Luther snapped his head toward Vander, his lips curling in disgust. “You—” He laughed, sharp and humorless. “You expect me to believe you’d touch her? That you’d claim my mate?”
Vander didn’t even blink. “Believe what you want.” His gaze flickered at me, something unreadable behind his eyes. “But I don’t abandon what’s mine.”
The entire room held its breath.
Luther looked between us, his face contorting with something ugly, something dangerous. “You think you can just take her from me?” His voice dropped to a whisper, but it was more terrifying than his shouting. “You think I’ll let this go?”
I forced my chin up. “You don’t have a choice.”
The veins in his neck bulged. His control was slipping. And I knew he was seconds away from doing something violent.
Catherine tugged on his arm; her voice desperate. “Luther, don’t—”
But he wrenched away from her and turned back to me, his eyes burning with something worse than hatred.
“You think you can cut me out of your life that easily?” His voice was poison, sinking into my skin. “You think I’ll let you walk away after everything?”
My chest tightened, but I refused to look away. “You already walked away first.”
He exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. “If that’s how you want to play this, fine.” His gaze dropped to my stomach, his lips curling. “But tell me, Cheryl—what do you think will happen when that child is born?”
A chill raced down my spine.
Luther took a step closer, towering over me. “Do you really think you can keep a Skyler from me? Whether that child is yours, mine, or his—” His glare cut to Vander, his voice laced with venom. “That baby is still part of this pack. And you know what that means.”
My stomach churned. I knew exactly what he meant.
Skyler pack heirs weren’t just personal possessions. They were weapons. Pawns. And Luther didn’t let go of what was his.
Fear coiled in my gut, but I shoved it down. “I won’t let you take my child.”
Luther smirked, slow and cruel. “Then you better run, Cheryl.”
The room felt too small, the air too thin. I felt trapped, cornered—because I was. Luther wasn’t letting me go. Not easily. Not ever.
My hands curled into fists. “You don’t own me.”
His smirk widened. “Don’t I?”
Before I could respond, before I could even process what was happening, he turned to the guests, his expression twisting into one of cold authority.