Chapter 18
eighteen
brIAR
It comes as no surprise that the devil knows how to dress a slut.
The red silk I found among a drawer-full of similar negligees barely covers my tits… and definitely doesn’t cover my ass. It’s still more fabric than any of the other strappy, frilled contraptions in there, though, so I pluck it out and slide it on after showering.
I have no idea when Dane is going to show up. Or if he will at all. Probably not, if the way he shoved up from the table and stalked after Cillian is any indication.
I didn’t bother sticking around after that. I’d heard enough of Rhys’s taunts and the seethe in my stomach made dessert seem like a supremely bad idea.
This nightgown isn’t feeling much better, honestly.
It’s cruelly ironic how much I like the pieces these beasts bought for me. Tonight’s dinner ensemble was gorgeous. And this deep, rich crimson silk, trimmed in the most delicate lace…
Why does it have to be so beautiful?
Just like my stupid husband. And his stupid house. And his stupid pack.
Dane probably won’t care how I look, anyway. He may be the one alpha in this house who wants to be here less than I do. Which is one of the reasons I chose him.
I haven’t let myself examine the other reasons too closely.
My fingers trace the hem of the negligee as my mind races. Images of the hulking alpha, always in dark jeans and an equally inconspicuous shirt, fly through my mind. His silent steps. The taut awareness in every muscle stacked onto his thick body. The surprisingly warm color of his eyes…
And his mask.
Why does a tremor dart down my back at the thought of it?
I feel perfume seep between my bare thighs, the essence sweet and dark. Tart, sugared, black cherries.
The tiny, insecure corner of my heart that actually cares about the opinions of alphas pinches in anxiety. None of these men have reacted to my scent in any major way. My reflection bites her lip. What if they don’t like it? Won’t the aroma only get stronger once we start—
A low tap sounds against the suite’s double doors. My eyes fall shut on a shaky exhale. I squeeze tightly, forcing my breathing to level out before I reopen them. In a pitiful attempt to hide my trembling knees, I lower myself into the cushioned stool at the scrolly white vanity.
“Come in.”
I don’t hear the handle turn or the door swing open.
Nor can I detect any sound from Dane’s thick-soled boots as he steps over the threshold.
But I watch him in the arched curves of my mirror, waiting while he warily glances into each corner of the room before settling his gaze on the reflection of mine.
He stares, waiting. Projecting tension. His gold irises shift and his chest heaves subtly.
My spine snaps straight. The wetness collecting at my core thickens into true slick. I only manage to half swallow the omega whine tickling my throat.
If possible, his eyes get even sharper. The fingers hanging limp at his side twitch.
“You wanted me here,” he husks behind his mask, “so here I am.” His suspicious gaze burns brighter. “Just get it over with.”
Is he talking about sex? I thought Cillian made it clear that I was going to be following their leads. I was secretly thankful for that, on a practical level. Since I have no idea what to do with a manly specimen like this alpha without some guidance…
I swivel on my velvet stool, facing the darkly clad mountain of muscle across the room. “What do you mean?” I ask, hating how breathless I sound.
Dane lumbers forward. It only takes a few of his big, soundless steps for an unholy image to flash through my mind. Me, racing down the shadowy halls in this house. And the huge masked man. Hunting me.
Goosebumps break over my skin, hardening my nipples. He freezes, those all-seeing eyes tracking the quiver that rolls over me.
I can’t see the lower half of his face—just the cold slate curves of metal and the mesh that allows him to breathe. But, somehow, I get the distinct sense that he’s scowling. Thick walnut brows crouch over his gaze.
“I won’t hurt you,” he grunts, almost exasperated. “But I’m not thrilled about your game, either. So just do it.”
He crosses his arms. Grapefruit-sized bulges flex under his navy Henley. My focus lingers on his biceps for a second too long before I blink, shaking my head. “I don’t know what you’re—”
Dane growls at me for the first time—a deep, ragged sound of pure fury.
Or… maybe not pure. Because it sounds the slightest bit pained, as well.
“You want me to take off all my clothes first? Stand here naked before you tell me this is a ploy to humiliate me? I get it, little girl; this is a shit situation and you want to hurt us back. But I don’t have to make it easy.”
My lungs snag, then squeeze. He thinks I picked him so I can reject him.
The jaw muscles at the edges of his mask flex, his dark facial hair rippling as the tendons in his neck pop. He takes another slow step toward me, dripping deadly intent.
“I may not be a smart-ass like Rhys.” Another step—oh God. “Or as powerful as Cillian.”
One more pace puts him close enough to touch. I crane my neck back, staring up with wide eyes while my insides flip. Lightning flashes in his gaze as it rolls over me, assessing the way I quiver.
Slowly, he leans over me, pressing his palms into the edge of the vanity. Caging me between his broad, rumbling chest and the thick bars of his arms. I gasp, instinctively arching into the antique dressing table.
Dane takes the final step separating us, bending to put his masked face inches from mine. “But I’m dangerous, little girl,” he finishes, snarling. “More than either of them could ever be.”
I believe him.
And I’m gushing slick.
So much, my eyes flit from his searing stare to the way my nightgown has ridden up, the delicate crimson lace barely skimming my pussy. The fabric there has darkened where it molds to my pale skin—a veil, hiding the parts no one else has ever seen.
He notices, deliberately skimming his attention down my torso. When he clocks the mess coating my inner thighs, a snarl catches in his chest.
The sound dies quickly as the scene sinks in.
Him, accusing me of faking this entire thing just to make him suffer. Trying to scare me. Me, wet and wearing an obscene scrap of silk without any panties.
I watch the gears in his mind grind, disbelief creasing the space between his brows. My throat thickens, watching awe and wariness fight for space on his face.
No, I tell myself. We do not feel bad for this man. He’s only marginally better than the other two.
But that’s the thing, isn’t it? It’s going to be one of them. So why not make it the least evil of the three?
A masculine, wooden scent floods the room.
Releasing a shuddering breath, I carefully lift my hand to the sliver of space between us.
He audibly grits his teeth, that same hunted skepticism flaring in his eyes as he forces himself into stillness.
I swallow hard, gently skimming my fingers over the left cheek of his mask.
It’s warm, I think, dizzy. Body-temperature titanium kisses the sensitive skin of my fingertips, sending snaps of electricity up my arms. My nipples stiffen into painful points, the modest swells around them tingling with a heavy sensation I’ve never felt before.
The same feeling pulses in my core. Tightening, aching, melting. Pounding in time with the fluttering beat of my heart.
We need him, my Omega whines, threatening to project the noise for the alpha to hear. We need him now!
I hate that she’s right. That’s what this thick heat coursing through me means—my body craves what he can do to me. It wants all this strength, his warmth and weight and width. Covering me. Filling me…
“Please,” I murmur, searching his eyes as I coast my fingers down, over the place where the metal mask meets his strong jaw. To the puckered scars covering the side of his neck. When I touch them, he flinches, panic and shock expanding in his eyes.
I let my lashes fall shut and exhale shakily, submitting just enough to put myself at his mercy one last time. “Please, Dane? I really want it to be you.”