The Alpha’s Eternal Mate

The ride back to Midnight Crest Tower was silent, thick with an unspoken tension that hung in the air like a storm waiting to break. Lyra could feel the weight of Ethan's glare without even looking at him, his grip tight on the steering wheel, knuckles pale.

She kept her eyes on the black envelope resting between them, its edges crisp and untouched. Whatever was inside held answers—answers Ethan wanted, and answers Lyra wasn't sure she was ready to uncover.

Finally, Ethan's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "What were you thinking back there?"

Lyra exhaled slowly, turning to face him. "I was thinking about getting us a lead. And I did."

His jaw clenched. "You put yourself in danger."

"I handled it," she said firmly, refusing to back down.

Ethan's eyes flicked to her, dark and intense. "That's not the point, Lyra. They knew who you were the moment you walked in."

She swallowed hard. "And that's exactly why I had to do it."

Ethan didn't respond right away. Instead, he pulled the car into the underground parking garage of Midnight Crest Tower, cutting the engine with a sharp twist of his wrist. The hum of the city above seemed distant now, the quiet enveloping them.

He turned in his seat, facing her fully. "You can't keep pushing me like this."

Lyra met his gaze head-on. "I'm not pushing you, Ethan. I'm trying to help."

His dark eyes bore into hers, filled with something she couldn't quite place—frustration, anger... something deeper, something she didn't dare name.

With a sigh, Ethan reached for the envelope and ripped it open, pulling out a single black card with gold embossing.

"Invitation Only – The Crimson Moon Gala"

Lyra's brow furrowed. "A gala?"

Ethan's lips pressed into a thin line. "Not just any gala. It's hosted by the Crimson Syndicate—the very people we're hunting."

Lyra leaned closer, reading the details. "It's in two days."

Ethan nodded, his expression grim. "We'll be going."

Lyra straightened. "We?"

His gaze pinned her in place. "You're my date."

Her lips parted slightly in surprise. "I—what?"

Ethan smirked, but it lacked humor. "You wanted to be involved, Lyra. This is what it takes."

She swallowed, processing his words. A high-society event, filled with criminals disguised in designer suits, masks hiding more than just their faces.

"Fine," she said after a beat. "But you owe me a dress."

Ethan's eyes darkened with amusement. "Consider it done."

Two Days Later – Midnight Crest Tower

Lyra stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the deep crimson dress that clung to her curves like a second skin. The fabric was luxurious, flowing like liquid silk, with a plunging neckline and delicate lace that traced her collarbone. It was the kind of dress designed to make an entrance—and a statement.

She tugged at the hem slightly, feeling both powerful and exposed. This wasn't just a mission. This was a game of power and seduction, and she had to play her part perfectly.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

Ethan stood there in a black tailored suit, the sharp lines and perfect fit making him look every bit the Alpha he was. His eyes raked over her slowly, and for a moment, Lyra saw something flicker beneath the surface—something dangerous and wanting.

"You clean up well," she said, breaking the tension.

Ethan's lips twitched. "So do you."

She grabbed the black lace mask resting on the dresser, securing it over her face. Ethan did the same, and for a moment, they simply stared at each other, the air between them thick and charged.

"Let's go," he said finally, offering his arm.

Lyra hesitated before taking it, her fingers brushing against his forearm, feeling the tension beneath his skin.

Together, they stepped into the elevator, their reflection a striking contrast—dark and light, predator and prey.

But Lyra knew better. Tonight, they were both hunters.

The Crimson Moon Gala – Downtown Ballroom

The ballroom was filled with a shimmering golden glow, crystal chandeliers hanging low over a crowd of the city's most influential—and most dangerous—figures.

Men in sharp tuxedos and women draped in jewels moved through the space like whispers, exchanging pleasantries laced with hidden threats.

Lyra's fingers tightened around Ethan's arm as they entered, drawing more than a few curious gazes.

"Eyes up," Ethan murmured in her ear. "We're being watched."

Lyra scanned the room, spotting Malcolm Westwood's associate at the far end, deep in conversation with a man she didn't recognize.

"There," she whispered. "Near the bar."

Ethan's gaze followed hers, his jaw tightening. "We make contact, but we don't engage. We're here to observe."

Lyra smirked. "You're no fun."

Ethan's lips brushed dangerously close to her ear. "Fun gets you killed."

She shivered but masked it with a confident smile as they moved further into the room. A waiter passed by with glasses of champagne, and Ethan grabbed one, handing it to Lyra without missing a beat.

As they neared the bar, the man Lyra had spotted earlier looked up and smirked. "Alpha Graves. What a surprise."

Ethan's expression remained impassive. "Business calls."

The man's gaze slid to Lyra, eyes raking over her with interest. "And who might this be?"

Lyra tilted her head, offering a coy smile. "A friend."

Ethan's grip on her waist tightened ever so slightly, a silent warning.

The man chuckled. "Friends are dangerous in this line of work."

Ethan's voice was ice. "I prefer mine dangerous."

Lyra watched the man's reaction carefully, noting the subtle flicker of recognition in his eyes. Whoever he was, he knew more than he let on.

After a few more pleasantries, they drifted away, and Lyra leaned into Ethan. "He knows something."

Ethan nodded. "We keep watching. No sudden moves."

As the night wore on, Lyra's nerves hummed with anticipation. The trap was set, but the question remained—who was playing whom?

And would they make it out before the enemy struck?