Goodbye, My Mate

Chapter 279

Finn's POV

Jalin's voice cut back in, sharp and impatient. "Listen, you fucking slut, I don't have time for your bullshit. What do you want?"

I kept my smile, savoring the edge in his tone. "Just catching up, Sir. I've been thinking about you, about the time that you stepped on me in the basement and..."

"Cut the crap," he growled. "You've got ten seconds before I hang up."

"Fine," I sighed, feigning boredom. "I've got a proposition for you. Something big."

"Big?" He sounded skeptical, but I had his attention. "What could a mutt like you offer me?"

"Power," I said, letting the word hang heavy. "More than you've ever dreamed of."

Silence again. I could picture him, all towering arrogance, his eyes narrowing as he weighed my words. Jalin was a greedy bastard - he always wanted more.

"Keep talking," he said at last.

"Not over the phone," I replied, voice smooth as velvet. "This needs a private chat. Old warehouse by the docks. Midnight. Alone."

He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "So you can spread your legs and beg? I'm not that stupid, Finn."

I bristled, but kept my tone light. "No begging, I swear. Just straightforward business. Maybe a little bit of spreading my legs afterwards. Unless you're scared…"

"Scared?" he snarled, and I bit back a grin. "Watch your fucking mouth."

"Midnight, then," I said. "Come see what I've got. You won't regret it."

"Better not," he muttered. "If this goes south, I'll fucking rip you into pieces."

"Looking forward to it," I teased, and hung up before he could snap back.

Kairo didn't speak all the way, just gripped the wheel tighter as we rolled through the city. My mind drifted to the Project Z - my little masterpiece. A way to forge werewolves into something immortal and unstoppable with memory implants and all. Trouble was, the hosts kept breaking. Darren was the latest mess, his mind shredded by Lester's memories, yet he still managed to fuck his old flame and make her pregnant. I needed someone tougher, someone like a Lycan King. If I could hook him, control him, I'd have a weapon that no Lycans could ever match.

And then, the world will be on fire, and I will lit up a cigarrette and watch it burn.

-

The moonlight poured into the old warehouse like a veil of liquid silver, draping me in its glow as I stood there, my translucent jacket clinging to my skin. It shimmered faintly, a second flesh that bared every scar, every mark from the slave market etched into me like a map of survival. I felt exposed, but that was the point. I'd dressed for this, posed myself on this crumbling stage of the apocalypse like some opera singer mid-aria, voice silent but body screaming. Jalin would see me, and he'd feel it - the pull, the heat, the memory of what I could offer.

I waited, the air thick with dust and anticipation, until the low growl of an engine cut through the night. A car rolled up outside, tires crunching gravel, and my pulse kicked up a notch. The door opened silently, and there he was - Jalin, stepping out in a black suit that hugged his tall frame like it was tailored by the devil himself. Time hadn't dulled him. He still carried that mix of gentleness and beast, his handsome face sharpened by the moonlight, his movements deliberate and sexy in a way that made my gut twist. I'd always wondered how an ordinary suit could look so damn good on him, like it was more than fabric—like it was power stitched into every seam.

He saw me, and his hand lifted, casually pushing those gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. I knew that tic. It meant he was rattled, no matter how cool he played it. I smirked inside, letting the knowledge settle deep. I still had him, even after all this time.

"Mr. Cleary," I said, stepping forward with a smile that didn't reach my eyes, "I didn't expect you to actually come."

His gaze raked me, slow and deliberate, taking in the jacket, the way it barely hid me, then flicked away. "Speak up if you have anything to say," he snapped, turning his back like I was nothing. "I don't have time to chat with you."

I pouted, letting my lips tremble just enough to sell it. "Mr. Cleary, the fact is, His Highness Lycidas has abandoned me."

He didn't flinch, didn't even turn. "You know nothing about Lycans," he said, voice flat and cold. "They're manipulative and ruthless motherfuckers who know nothing about love. If you try to exchange your obedience and love for trust and favor, you couldn't be more wrong."

I twisted my face into a mask of pain, letting my eyes glisten like I might cry. "He's never trusted me," I whispered, voice cracking. "Now, he wants to kill me…"

Before he could answer, I threw myself into his arms, burying my face against his chest, my hands clutching at his suit. "Mr. Cleary, please save me…"

He went still, then tilted his head down, staring at me like he could see through every lie. "He wants to kill you," he murmured, low and dangerous. "You're scared, so you're dressing up like this to seduce me? Do you expect me to protect you?"

I tightened my grip, fingers digging into him, my voice shaking for real now—but only because I wanted it to. "Mr. Cleary, I'm at a dead end. I shouldn't have tried to seduce a Lycan Prince, shouldn't have fallen for him. I should've stayed with you, been your loyal servant, served you…"

As I spoke, I let my gauze-like top slip, the fabric whispering to the ground, leaving my chest bare. The moonlight caught the scars, the chain-like tattoos curling over my skin - reminders of the slave market, of him, of everything I'd been. I felt his eyes on me, heavy and dark, and I whispered, "Mr. Cleary, please…"