Chapter 10
ten
RHYS
What—and I cannot stress this enough—the fuck?
Louis keeps his eyes averted as he carries away the last of our evening meal. Cillian was correct; our bitchy little viper did, in fact, clear her plate.
It took her a while to eat the tiny scoops Dane served her, so by the time she stands and sashays out of the dining room, I’ve had nearly half an hour to stew.
I pick up my knife, weighing it in my palm for a moment, then flick my wrist. It goes flying for Cillian, who lifts his hand and snatches the hilt mid-air.
Across the table, Dane once again has his mask on. He huffs, silently scolding me for my technique. If he’d thrown a dagger, no one would have seen the blade until it was sticking out of his target.
Show off.
I slump into my chair, fighting the painful pulse behind my brow. It got marginally better while I ate, but now it rears up as quickly as it died down. I don’t let the throb stop me from glaring at our pack leader, though.
“You gonna tell us what the ever-loving fuck is wrong with you?” I ask. “Or do you want us to start guessing?”
Cillian swirls the dregs of his wine. His tell.
He doesn’t really have one, but I’ve noted that holding his glass and rolling it between his fingers is usually a sign that his mind is busier than usual.
Dane notices, too. “Something else is clearly going on here,” he grunts. “We could have had our pick of a thousand omegas.”
That much is true. Two years ago, before we agreed not to take one on, Cillian spent at least an hour each week actively arranging courtship opportunities with wealthy, titled heiresses. Hell, he even managed to make inroads with a shah trying to marry off his only daughter.
So why Briar?
And why now?
Dane goes on, asking for me. “This woman clearly hates us. Why choose someone who will fight this every step of the way?”
I know the reason I would have chosen her. But our pack leader doesn’t share my fucked-up proclivity toward fighting with women before we fuck.
No, Cillian has always wanted a wife. He didn’t have any desire to go down the same, scent-matched road to ruin his father trod; but a pretty, boring little omega who would get on her knees every night and follow the commands he issues in that kinky bedroom of his?
Someone to submit and swoon behind closed doors; and hold her head high for all of polite society in public? A proper lady?
Yeah, he was into that.
Not a vicious little brat with daddy issues.
That’s way more my type.
If I had one. Which I do not.
But fuck me, she looked hot with angry tears in her eyes.
Cillian spins the knife I threw before flinging it right back at me. So quick, I barely dodge left. The blade sinks into the upholstered chair back beside my right bicep.
I gape, draw a breath to shout obscenities at him, and deflate when my pack leader casts me a chilling stare. His voice matches the blue flames there.
“Never put your hands on my wife without permission again.”
Indignant ire floods my middle. “Your permission or hers?” I scoff.
Cillian’s growl is low enough to raise the fine hairs on my nape. “Both.”
It’s been years since I heard Dane bark, but he musters a strong pulse of alpha power, a command cracking from behind his mask. “Stop.”
We both look at him, absorbing the slightly manic set of his golden eyes. He shifts under the attention, always uncomfortable to be stared at. Casting his gaze to his lap, he scrubs his fingers through his overlong hair, muttering to Cillian.
“We’re already at each other’s throats and it’s only been three hours.
Rhys and I deserve an explanation. Why her?
We could have bought her father’s patent for a fair price and still made record profits off of it.
Why did you marry his daughter? Why would you saddle all of us with an omega who fucking hates us? ”
It’s unlike Dane to have an outburst that doesn’t involve putting a bullet in some evil bastard’s brain. I can tell his tirade has gotten our pack alpha’s attention. Cillian regards him for a long beat.
“You make the mistake of thinking I had a choice,” he says cryptically, standing. “None of us ever really did.”