15. Oliver

The limo”s plush interior feels claustrophobic tonight despite the enticing aroma of Sophia”s perfume. I allow myself one moment more to marvel at our bond before my mind, unfortunately, drifts back to the problem ahead. Dressed in finery, I wish for armor instead as we prepare for a confrontation with the Shadow Covenant—an entity that might as well be made of ghosts. Irene certainly seems to think so.

Sophia sits beside me, a vision in her tight-fitting black-sequined gown, but her eyes are steel. She is running down the guest list once again, trying to make connections between the guests in hopes of finding some information we can use. I adjust my cuff links again, a nervous tick I can”t shake off.

”Alright,” I begin, breaking the silence that”s settled between us. ”Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Sophia nods, her gaze never leaving mine. ”We don’t know exactly who we’re dealing with, but on a night like tonight, it’s likely that Irene may be contacted. So we keep our eyes on her, but while doing that, we try to watch a few of the other key people on the list. Kray, of course.”

I pull out my phone, scrolling through the messages from my contacts—shadows within shadows who owe me favors. ”The whispers about a ritual are growing,” I say. ”Tied to the Gala somehow.”

She leans in closer, her warmth cutting through the chill of our mission. ”Let’s just hope your father’s warning about blood isn’t part of that.”

I think back to his ramblings, piecing together the fragments he’s let slip over the past few days—and others. ”To think that our family’s success may have something to do with this cult? It’s been there, at least since my grandfather’s time. I wonder if Jason knew something and just never told me.”

Sophia frowns slightly. ”What if it”s more than we thought? More than just manipulation? What if they”re after control—over all of Ravencourt? Or maybe they already have it? Surely, other families in the Factions have been lured into schemes like those Irene bought into. It’s politics, after all.”

The idea hangs heavy between us. ”Mom might”ve started it as an interest,” I confess, feeling my throat tighten around the words. ”But under Irene... it”s become something else. Mom was strong. Irene has had to bear up under too much pressure.”

Sophia looks at me with tenderness. “I know it’s hard to find fault with your sister. I’m hopeful there’s a way we can clear her name and protect Faulkner Enterprises.”

The limo slows to a stop, and we both turn to look out the window at the entryway to the Court of Ravens. Deeper inside, the Crimson Ballroom is already decked out for the party…and hopefully, security is firmly in place.

Sophia exhales sharply. ”Whatever it is, we end it tonight.”

As we step out of the limo into the flurry of camera flashes and eager whispers from the crowd, I can feel their eyes on us—especially her. She startles a little, not used to the attention, but tries to smile and nod.

”This was not part of the job description for a personal assistant,” Sophia mutters under her breath as the crowd shouts our names.

I can”t help but smile. ”Maybe not,” I agree, offering her my arm as we make our way up the steps. ”But you are now something more than that, and you should probably get used to the spotlight. Besides, you deserve it.”

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, there is nothing else—no Covenant, no Gala—just us.

I lean in, my lips grazing the shell of Sophia’s ear, a staged moment of intimacy designed to set tongues wagging. ”Stick close,” I murmur, barely audible over the din of high society”s buzz. ”We”re under the microscope here.”

Her body tenses subtly against mine, but she plays her part flawlessly, tilting her head to afford me better access as we weave through the crowd. The act is convincing because it isn”t entirely an act—I do want her close, not just for appearances, but because every instinct screams that she”s my mate.

Then we step into the fray. The crowd starts in the hallway and gets thicker and more animated as we approach the ballroom.

The Earl catches my eye from across the room; his knowing smirk suggests he approves of seeing us more intimately connected. He waves me over and gallantly kisses Sophia’s hand while she smiles uncomfortably.

“You have won, Lord Faulkner,” he says. “Excellent choice. I wondered if the lovely Sophia would be the one. I look forward to the presentation.” Then he glides away, but something in his eye triggers my protective instincts. What did that mean, exactly? What presentation?

Ivory Eversong glides past us with two of her eight daughters in tow, her sharp-eyed look softening when she sees Sophia. I look around and find Armand in the corner at his post, his earpiece barely visible. I asked him to stand near the entryway to the secret passage. Surprisingly, he knew about it already and confirmed Sophia’s theory—an old service passage. But he also confirmed mine—also a gateway to the belly of the beast—the hidden rooms and passages of a Court that once used less than legal means to gain its power. Maybe still does. Armand whispers discreetly into the air, probably giving orders to his staff, but offers a nod of acknowledgment.

Sophia”s hand tightens on my arm as we stop to greet a cluster of well-dressed Lycan faction members who can”t hide their curiosity about her appearance as my date.

”Oliver, darling,” one coos, her eyes alight with mischief. ”Is this the little assistant you”ve taken under your wing?”

Sophia’s reply comes quick as a whip crack. ”More like under his paw, wouldn”t you say?” Her voice is light but edged with steel.

The laughter that follows is tinged with unease; she’s given them something to gossip about, but they’re not sure exactly what. Well done, my love, I send through our minds—not so much as words but a feeling of deep approval.

