Midnight #2
"Fuck off." Crispin doesn't look at him. He's looking right at me as his thumb digs into the soft inside of my arm.
"Lyra is an unmated omega," Owen says, very pleasantly, the way you might explain something to a three-year-old. "Touching her like this would damage her reputation considerably if someone saw. I'm sure you would never want that for her."
I want to laugh, and tell Owen that this asshole just groped me in a room filled with people. But I keep my mouth shut.
"Her reputation?" Crispin slowly shifts his gaze to Owen, then the alpha’s lips peel back from his teeth, baring his canines. The growl that comes out of his chest is low enough that I feel it in the floor.
The hair on my arms rises as I duck my head. My hand finds the edge of the display case behind me and grips it.
But Owen doesn’t move an inch.
His shoulders stay relaxed, his hands loose at his sides. The only thing I notice is the small movement at his throat as he swallows, and the slight tightening at the corners of his eyes.
But his voice, when he speaks again, is the same.
"Lyra’s parents would be embarrassed if word got out. Lyra has worked very hard tonight to be a credit to her family. It would be a shame to undo that over a few minutes in a side gallery."
I can't move.
The pressure on my arm is climbing past pain into something that feels like a warning. My eyes are burning, but I refuse to cry. Instead, I focus on a single seam of light along the edge of the nearest display case, and I breathe through my nose.
I wish I could still smell Owen, but all I can smell is Crispin’s thick clove scent. It’s suffocating, making me want to gag.
"You think you get a say in this, beta." Crispin's gaze cuts to Owen.
In one swift movement, the alpha releases my arm and shoves Owen's shoulder so hard, he stumbles back one step, but he doesn’t go down.
"Sir." Owen plants his feet and lifts his chin, but his voice stays even. "I don't think Aldric would want a scene at his own family's fundraiser. That's all."
Crispin steps up to Owen, chest to chest, using every inch of the height he has on Owen. "Careful, beta. Men who forget their place tend to lose it."
My heart is in my throat.
While Owen has a solid frame with lean muscle, Crispin is built like a damn tank, and right now he is looking at Owen like he’s begging for an excuse to throw hands.
"I could break every bone in that pretty face of yours and no one in that ballroom would lift a finger to stop me." Crispin's voice drops low, almost pleasant. "In fact, Aldric would probably thank me for it."
I move before I think, sliding between them, my back to Owen's chest, my eyes locked on Crispin.
"Crispin." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "I'd love to actually catch up. Properly. But this room is a little stuffy, and there are too many people listening at the door who'd love something to gossip about."
Crispin's gaze drags down to me, slow, and my pulse spikes at how close he is, at the heat of him filling the small space between us.
Then Owen's hand finds my hip. His touch is light and steady, anchoring me.
Thankfully, Crispin doesn't notice. His focus stays on my face, his nostrils flaring as he breathes me in. A low sound rolls out of him, something close to approval, and he licks his lips like he's already tasting something.
Please, go away.
Moving slowly, Crispin leans down and his mouth brushes the shell of my ear. "I guess I’ll see you at your parents' house tomorrow." His breath is hot against my skin. "I'm bringing you a present."
I don't know what to say to that. I don't know what there is to say. So I dig deep for my best smile and force it onto my face. "I look forward to it."
Something shifts in Crispin’s expression, vanity winning out over violence, the way I knew it would.
The alpha studies me a long moment, that cold half-smile climbing back into place. "Later, then." Then he turns and walks out of the gallery the way he came in, his shoulders squared, his pace measured, like a man who just won some kind of battle.
The door clicks shut behind him, and I exhale.
I don't realize I'm shaking until Owen's hand is at my elbow. "Are you okay?"
I can't answer.
"Lyra. Look at me. Are you all right?"
I look up at him.
His hazel eyes aren’t calm anymore. They’re filled with a simmering fury and fear.
"I'm okay," I say, but my voice doesn't sound like mine.
"Let me see your arm."
"It's fine."
"Lyra."
I let him turn my arm gently, exposing where Crispin's fingers were. Five faint red marks are already forming in a line against my skin.
Owen looks at them for a long moment. He doesn't say anything. He just brushes his thumb once against the inside of my wrist, so gentle, and he steps back to a respectable distance.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I should have done more to stop him."
"You did everything." My eyes burn again. "You did more than anyone has ever—" I swallow hard, fighting back tears. "You were perfect."
Something flickers across Owen's face, almost a smile, like the word perfect caught him off guard. But then he catches himself, his expression smoothing back into something more intense as his gaze cuts to the door where Crispin disappeared.
"Is he really coming to your house tomorrow?" There's an edge under his even voice now.
"Yeah." I let out a breath that's almost a laugh. "My father's basically obsessed with him. I’m pretty sure he'd abandon every monogamist principle he's ever preached and ask Crispin to join our family if it meant keeping the alpha close."
The corner of Owen's mouth twitches, like he wants to smile and can't quite manage it. "I’m sorry you have to put up with him."
"It’s okay." I give a small shrug. "It’s easy to hide from him. It’s a big house."
Owen is quiet for a second, his eyes searching my face like he's trying to memorize something. "You know, if you ever need someone to talk to. Or somewhere safe to go." His voice is even, careful. "You know where to find me."
My throat goes tight, and I can feel the tears building right behind my eyes, hot and humiliating.
Do not cry in front of him, I command myself.
"I should get back." I set my champagne down on the display case.
I don’t want to. I want to stand here with this perfect beta and chat the night away, but I’ll burst into tears if Owen says one more kind thing to me.
"Lyra?" Owen's hand lifts, like he's going to reach for me. It lingers in front of him for half a second too long, then he drags it back and rubs the back of his neck instead. The light catches on his wedding ring as he moves, and something in my chest twists.
I turn before he can see whatever's on my face and walk toward the door.
He whispers goodnight as I slip away, back into the long, dark hallway.
The party continues as I cross the hall, people laughing, chatting, and drinking an ungodly amount of alcohol. I cut through the crowd, weaving past tuxedos, shimmering sequins, and champagne flutes, heading for the tall glass doors on the far side of the ballroom.
I just need air.
One clean breath that doesn't smell like clove and whiskey.
Near the back, I catch sight of my mother. Crispin is beside her, his head bent toward hers, and whatever he's saying makes her laugh, a bright, easy sound I almost never hear directed at me.
I look away before either of them can catch me staring.
The doors give way to a stone terrace, and the cool night air hits my skin. I suck in a breath, then another, my hands braced on the railing.
My cheeks are hot, my heart still slamming against my ribs, and underneath all of it sits the cold, sinking dread of tomorrow.