Reclaiming the Room
Lyra
The purring winds down slowly, and when I finally lift my head off Nico's chest my breathing has evened out.
"Nico." My voice comes out hoarse. "Is there really a fire?"
"There is." The corner of his mouth lifts. "I heard your parents yelling and texted Mack, asking him to create a distraction." He smooths a hand down my back. “Something small and loud.”
I stare up at the pack alpha, impressed. "Mack set the drapes on fire."
"He was more than happy to help." Nico's dark eyes are warm.
"He's out there right now making sure every guest gets a good look at it.
I could hear him all the way down the hall, pointing it out and asking loudly where your father was.
" A dry note enters his voice. "Your parents are going to spend the next hour putting out flames in front of everyone they've ever wanted to impress. "
Something loosens in my chest, and I almost laugh.
Because it means I don't have to immediately rush out of here. I don't have to see Crispin waiting on the other side of that door, or smell that clove or feel his eyes crawl over me ever again.
"We've got a minute or two," Nico says, reading me. "You don't have to go anywhere until you're ready."
"But we should go soon." Adrian's still wound tight beside us, his eyes on the door. "The sooner she's out of this house, the better."
"Soon," Nico agrees. "But our girl needs a minute to collect herself."
I nod and step back out of their arms, scrubbing the heels of my hands under my eyes. My mascara's probably ruined, but I can't bring myself to care.
"Who was he?" Nico asks. His voice is careful. "That alpha I had to drag out of here."
I pull in a breath, trying to keep my stomach from knotting all over again.
"Crispin Maleth." His name tastes like poison and bile. "My father arranged for me to mate him. That's why I ran. They signed the contract, and he—" I stop. I don't have the strength to say the rest. "He's the reason I ran."
"You’re safe now," Adrian caresses my cheek, but Nico has gone completely still.
I watch the pack alpha put it together, the marks on my wrists a month ago, the blood and the terror. His face doesn't change. But something goes flat and lethal behind his eyes, and I understand that if I said it out loud, Crispin Maleth would not survive the night.
So I don't say it, because the last thing I need is for any of my packmates to get hurt.
Instead, I turn and breathe.
"I just need to settle my nerves," I say to the room. "Then we can go."
"Take your time," Adrian says, and he sounds like he means it. It probably helps that Crispin has stopped banging on the door.
My hands shake as I look around at my father's enormous desk where I was forced to sign my life away. At the oil paintings of dead alphas judging me from the walls. At the leather-bound books nobody has ever read, and then at that fucking couch.
It’s where Crispin put his hands on me and took what wasn't his while my mother's command held me frozen.
She took away my ability to choose.
And then Crispin took everything else from me.
In that moment, I was nothing but an object for the alphas in this house to abuse and control.
"I wish Mack had burned this room," I say quietly as my hands curl into fists. "This whole room. I wish he'd started right here."
Rage comes up out of nowhere.
It floods through me, hot and total, filling every space the fear left behind, and my hands start to shake for a new reason.
I’ve spent my entire life making myself smaller, quieter, swallowing down their rage and taking their abuse, and I’m not fucking doing it anymore.
My eyes land on the desk. On the heavy silver letter opener sitting beside my father's blotter. I swear it’s as long as my freaking forearm and pointed at the end.
I'm across the room in a blink of an eye.
My hand closes around the handle, and it's heavier than I expected, cold and solid. The weight of it settles into my palm as the blade catches the lamplight, thin and bright and wickedly pointed. My grip tightens until my knuckles ache.
Then I turn and march straight for the couch.
"Lyra?" Adrian steps toward me.
I bring the letter opener high above my head, then I slice down into the couch cushion with everything I have.
The blade tears through the velvet with a sound like a gasp, and something breaks loose inside me. I pull it out and drive it in again. And again. And again.
Dropping to my knees, I stab the couch where his weight pinned me down, where his hands held my wrists, where my body went slack and gave up because that was the only way to survive him.
"Fuck you," I snarl at shredded fabric, ripping the blade sideways, tearing a long gash across the seat. Stuffing spills out, catching on my nails. "You piece of shit!"
I drop the letter opener and use my hands.
I tear at the gash I've opened, dragging fistfuls of stuffing out and flinging them all around me.
I beat the cushions with my fists, growling low in my throat like an animal.
Tears are running down my face, but they're not sad tears, they're furious.
They're a whole lifetime of terror finally turning into rage.