We move on. Beneath the pleasantries, we”re laying breadcrumbs—hints at a scandal brewing beneath the surface ripe for exploitation. If we can get people talking about the Faulkner heir’s new arm candy, they’ll come to us, and we can, in turn, grill them for information about the Covenant.

I feel her hand slip from my arm to rest at the small of my back—a subtle shift to those watching us but a clear signal to me. We’re about to dive deeper into this masquerade where every smile hides a secret, and every gesture is a coded message.

This Gala might be my legacy”s battleground. Still, as Sophia stands beside me with that spark in her eyes that challenges me to keep up, I realize it might also be where I lay everything on the line for something more than power or family honor. The thought of anyone in the Covenant coming after her stirs my wolf instantly to life.

So, we continue our performance under Ravencourt”s watchful gaze. And as we glide across the floor, every nerve in my body stands alert—not just for signs of danger but for any excuse to pull her closer. Because tonight isn”t just about saving Faulkner Enterprises—it”s about claiming what”s mine.

Sophia leans in, her voice low, ”Notice the pendants, rings and cuff links? I’ve even seen the symbol woven into the fabric of cravats and cloaks. That”s not just high fashion, Oliver.”

I follow her gaze across the room. The same symbol on Irene”s necklace, a stylized circle that looks vaguely like a serpent devouring its tail, glimmers on lapels and dangles from ears. It”s more than an accessory; it”s a viral trend. Who is wearing it for fun…and who is wearing it as a signal they are up to no good?

I nod. ”You”re thinking what I”m thinking?”

Sophia offers a sly smile as she guides me towards a cluster of socialites. She”s in her element, her questions light but sharp as needles. She’s got them laughing and smiling in seconds as she compliments their gowns. She points to a pendant on some overdressed matron”s neck. ”Oh, this is exquisite! Does it symbolize something special?”

The heiress preens under the attention. ”Just a trinket. All my friends love the Shadow Covenant brand,” she gushes, oblivious to our hunt. ”Really, just so modern and delightfully dangerous in that motorcycle club sort of way.”

I try to imagine that particular selkie-shifter matron on the back of a Harley and actually, she almost looks the part.

“But it’s more than a brand, right?” Sophia asks.

“Oh darling, nothing is ever as it seems in Ravencourt,” she says and moves away.

Sophia’s good at this game and it sends a ripple of pride through me, mixed with a twinge of dread. She’s threading needles with words while I’m here clenching fists in my pockets. I move through the crowd on autopilot, exchanging handshakes and half-smiles.

“The Shadow Covenant’s symbol everywhere,” she murmurs. “And everyone wearing it is clueless or pretending to be.”

The DJ’s playing music with a driving pulse, a rhythm that seeps into my bones and sets my instincts on edge. Through the glass conservatory ceiling, the full moon is rising.

Sophia”s beside me, her laughter light but her eyes sharp—hawk-like. She plays the part of the intrigued newcomer, her queries seemingly innocent but laced with intelligence.

”I heard the Covenant makes you drink blood…” she tosses out to a centaur shifter I’ve met before, a ludicrous line that should have been laughed off. Yet, there it is—a hitch in his reply, an almost imperceptible pause.

He’s a towering figure with tattoos etched like battle scars across his visible skin. His reaction is minute, a tightening around his eyes, a brief downward glance. But it’s enough.

I”m moving before I even realize it. My steps are measured but purposeful as I close the distance between us. ”Quite the party, isn”t it?” I say, my tone easy as I clap the shifter on his broad shoulder.

He recovers quickly, his laugh booming above the music. ”If you believe half the rumors about what goes on at these things,” he replies, casting an uneasy glance at Sophia.

She chuckles along with him but presses further. ”Oh, I don”t believe everything,” she says with a dismissive wave. ”But there’s always some truth in legends, right?”

His smile wavers; he’s good at hiding it, but not good enough for someone who’s been learning to see behind masks all his life. ”Legends are just stories we can’t let go of,” he says after a beat too long.

I lean in closer under the pretense of sharing confidentialities over the din. ”Come now,” I prod lightly. ”A bit of blood for power... It’s got an old-world charm to it.”

He stiffens. Sophia jumps in with a playful scoff before he can seal off completely. ”Blood is so passé though,” she muses aloud. ”Who needs rituals and incantations when the scheme already benefits those truly in power.”

The shifter bows formally but doesn’t agree or disagree. I see fear in his eyes.

”It”s all just tales to scare new recruits,” he says finally, pulling away from my grip with practiced nonchalance. He gives us both a nod that”s more dismissal than farewell and melts into the crowd like mist at sunrise.

Sophia watches him go before turning to me with that fire still burning in her gaze. ”We’re getting close,” she whispers over the cacophony around us, but I can’t help but think we’re playing with fire.

The Gala has become a charade—a show we no longer want to watch. We’re on the outside now, looking in at a world that suddenly feels alien and dangerous. As we stand there among Ravencourt’s elite, I realize that Sophia isn”t just my mate; she”s my partner in this madness—a beacon in the dark waters we”re navigating.

But beacons can attract unwanted attention—and right now, I’m worried we’re lit up like a bonfire in the night.