Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
QUINN
Ishould have used my phone to record, then translate their conversation, but my mind is a sieve to anything but him.
And then he turns around, and I know it’s the Alpha from the clinic. The one who bit me.
If proof of our bond was required, there’d be enough “bodily” evidence.
His scent is pure energy and faith, rolled into something that makes me feel like I could slay dragons.
His presence is like wearing a puffy jacket in an Antarctic blizzard.
When he’s near, I don’t think I’d feel anything but warm and fuzzy.
The list goes on and on—my heart skips beats, my skin pebbles, and my panties are saturated.
But none of that will change or influence what I need to do, which is anything and everything needed to finish what I started.
If I have to add pretending this Alpha hasn’t claimed me to the list of things to do, then I’ll do it as effortlessly as I did every time I told Kade we were only fuck buddies.
Nothing will stop me from marrying Sergey.
Not Bambi or her panty-stealing fiend. Not even whoever this hot-as-Hades Alpha is.
Everything I do is to protect my sister and Marco, because I’ve failed once already. It’s not martyrdom. It’s duty and righteousness. For us, but also for all the other people I couldn’t help.
“Who are you?” I ask, keeping my eyes averted from where he stands, half naked, wrapped in only a towel.
Don’t look, don’t look.
I’m pretty sure I lost a lot of brain cells while he was dealing with the trash, because from the minute he strode out with water dripping down his chest, logic and sense flew out the window.
Despite “my” Alpha being right up there in the top three nominations for Quinn’s Ultimate Man Candy, I have to figure out a way to rebuild a giant-sized, acid-filled moat around myself.
Being bitchy is an effortless fallback and an easy second skin to wear.
“I am Sergey’s second-in-command.” His English should be hard and guttural, but it’s like balm, soothing parts of my mind I didn’t know were unsettled.
I bite my tongue, the pinch of pain helping me stay in character—bitch mode—instead of flinging myself at him.
“Where I come from, we’d never subject our guests to this.
My father would have removed her for bringing shame to our family’s hospitality.
And the guard would have been dealt with for not doing his job.
” I glare at his shoulder. I can’t look at his face.
Or his bare chest. Or his hair. Or his mouth…
His shoulder is the least appealing part of him.
I have to shake my head to stop my thoughts from gathering momentum. It’s not enough; my mind is spinning like a tornado. I need fresh air. And distance. Perhaps a couple of thousand miles between us would stop my wanting.
Turning fast on my heel, I get a jolt of alarm that stops me on a dime as I come face-to-face with the biggest, hairiest dog I have ever seen in my life. It easily stands higher than my hip. But being fluffy and oversized doesn’t negate the sharp intellect staring back at me.
Guard dogs in our world are nothing new. I grew up around working dogs, so I know that being anything less than dominant or indifferent is a recipe for disaster.
“Nalla!” the Alpha says softly. There’s dominance in how he says her name but also a lot of endearment. Which is odd, given she’s a guard dog and not a pet.
His earthy, woody, sweet, and musky scent reaches me before he does. God, it’s incredible. And it’s hard to stay in character when every cell in my body sighs happily in his presence.
He speaks in low, hushed words, but whatever he has said is a command and not a conversation.
From out of his door comes an even bigger, scarier version of Nalla.
Where Nalla has the same coloring as a German shepherd, the new dog is as dark as a starless night. He emerges from the shadows and walks the edge of the room, not sparing me a glance.
His owner clears his throat. “You’re right, we’re not treating you with the proper regard due.
I’m our Bratva’s second, his Avtoritet. And that means, what I say goes.
A door like this”—he points at the one he came out of—“will be put in today, operational by tomorrow. You are not to leave this house until I return. These dogs will roam. They are not pets, but they will help with the hospitality you spoke of.”
His handle on English is exceptional. And the heavy Russian accent echoes like a serenade.
He looks straight through me. Disdain sharpens his features, emphasizing the deep, jagged scar marring his face. Without question, he is one of the most brutally handsome men I have seen.
I search his eyes, looking for any sign he recognizes me or senses who I am, but I get nothing.