And no one stops me.
Adrian and Nico just stand somewhere behind me, and let me destroy it. They let me tear the fucking couch apart with my bare hands until my arms ache and my knuckles sting and my breath saws in and out of me.
When I finally stop, I'm shaking.
The couch is gutted, ruined, its insides scattered across my father's Persian rug.
But, for the first time in my life, I feel weirdly free.
I get to leave this room and never come back.
No one will get to punish me for destroying this couch, or being rude to Crispin, or for wearing a slutty dress. I get to do whatever the fuck I want, then go home with four of the sexiest men on the planet.
I turn around, looking at my mates over my shoulder, suddenly feeling very overwhelmed with love for them.
God, they're beautiful.
Adrian, who defended me against my parents. Even demanding my father watch his tone. And Nico, who dragged Crispin out by the neck as if he was hauling trash to the curb. And not to mention Mack and Owen, who set this whole glittering party on fire just to buy me a minute to breathe.
My mates. Mine.
My anger quickly fades as something much more intense takes its place.
Heat blooms between my legs. Slick, gathering hot and sudden, soaking the inside of my thighs.
I don't understand where it comes from, and I don't care. There's too much adrenaline crashing through me, too much wild energy with nowhere to go, and all of it has narrowed down to one thing.
I want to be touched.
Now.
I want to be taken by the men who spent tonight proving they'd burn the world down for me.
A wild energy grips me, and I stand up. My hands go to the straps of my dress, and I tug them off my shoulders.
"Lyra." Adrian's brow furrows. "What are you—"
I push the tight dress down over my breasts, then my hips, before dropping it, letting the stretchy fabric pool on the wrecked stuffing at my feet. Then I stand in the middle of my father's office in nothing but the strappy black sandals Renata gave me.
Adrian’s breath catches in his throat, and Nico's eyes darken.
The air is cool across my bare skin, but I don't feel exposed. I feel powerful.
"Lyra." Adrian's dark eyes move up and down my naked form. "I…uh…." He licks his lips, then his gaze cuts toward the hallway, and worry slips back in. "The door. Someone could—"
"It's locked." My voice comes out a throaty purr, nothing timid about it. But I can’t help it.
The longer I stand here, the more wound up I become.
"Nico locked it," I remind the alpha. "Nobody's getting through that door, and even if they did—" I let my eyes travel over both of them, feeling so incredibly bold.
"I don't care who watches. I need you both. Now."
"Be careful what you ask for, Omega." Nico takes a single step toward me, a dangerous smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Because you will get it."
"Shit." Adrian drags a hand through his hair, and his eyes keep pulling back to my breasts. "We don't have time for this, Nico. We lit the fucking house on fire and her parents—"
“Please,” I cut in. "I know it's stupid.
" My voice wavers as I look at Adrian, and I feel the sting of tears gathering, hot behind my eyes.
"I know we should go. But I need this. I need to feel something in this room that isn't fear.
" A tear breaks loose and slides down my cheek. "Just once. Please."
"Fuck ‘em." Nico's gaze drags down to my pussy, and I see his cock growing hard through his slacks. "If some poor bastard wants to bust down that door and watch me fuck our omega across her father's desk, he's welcome to the show."
"Fuck!" Adrian snarls as he looks at the door again, then back at my tits.
Deep down, I know that Adrian is right.
I’m being stupid and reckless right now, when we should be leaving, but I’m done being the perfect daughter. I’ve spent twenty-four years doing the smart, quiet, proper thing in this house, and I want just one memory that’s fun and filthy.
My hands come together in front of me, clasping tight, and I hate the small slip of distress that moves through me at the thought of them telling me no. Of being sent out that door still shaking, and cold, and full of everything this house did to me tonight.
"Please," I whisper. “Touch me.”
Nico crosses to me.
He cups my face in both hands, his thumbs catching the tear and wiping it away, and his dark eyes hold mine, steady and sure and burning.
"Sweetheart. You never have to beg me for a single thing.
" He tilts my face up. "You want to be ruined?
Then that's exactly what’s going to happen.
" His voice drops into that low register that makes my knees weak.
"I'm going to spread you out on your father's desk and lick that prim little pussy until you're begging for my cock.
" He leans in, ghosting his mouth over mine.
"I want to hear you scream my name in this house, knowing your piece of shit father is down the hall while I'm balls-deep inside his perfect daughter. "
"Please," I practically pant. "Ruin me."