Page 21 of Feral King

“The council meets in three weeks,” I say, “and you have a vote.”

“I know.”

“I need to know where you stand.”

She’s quiet for a moment, thoughtful. “Julian, you know I love Alex. He’s my brother.”

“And so am I.”

“Yes, you’re both my brothers, and that’s the problem.” She meets my eyes. “Alex called me last night after the gala. He was… upset, to say the least. He thinks you’re trying to destroy him.”

“The only thing being destroyed is this company—by him. That’s what I’m trying to prevent. If he wants to be a careless, immature playboy, that’s his business. But he’s not going to take this company along for the ride.”

She runs her hand through her hair. “I know, I know. I’ve seen the numbers, and I’m aware of what he did with the foundation money.” She pauses. “But you’re technically asking me to vote against himandour mom. Everyone’s going to see that. It’s not nothing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Okay. So, here’s what I’ll say.” She straightens, looking older than her twenty years. “As long as your motivations are honoring what Dad built—the company, the foundation, the alliances—I’ll support you. And assuming Alexander is edged out, you let him walk away.”

“Oncehe’s edged out, I’ll no longer have any business with him.”

“Good. I don’t want grudges. I don’t want this family hating one another.”

“You’ll get no hate from me. But I can’t say the same for Alexander—or your mother.”

“You’re probably right about that. Anyway, I’m with you. Dad wanted you to be in that chair, but Dad also wanted us to be a family. Just don’t forget about that part.”

With that, she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her.

The plan is clear: Secure the council, lock down support, and neutralize Dobrov’s alliances.

But in that moment, there’s only one person on my mind: Lyra.

I think about the way she looked in my office this morning, sitting with the binder open on her lap, her gorgeous legs crossed. She asked sharp questions, her pen moving with the focus of someone who actually gives a damn about the work.

And I think about the curve of her neck when she turned to look at the donor list, and how badly I wanted to put my lips there.

Lyra stays.

She’ll be close. Protected.

Mine.

CHAPTER 7

LYRA

The evening air is more refreshing and calming than it has any right to be. After nearly ten hours of hard work and sexual tension, I’m ready to get home so I can recover and do it all over again tomorrow.

It’s a typical night in Manhattan—taxis honking, tourists clogging the sidewalks, the faint smell of hot dogs from the food carts swirling in the air. I turn east on 51st and head for the Lexington Avenue station, heels clicking against the pavement, bag heavy with the binder and the laptop the IT department issued me.

I still can’t believe I’m back. After what went down with Alexander, I was certain that I’d closed the Volkov chapter of my life for good.

It isn’t easy getting away from a family like that so easily, I suppose.

The walk is a good few minutes, so I slip my phone out of my pocket and call Mom.

She picks up on the second ring, which means she’s got her phone nearby. Not a good sign; when she’s parked by the phone, it usually means she’s sitting with Dad while he’s going through a bad stretch.