Lucas was the only clean path left for the wine to reach Elliot without suspicion. That was the rule of tonight's game—if Elliot sensed even a flicker of hostility, his Alpha instincts would reject it instantly. So Aliona stayed seated at the far end of the hall, but her gaze never left the glass now resting in Elliot's hand.
Her wolf was restless beneath her skin.
She had ensured the wine carried a carefully measured sedative, one strong enough to suppress an Alpha's consciousness temporarily before igniting delayed effects that would leave him vulnerable when it mattered most. Everything depended on him finishing it completely.
Across the room, her hired handler finally moved.
The woman she had planted earlier approached me with practiced elegance, her steps light, her aura carefully neutral. I felt her presence before I saw her, the subtle pressure of a wolf trying too hard to appear harmless.
