Lethal Temptation (by Michelle Ray) novel Chapter 281

281 The First Clash

Lucian

We left the hotel to the sound of cheers. People lined the sidewalks, clapping, waving, wishing us luck.

Neev was still under our rule, so the support made sense. But these were uncertain times, and I wasn’t naive enough to take those cheers at face value. Loyalty could shift with the wind.

Right now, trust was a luxury we couldn’t afford. Not now. Maybe not ever again.

Denis had arranged for a car, and he took the wheel himself. As we pulled away from the hotel, I closed my eyes briefly and whispered a prayer to the goddess. Let this end soon. Let us all come home.

-The troops are in position, Denis linked me as we drove. They’re hidden in the woods around the venue.

There’s a small crowd forming. We’ve embedded twelve unarmed soldiers among them, dressed like

civilians. The rest are scattered-no heavy weapons, so they blend in. We’re light on gear, but they know

the mission. With luck, they won’t have to engage.

-Thank you, Denis.

I turned my gaze out the window. The city passed in blurs, but my mind was elsewhere. With Mara.

She’d called this morning, her voice soft and strong. Just hearing her steadied me. I told her I was fine, even though we both knew how fragile that word could be. Still, I promised her I’d come home.

And I would.

When this was over, I’d make time for her-real time. Not the scraps left over after political fires and tactical briefings. We were still young in our marriage, still learning the rhythm of forever. We shouldn’t be strangers under the same roof. Not now. Not ever.

When this war ended, I’d find my way back to her-and stay there.

We finally arrived at the venue. Denis parked a short distance away, and we made our way toward the

open grounds.

The crowd was small-barely fifty people. Scattered. Casual. No one looked like military, which was good. Some of them were ours, hidden in plain sight. Camouflaged by simplicity.

In the center stood a man-shirtless, pale under the rising sun. From a distance, he looked like Alaric. And

as we got closer, it became clear: it was him.

I scanned him instinctively. No mark on his neck. None on his shoulder either.

He hadn’t been bound to Martha by the mating mark. He’d forced her. That union had never been mutual. Another piece of proof of his cruelty.

My father stepped forward, silent. He peeled off his shirt and walked to the center with calm authority. The

moment felt heavy. Historic. The air was still.

1.3

281 The First Clash

Clam

“Vander,” Alaric called out with mock enthusiasm. “You finally grace us with your presence. I half expected you to chicken out.”

His voice dripped with condescension. A desperate performance.

My father didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. He simply stared. That alone spoke louder than any insult Alaric could throw.

Alaric tried again.

“I’ve always wondered… what was so special about you that the women in my life chose you over me?”

That one was meant to hit a nerve. But it was also a lie. My mother had never belonged to him-not even in memory. He was just trying to provoke something. Anything.

-Don’t let him get in your head, Father, I linked him.

He glanced at me and gave a small smile.

-He’s a clown, he replied calmly. He’s just mad I got all the women he couldn’t.

I let out the barest laugh. He was going in light, not tense. Not bitter. That gave me hope.

The moderator stepped forward, voice firm and rehearsed.

“Spread wide so the champions may fight.”

The crowd opened up. A wide ring formed under the chopper’s slow hover above us. The sound of blades cutting through the air only added to the weight of the moment.

“This is a challenge,” the moderator declared. “A fight to surrender or die. Winner takes it all.”

He raised his hand and then dropped it.

The fight had begun.

Neither moved at first. They circled each other like predators testing the edge of the cage-watching,

waiting.

Alaric, true to form, ran his mouth.

My father stayed silent.

“You’ve been whoring around so long, Alaric, it’s rubbed off on you,” he finally said, voice cold and cutting.

“You talk like a bitch.”

That was all it took.

Alaric snapped, charging in with a half-shifted snarl, claws elongating, eyes wild. My father met him head-on, also half-shifted. The clash was brutal-flesh and bone straining against raw force.

They locked in a grapple, arms and legs tangled in what looked more like a bullfight than combat. Both

trying to slam the other to the ground. Power rippled through their bodies.

23

281 The Fast Clash

Cha

Then my father shifted his weight-fast, fluid-and flipped Alaric hard. The bastard hit the ground with a thud, and before he could recover, my father locked him in a hold. It looked mild, controlled… but Alaric was writhing in pain. It was working.

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