an unreadable expression.

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The cold night air hit when we emerged. Daemon deposited me in the passenger seat and buckled my

seatbelt, his blood–stained hands surprisingly gentle. “Stay,” he ordered.

I leaned my head against the window, feeling the cool glass against my flushed skin. The world tilted and

swayed, streetlights blurring into golden streaks as we drove. I closed my eyes, and darkness pulled me

under.

I woke to pale winter sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows.

My head throbbed viciously. I forced my eyes open, squinting against the light, and pushed myself up

slowly. Modern minimalist design, nothing like the Manor’s classical opulence.

Where the hell was I?

I stumbled to the window. Outside, a wide river stretched into the distance, the opposite shore lined with

snow–covered bamboo forest.

Riverside Pines.

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Ice flooded my veins. This was Frost Pack’s most exclusive waterfront apartment, where units cost hundreds

of millions. In my previous life, Daemon had installed Celeste here after claiming her while I remained at

the Manor. I’d tried to come here once, desperate and humiliated, only to be stopped by security in the

lobby.

Why had he brought me here now?

I turned from the window. The bedroom door stood open to a living area beyond. I walked out barefoot.

On the coffee table sat a brown paper bag, partially open. Several photographs had spilled out.

I moved closer, my headache forgotten. Then I saw what they showed, and my blood turned to ice.

My father. Marcus. Naked and unconscious on a hotel bed. Kayla in a bathrobe, positioned over him with a

triumphant smile.

I sank onto the couch, photographs trembling in my hands.

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