Mated To My Mate's Worst Enemy (ARIA) novel Chapter 319

Chapter 319

Chapter 319

KAEL

She looked out at the assembled pack and guests for a moment, and I could see her composing herself, organizing what she wanted to say into something she could deliver without her voice doing the thing it sometimes did when she was feeling something more than she wanted to show.

“Eight years,” she said. Her voice was steady. The recovered roughness from the memory restoration had smoothed out over the past days, and what through now was just Ivory’s voice precise, warm, carrying the particular authority

came

be listened to rather than demanding it. “Eight years Someone who’d earned the right to

g

And I want to be you all –

Onest with

been

have your Ghost Hunt champion. I have not been humble abt it.”

Laughter from the crowd. Genuine, warm, the laughter of people who knew the person speaking well enough to hear the self-awareness in the admission.

“I have mentioned it,” she continued, “perhaps more than was strictly necessary. At dinners. At training sessions. On at least three occasions during medical consultations where it was completely irrelevant to the patient’s condition.” She paused. “I want to apologize for none of that.”

More laughter.

“But this year-” she stopped, and something moved through her expression, “–this year, I have decided to be generous. I have looked at the results of this Hunt, I have considered the data carefully, and I have come to the conclusion that Alpha Kael’s fragile ego could not survive another year of me holding this title. So.” She nodded with the gravity of someone making a significant sacrifice. “I allowed him to win. It was an act of charity. You’re welcome, Shadowmere.”

I stared at her. “Excuse me?”

“Charity,” she said, without looking at me. Completely straight face. Not even a hint of the grin she was absolutely holding back because I could see the effort it was taking around her eyes.

“I won the-”

“Shh.” She did look at me then, briefly, with the expression of someone explaining something simple to someone who was struggling with it. “Child. You don’t speak when legends are speaking.”

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The crowd lost it.

–

Not quiet laughter, not polite amusement actual, full-bodied, Shadowmere-volume response that rolled through the gathering grounds and probably reached the edges of pack territory. Pack members grabbing each other’s arms. Visiting alphas looking startled and then amused despite themselves. Someone near the back making a sound that was identifiably Jordan trying to manage his own reaction and not fully succeeding.

Ivory was hiding her grin. Not successfully – I could see it in the set of her mouth, the particular way she was controlling her expression with the effort of someone who’d committed to the bit and wasn’t going to break first. She signaled to Margo, who brought the box, and Ivory opened it herself.

The medal.

–

–

Eight years of Ghost Hunt championships in a single piece of metal. She lifted it from the box with both hands and then and this was when I understood exactly what she was doing she held it up to her face. Turned it slightly. Like she was memorizing how the firelight caught it. Like she was taking one last look at something she was genuinely going to miss, underneath the performance of reluctance.

She pressed it briefly against her cheek with a small, quiet sound that was engineered to carry.

The crowd made a collective noise of fond suffering.

“Eight years,” she said softly, to the medal. “Eight years you’ve been mine. You’ve traveled with me. You’ve sat above my desk where everyone could see you. You’ve been my first and most reliable talking point at any social occasion.” She sniffled once, delicately, with the precision of a woman who knew exactly how loud to make a sound to land in the right place. “I’ll never forget you.”

“Ivory,” I said.

“I’m grieving,” she said, not looking up. “Give me a moment.”

The crowd was in pieces. I could see faces – pack members I’d known for years, serious people, people with dignity – pressing hands over their mouths, shaking with laughter that they were losing control of. Three of the visiting alpha’s mates were laughing openly. Even Lunaris, standing to the side with the formal bearing of a Ghost Council member at a public event, had an expression that was doing something it was trying not to do.

Finally, Ivory looked up. She held the medal out toward me with the solemnity of someone completing a sacred ritual, and her eyes were bright in ways that were partly the performance and partly, underneath it, something real.

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“If I see a single scratch on it,” she said, her voice going to something quieter that still carried, “your life will be forfeit.”

“I’ve kept everything you’ve ever given me in perfect condition,” I said.

Something moved through her face at that, quick and complicated, there and gone before the crowd could read it.

“Then we understand each other,” she said.

I bowed my head

head – genuinely, the full bow, because it felt right and because Shadowmere was watching and because eight

that wasn’t just the receiving of it – and Ivory stepped forward and placed the medal around neck with hands that were steady and careful.

my

s of her holding that title deserved acknow Shadowmere was

She stepped back. Lifted the microphone one last time.

“Shadowmere,” she said, and her voice had changed into something that wasn’t performing

champion.”

anymore, just speaking. “And guests. Please welcome your new Ghost Hasn’t performing

She started the clapping herself, which meant the crowd’s response was immediate and enormous, and then she pressed the microphone into my hands with the clean handoff of someone completing their part and stepping aside, and I was standing at the front of my pack with the medal warm against my chest and the sound of Shadowmere approving washing over me in waves.

I waited for it to settle enough that my

voice would carry.

“Thank you,” I said. Simple first. Let that land. “To this pack – which has anything easy for me and has never once let me down

—

thank you.”

s never once made

More noise. I waited it out.

“This Hunt was not won by one person,” I said. “Champions are called out individually but what you build together is what makes it possible to survive individually. So I want to acknowledge the people who competed alongside me.” I paused. “Aria. Who collected four fragments and survived trials that should have ended her, and who demonstrated capabilities that this pack had not yet seen from her.” I let that sit for a moment. “Jason, who brought intelligence and steadiness to every trial our team faced. Elite, who I personally watched carry a situation in the fourth trial that most experienced fighters would not have navigated as well. And Nina, who is standing somewhere in this crowd looking like she doesn’t care about public acknowledgment while absolutely caring about public acknowledgment.”

Laughter, and the sound of Nina somewhere off to the left making an undignified noise that she would later deny.

3/4

+5 Free Coins

–

“Who are champions, I want to be clear the Hunt is a team effort and what we accomplished this year belongs to all of us.” I paused. “Though there is only one medal. And I have it. So in the technical sense, there is only one champion. But I am a generous person-“I heard Ivory make a sound beside me that was not quite a laugh, “-and I want to acknowledge everyone who made this outcome possible.”

I heard the glares before I saw them. Nina’s particular brand of silent threat. Elite’s slightly louder version. The specific sound of Jordan trying to decide whether to laugh or prepare for consequences.

Good. They’d be impossible to deal with for approximately a week over this. I’d enjoy every moment of it.

MAX

7

”

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