Chapter 34
thirty-four
RHYS
Blinding sunlight pours into the music room, rousing me from a dead sleep…
On top of the piano?
Discordant notes echo against my face. I jolt upright, bracing for the skull-shredding pain that I know will follow.
But it doesn’t come.
A month ago, if you’d told me the sudden absence of the headaches that have ruined my life for years would piss me off, I would have shot you. But, now, when I stare directly into the late-afternoon sun, my elbow dragging out a particularly grating minor chord…
What. The. Fuck?
I may not have an earth-shattering migraine, but there is a new annoyance I’ve been managing since my night with Briar.
Poison in my blood. The ruinous reason I’ve thrown myself back into playing. Reading. Composing. Anything.
Obsession.
The second I’m awake, my Alpha starts up. Wordlessly raging in my middle, demanding we go find our mate—our true mate—now.
It doesn’t matter how many times I explain that we don’t fucking have one. After whatever passed between me and Briar, the beast must sense the threat she poses to his one and only goal. Because he has been relentless.
I press my fingertips into my face, ignoring the new cacophony caused by shifting my arms. “Dude,” I mumble to the voice inside me, “I’m literally begging you to shut the fuck up.”
“I will do no such thing!” a deep, affronted voice replies, startling me.
Oh. Shit. Coggins.
He stands beside the floor-to-ceiling windows, his hand still clutching the pull rope that opened the thick velvet curtains. My surprise quickly fades into irritation. “What the hell, you old bastard? You know never to wake me!”
The graying alpha glowers. “I don’t work for you, sir. And Mr. Cillian requested I fetch you. Guests will be arriving shortly.”
My brain draws a blank. Guests…?
“Motherfucker,” I mutter, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. “Is it Saturday?”
Jesus. I’ve totally lost the plot. Being able to sleep and eat and play music again has completely taken over my thoughts.
Well. Aside from my Alpha’s constant bullshit.
And her.
Coggins sighs, shaking his head in utter disapproval. “Yes, sir,” he retorts, dry. “I’ve left a late lunch on the coffee table for you. Eat it and shower before you put on your suit. I’ve hung it in your room.”
Frowning, I open my mouth to tell him I won’t be attending, but he raises a supercilious brow. “I also left Mrs. Blackwood’s outfit in her room. I suspect she’ll be ready shortly.”
Fuck me.
No, literally.
Fuck whatever part of me perks up at the thought of seeing Briar again. And dressed to kill, no doubt.
Coggins sniffs, clasping his hands behind his back as he flicks an assessing look down my body. No doubt noting how I’m sitting straighter. “Although, if you’re truly afraid of running into her again and would rather continue hiding—”
A low snarl streaks up my throat. “Excuse me?”
Maddeningly unfazed, our butler only blinks. “I assume you’re avoiding her on purpose, after leaving her to dine on her own last night.”
This asshole…
… is completely correct.
Okay, fine. So I’ve been avoiding the omega since she charmed me in the library. It most definitely isn’t because I’m afraid.
Freaked out by how close to the edge my Alpha’s gotten? Sure.
Bewildered by the sudden lack of migraines and the ability to actually live again?
Yeah. That’s fucking weird.
But am I scared of what all of this might mean?
…
Shut the fuck up.
“You may want to check on Mr. Dane,” Coggins puts in, heading for the door. “I’ve knocked, but he isn’t answering.”
Christ. If today is Saturday, that means last night was Friday. The twentieth.
The second Coggins disappears, I jump to my feet and rush to my room.
My steaming hot shower stings, but I stand directly under its punishing spray, washing with the new products Louis left out. He’s always swapping our shit for whatever is bougie and popular. Living vicariously through us, he jokes.
The spendy motherfucker definitely picked out my tux. It’s a close-cut, modern style, with a classic white-on-black motif. I shove my limbs into it and rush through styling my hair. The ice-blond strands are naturally straight. It’s easy to comb them into a swoop.
When I see Dane’s room is open and dark, something oddly similar to guilt squirms in my center. Relief knocks me back a step when I find him in the foyer a few minutes later, frowning mightily at his reflection.
Underlings scurry between us. Caterers, waiters, florists, valet people. I can’t remember the last time we had an event at Blackwood Manor, which suddenly strikes me as suspicious.
Cillian claimed this was Grandfather’s idea. But since when does that old bastard want to set foot outside his compound? And since when does Cillian do anything he doesn’t want to do?
Also, who knew we had gold flatware?
Dane curses as someone wheels an ice sculpture behind him. I can only see the top half of his face, but it’s enough to know he’s beyond pissed. His thick fingers struggle with the bow tie looped around his neck, plucking it loose.
I start descending the stairs. “Here. I’ll do it.”
Normally, he would trudge over without making a sound. He hates dressing up and especially loathes black tie.
But this time? He growls so viciously I do a double take.
“Fucking fine,” I snort and hold my hands up as I step into the foyer. “Jesus.”
Dane rips the tie off altogether, cramming it into the pocket of his tuxedo pants. They look ridiculous on him. Like we’ve stuffed a bull into a ballgown.
Adjusting his collar in the antique mirror next to the manor’s front doors, he mutters under his breath. That’s also concerning—the guy barely speaks when he’s in a good mood. Let alone a bad one.
My brows arch. “How did last night go?”
Odd emptiness rolls over the part of his face I can see. “It went.”
Fuck.
“I should have been there,” I mumble.
Dane pauses, his gold eyes sliding away from his reflection in disgust. “You were busy.”
Strained silence stretches between us. And it occurs to me that he’s… hurt? Struggling, at least.
“Sorry,” I grunt. “I lost my shit a little. Having her here.”
Dane stares. “I get it. Trust me.” When I don’t turn away, he sighs, his shoulders stooping. “Last night went off without a hitch. You didn’t miss anything.”
But it suddenly feels like I’ve missed a whole hell of a lot around here. Because I swear my packmate legitimately stops breathing the second we hear heels clack against the stairs.
When I trace his stupefied stare to the omega joining us, I understand why.
Good fucking GOD.
Holy shit.
Briar looks sinful. Rich ruby silk, thin enough to see the black lace bustier underneath, forms a corset of sorts over her torso. The tight fit highlights her petite figure and the long legs peeking through the thigh-high slit.
Jesus, the shape of her. All her finely honed muscles, long and lean and hinged by delicate joints.
Her body was made for high fashion exactly like this dress. It’s a couture piece, complete with sheer sleeves and wicked spike-covered heels.
Briar flips her bouncy, blown-out hair over her shoulder, casting me a baleful glower before she glances at Dane. The second their gazes touch, she instantly flings hers away.
Huh.
How the hell did he do that?
I tried to push her away and all it got me was this gnawing obsession.
I’m too fucking distracted by her to do much more than loom closer, scanning her form. Meeting her glare.
Ignoring the stab of longing in my gullet.
“You look like you could kill a man with those things,” I tut dryly, eyeing her shoes.
Even dripping sarcasm, her smile is a thing of beauty. “Funny—I wore them just for you, venom.”
Behind us, Dane finally snaps back into his body. With a gruff grumble, the big guy busies himself by checking the Glock holstered under his jacket. Briar’s eyes go wide on the weapon.
“This is no ordinary family you’ve married into, viper.” I chuckle, gesturing to the row of cars pulling up to the house. Bending low to murmur my one piece of advice. “Don’t forget you have fangs.”