His lack of recognition should be reassuring, and in a lot of ways it is, but it also makes a part of me ache in rejection.
And that part of me comes close to shoving proof of who we are to each other in his face.
I turn and walk back into my room. I’m not here to claim mates; I’m here to give my sister and Marco the best future possible.
Plans of escaping and hiding are destroyed when I open my bedroom door and am faced with what that bitch did.
She wasn’t being stealthy when she went through my things and stole my lingerie.
She went straight to Crazy Town, ripping every article of clothing I brought from the hangers or off shelves before shredding whatever she could get her hands on.
Not content, she amped it up and made everything completely unsalvageable by emptying every fucking bottle she could get her hands on from my bathroom.
The fumes give me an instant headache. “Not just a thief, but a cunt too.”
Shoving my fists into my eyes and screaming inside my head in frustration, I turn and leave the mess for later. I refuse to cry. How stupid is it that her fucking zero-sense vindictiveness is what threatens to break me.
I walk away from my bedroom, the one place I thought would be my safe haven, and take shelter in the living room.
My intention was to do a reset and stop the threat of an atomic meltdown by having a cup of hot chocolate while giving myself the mother of all pep talks.
But the reality is a lot sadder. What she did steals so much from me, I literally spend the day sitting in the room, incapable of doing anything except staring out the window with tears rolling down my face.
I’m stuck in a horrible place, and no matter how much I want to stop feeling so bad, I can’t snap out of it.
Obviously, a big part of how I feel is the shock of what she did.
She pretty much destroyed all the things I had brought with me, but mostly, this well of sadness is from his rejection.
It’s completely irrational, going against all the things I’ve been fighting against my whole life.
Damn being an Omega and being a softhearted, emotional sponge.
All I want is to climb into my bed, but the reminder of her, of him, and this fucking day is still there, here.
I curl into a small ball, repeating breathing exercises and trying to think about something besides the pain eating me up.
I count them off as I go. The first three cycles, I push the time limit on how long to hold my breath, needing the dizzying distraction of not getting enough air in my lungs.
But I go too far, the black dots in my vision eating the view of the window, the burn in my lungs spreading until I pass out.
Passing out helps, though. I’m slightly aware I’m sleeping, but each time I start to wake, my brain pushes my awareness down until my mind is slightly healed.
It’s dark outside and the room is even darker when I sit up with a gasp, knowing, again, I’m not alone.
In front of me is the smaller of the dogs. The female, who looks like a furry German shepherd, Nalla.
Outside of the slow, deep inhale and exhale of Nalla’s snoring, there’s nothing. And the depth of the night outside is at its deepest, making me think it’s the middle of the night. Something woke me up, though. I look around, trying to figure it out, trying to hear what I heard.
The way the dog lies in sleep is a ruse. I’m sure she’s done it a few times, lulling people into a false sense of security, only to attack, defend, or protect in a flash. She proves me right when I stand up as quietly as I can, and she surges to her feet, beating me without effort or sound.
I’m not worried that she’ll follow, since, according to him, it is her job. My damn chest burns at even thinking of him as him.
It’s the serious lack of noise from the rest of the house that has me more concerned. The door to the room I’ve been sleeping in has been closed, though I know I left it wide open. Stepping into the corridor, I should hear something, but there’s an obvious lack of noise.
Alarm bells start going off with each step I take, because there’s still barely a sound, even in the hallway. The rooms I pass on my way to the breakfast room all look the same, and nothing stands out as I bypass even more rooms until I reach the front door.
I take a step away, thinking perhaps I should go rattle Sergey’s door to at least warn him if the house is about to be attacked, when the other dog, the large black male, steps out of the shadows in front of me.
“Jesus!” I snarl in fright before rightly directing my anger and dropping my voice to a threatening whisper. “You gave me a damn heart attack. I’m getting you a bell.”
And then he does the strangest thing. He walks away, stopping every few feet down the dark hallway to make sure I’m following. He leads me past all the luxury to the working side of the house until we stop in front of a closed door, a small glow peeking out from under it.